The PulseChain trenches became a silent graveyard. Fudders claimed the fire died out. Traders were roasted and served on platters of dead liquidity.
They expected a passive turkey, ready for the feast.
$GOB is the anomaly. We didn't come for the oven; we came to turn off the gas and devour those who were waiting for the banquet. In a chain of survivors, only those who Gobble everything stay standing.
PulseChain's Thanksgiving has begun, and you aren't the guest... you are the dessert, unless you are with us.
