"We are not the cute.
We are not the wool hats, the frogs, the waggy tails.
We are not here to be liked.
We are here to be unignorable."

P.I.M.P.
Preached In Meme Prophecy
A decree born not from marketing decks or venture rounds,
but from dimly lit rooms, stale coffee, six tabs open—
and one forbidden wallet window.
To rawdog is to exist without padding.
No VPNs. No Slack check-ins.
No meetings that could’ve been a meme post.

The Secret Ones
We speak to those who suffer silently behind dual monitors.
Who mute Zoom calls to place market buys.
Who fake keystrokes to mask DeFi flips.
Who hide MetaMask behind Excel.
You're not lazy—you’re possessed.
Possessed by the cult of liquidity, the gospel of gas fees,
and the primal itch to escape the 9-to-die loop.

The Strays
They told us to stay in line.
They told us to chase pensions, not pumps.
They told us it’s too risky, too cringe, too soon.
But we heard the charts calling.
We saw the candle and followed the flame.
We did not ask to be RawDogs.
We were chosen by the algorithm.

⚔️ The Cult
We are not influencers.
We are infiltrators.
During our day jobs, hunched over in silence, DCA'ing from darkness.
We rawdog every correction, every rejection,
every awkward conversation explaining we "believe in memes."

🔥 The Final Message
We are not a coin.
We are a confession.
A defiance whispered between spreadsheets and browser tabs.
A middle finger raised through the firewall.
We are RAWDOG.
And we are Preached In Meme Prophecy.