Whenever Good Ship Satoshi catches a promising breeze the old stick-in-the-mud FUD rears its ugly head and drops the sea-anchor.
Immediately the lettuce-handed-rats scarper off with their few crumbs, them grumbling and bitching incessantly, to quiver in the darkness of their poverty-stricken, pitiful minds.
With sails limp, the becalmed Good Ship Satoshi now drifts idly with neither green nor red in sight. Nothing moves.
Beads of sweat race down the grimacing heads of the rat-faced grifters. Grifters grift. Panickers panic. Hodlers hold.
Out of the haze the Ghost of Coleridge’s Albatross appears. Majestic. Awe-inspiring. The Albatross glides past, avoiding the ship, the memory, and the paranoia.
The Hodlers hunker down and prepare the Good Ship Satoshi for the precious breeze. The winds of fortune are coming to take them to the promised land.
Time passes. Idling. Idle. Nothing. Days go by. Weeks. Nothing. Nothing.
Then the FUD subsides.
