Bedtime story plz

[Anonymous No.14898524]

[Anonymous No.14898536]

>>14898524

Fundamentally 1000$ eoy

[Anonymous No.14898544]

>>14898536
This.

[Anonymous No.14898550]

>>14898536
The end

[Anonymous No.14898586]

>>14898524
hey now that this thread has linkies attention, is this a good time to buy? looks like the volatility has died down a bit

[Anonymous No.14898604]

>>14898586
>decreased volatility before a market wide catastrophic dump is a good thing

[Anonymous No.14898609]

>>14898524
$1000 is fud. We're all going to make it.
Global White Catholic Empire eoy.

[Anonymous No.14898615]

>>14898609
Based

[Anonymous No.14898623]

>>14898550
>>14898536
what a beautiful story

[Anonymous No.14898650]

>>14898524

[Anonymous No.14898651]

>>14898544
Is it scripts or are we truly blessed?!?!

[Anonymous No.14898659]

>>14898609
>global
small minds have weak hands

[Anonymous No.14898662]

>>14898650
Is that a$ap nazy?

[Anonymous No.14898676]

>>14898651
Yes, chill

[Anonymous No.14898698]

>>14898524
One day, an anon bought a deflationary token called ETHplode based on ETH normie appeal. He sold a 5x, and it went on to 100x. He was never heard from again. *BOO*

[Anonymous No.14898754]

Once upon a time, a man known as Rip Van Winkle lived in the village of Catskill. He was a happy-go-lucky fellow, and a little bit lazy, and he was married to a wife who was unkind. Often when Rip was seeking some peace, he walked with his dog and his rifle into the mountains to the west of the village. There, he lounged beneath the trees, watching hunted game, and sometimes he simply stared up at the sky and daydreamed.

One cool September evening, he was crossing South Mountain when he came upon a little round fellow wearing a belted coat, petticoat trousers and heavy boots. The fellow was peculiar looking -- his face was green and his eyes looked dead. He was carrying a keg upon his shoulder, and when he saw Rip, he said, "I'll offer you a drink if you'll carry this keg up the mountain."

Rip was a generous soul, so he lifted the keg onto his shoulder, and together the two gents climbed.

As night fell, they came to a plateau where a dozen men with the same ghostly faces as the first fellow and dressed in the same peculiar clothes were playing with stones. They were rolling these stones over the side of the mountain, and they plummeted down and landed with a thundering boom.

Rip noticed one fellow with a snow-white beard who stood apart from the others, watching them play. When Rip appeared, the old fellow turned and stared at him, and Rip's first thought was he ought to run.

But he couldn't seem to move.

Suddenly the man signaled for Rip to join him in a drink. Rip took a drink, and sighed deeply. This was the finest drink he'd ever swallowed, new and delicious and mouth-watering, and he could not stop drinking.

Soon Rip was overcome with exhaustion, so he lay down, his head upon a stone, his tired legs stretched out. Before long he was fast asleep.

[Anonymous No.14898781]

After a dream-filled night, he opened his eyes and saw sunlight dappling the sky, but no one was around. He stretched out his stiff legs and rubbed the sore spot where his head had rested on the stone. He reached for his rifle only to discover it was rusting, so rotted that it fell to pieces when he touched it. When he looked down to gather the parts, he saw that his clothes were rags, and a beard flowed from his chin -- so long and white he couldn't believe what he saw.

Rip tried to remember the night. He stood and began to hobble down the mountain. His knees ached. So did his elbows and shins, and his head began to throb as he tripped along.

By afternoon, he came to Catskill, his village, but to his astonishment there were now houses where yesterday there had been fields, and there were now roads where there had been meadows. And where were his friends -- the blacksmith and the barber, the tailor and the baker? And where were those children who always trailed after him and the dogs that always barked a friendly welcome?

He hobbled toward home, eager to see his wife who had told him to lounge in the mountains. Yet his wife wasn't at the gate, and the gate was no longer guarding the garden, but rather a field of weeds.

His home had crumbled to the ground.

"The tavern, I must go to the tavern," Rip thought, and he moved as fast as he could toward that familiar, friendly place. There, he saw in place of the old sign a new one and an officer with a cocked hat that no longer said George III, but instead said Gen. Washington.

The folks inside were unfamiliar too, so Rip asked, "Where's Nick Vedder?" and the patrons said, "He's been dead for 18 years."

"Brom Dutcher?" Rip asked, scratching his head.

"He joined the Army and was killed at Stony Point."

"Where's Van Brummel?" Rip asked.

"He's in Congress."

He couldn't help himself, so he asked, "And where's Rip Van Winkle?"

[Anonymous No.14898782]

>>14898659
Not sure if pro flat earth or anti flat earth.

[Anonymous No.14898822]

"Over there," a few of the fellows said, and they pointed to a man who looked just like himself but young and good-natured and lazy.

"That's young Rip," said the barman. "His father was Rip Van Winkle, too, but 20 years ago he went to the mountains and never came back."

That's how Rip discovered he had slept for 20 years.

Eventually he found a few old fellows who knew him. He found his daughter, too. She was married to a pleasant fellow, and they invited old Rip to move in.

Rip slowly recovered from the news that his wife had died in a quarrel. For the rest of his days, he sat in the tavern and smoked his pipe and told tales of the old days.

One of Rip's favorite tales was the one about drinking a cup with explorer Henry Hudson himself. People say Hudson's spirit continues to live in those hills; every 20 years Hudson and his men gather in the mountains to play and reminisce about their travels. The drink they share throws mortals into a slumber from which nothing can rouse them until the day when the crew returns to meet again.

As you climb the eastern side of the mountains, by the old carriage road near Catskill, halfway up you'll pass the stone on which Rip Van Winkle rested his head. You may even see that the ground where Rip slept is slightly hollowed, and you'll know that the party of ghosts is due to appear.

So beware drinking any brew a stranger offers you when you visit those mountains.

[Anonymous No.14898826]

A Customer walks threw the door.
That thot is a 9/10 whore .
Where is your manager? She exclaimed
your in trouble you know going to get blamed.
“ How may I help you today mam Stacy said.”
(ENOUGH ITS COLUMBINE TIME MOTHER FUCKERS EAT LEAD!)
You 360 no scope that bitch now she’s dead.
That thot is now covered in crimson
Red
OMFG ANON WHY DID YOU DO THAT!
My crypto won’t moon my bags are scat!
Suddenly the SWAT team arrives.
Your pathetic life flashes before your eyes.
Bullets wiz and begin to fly
you put your head down low and dolphin dive.
You think to your self is this how it ends?
Your a kissless virgin and have no frens.
Suddenly there is a beep on your phone..
Chainlink is now worth 1000$ and it’s yours alone.
You look up Stacy’s face is all pink!
Anon GIVE ME YOUR LINK!!!
She raise’s her claws above her head.
This will end in a lot of bloodshed.
Suddenly a Lambo crashes in though the wall
Stacy loses her balance and begins to fall.
The room is covered in dust a debris
It’s stealth mode time you must not be seen
The lambo doors swing open and you hear GET IN MARINE!
Bullets fly Stacy screams this is looking very bad
You manage to get in and there’s your fren Chad.
He looks over you places his hand on your shoulder and says you made it anon you made it.
You wake up it was all just a dream.
You look down at your bed sheets in covered in a thick white cream.

[Anonymous No.14899175]

Once there was a link bagholder
He was so ugly that every coin crashed
The end