The Meme Factory

Bliffy had no idea how long he’d been in Pumpopolis, but one thing was already clear: nothing here felt real.

He was standing inside The Meme Factory, where every memecoin, NFT, and rug-pull waiting to happen was born. It smelled like burnt ambition and discount energy drinks.

To his left: The Remint Area. A massive industrial hellscape filled with scientists in lab coats who had never done science, marketers screaming at interns, and sweaty guys named Chad rushing to add “AI” to their latest token name before the hype cycle ended.

To his right: The Genesis Forge. Smaller. Quieter. Full of moody artists drinking cold coffee, arguing over whether "true art" should even be minted. One guy was staring at a single pixel on his screen, whispering, "not yet… not yet."

And then, just like that, his memory kicked him in the face.

Bliffy’s Last Night

The first thing Bliffy remembered was pain.

The second was fluorescent lighting.

The third was the smell of stale energy drinks and bad creative decisions.

He groaned, shifting slightly, realizing that he was half under a metal desk, stripped of everything he owned.

…Am I daed?

No answer.

Just the hum of minting machines whirring in the distance.

Bliffy pushed himself up, brain still rebooting, and squinted at a nearby screen flashing the words:
🚀 FARTERCOIN LAUNCHING NOW! 🚀

Bliffy frowned. His brain wasn’t working at full speed, but something about that name felt… upsetting.

Before he could process further, a voice behind him barked out in frustration.

IT ALREADY RUGGED?! WE HAVEN’T EVEN DONE THE AIRDROP!

Bliffy turned slowly, wincing as his head throbbed.

A group of marketers and developers were gathered around a terminal, staring in horror at Fartercoin’s price chart, which looked like a vertical drop off a cliff.

…So,one of them finally said, adjusting his tie, maybe we just… rebrand?

Silence.

A single cough.

An intern hesitantly raised a hand. What if we add reflections to the logo?

The room stared at him in disgust.

Someone sighed behind Bliffy.

Welp. Time to start the next one.

Bliffy shook his head, blinking back to his present reality.

He was now standing in the exact same place where he had woken up last night. Except now, instead of Fartercoin crashing, there was a new siren blaring.
🚀 FARTERCOIN LAUNCHING! 🚀

Bliffy sighed. Oh for fcuk’s skae.

A very angry project manager in a neon suit appeared in front of him, waving a clipboard like it was a weapon.

You’re late! the man snapped, looking Bliffy up and down. Who the hell are you?

Bliffy blinked. That was… an excellent question.

Ah! I am— he paused, searching for literally any answer. His brain offered nothing. Great. He went with Plan B.

I’m… just psasnig trhuogh?

The project manager squinted. Are you from marketing?

Bliffy, who had no memory of ever doing marketing but strongly suspected it wasn’t his thing, nodded anyway.

Yaeh. Big tmie.

The man groaned, rubbing his temples. Fantastic. Another one.

A loud siren blared, and suddenly an entire team of "scientists" rushed past, holding what looked like a USB drive covered in a cartoon butt.

WE HAVE A LIVE ONE! one of them yelled. FARTESTCOIN IS TRENDING!

Bliffy frowned. Waht hpapneed to Fartercoin?

The project manager waved him off. Dead. Nobody cares.

Bliffy watched them sprint toward a massive glowing chamber labeled "HYPE GENERATOR." He turned back to the project manager.

Waht hpapens now?

The man sighed. Now? We print money.

Bliffy scratched his head. Is it gnona be wroth ayntihng?

The manager laughed so hard he almost fell over.

Absolutely not.

Bliffy exhaled slowly.

In that moment, he had a thought so pure, so undeniable, that it hit him like a divine revelation:

I need to get the fcuk out of tihs ctiy.