'''
I'm at a creepto conference looking around for the captains of this industry when a greasy bearded nerd with a He-Man tshirt and a copy of Jordan Peterson's '12 Rules for Life' approaches. He nudges me and we stop to look at each other.
'Hi', he says quietly, 'coin for blowin?'
I think he's trying to sell my coke, but he stares at my crotch.
'Pardon', I reply for clarity.
'I know why you're here. The Ukrainian girls right? The ones on that boat? They aren't at this event. Please help a brah out. It's a bear market and I need to make some losses back.'
'Sorry!!! Did I hear someone say bear market?', a female voice loudly interrupts from behind a meet and greet stall.
'Oh shit Liz heard me. Later, dude. My twitter is alphamales4trumpyo. DM me!'
The lobster scrambles leaving me with an unobstructed view of the what I assume must be the only female creepto dev in the house.
'Don't listen to FUDSTERS like him', she tells me bluntly, 'There's no such thing as a bear market. It's lightning spring.'
I extend my hand 'My name's Bitmain. Patrick Bitmain.'
Instead of shaking my hand and she shoves her card into it and continues signing autographs for a line of badly dressed men. I feel out of place in my Armani Autumn Winter '87 single breasted suit with fine Afghan silk inner lining. It's a classic. I found it at a collector's just yesterday and paid a handsome 10K for it. Only 20 sets were ever made.
I forget about the dress code and take a look at the girl's card. Oh my God. It's jet black, smooth, with silver italic Miami Vice fonts that read:
'ELIZABETH STARK BITCOIN LIGHTNING DEVELOPER'
A bead of sweat forms on my hairline. My neck swells inside the 16 inch collar of my shirt and a nerve is pinched between my traps and rear deltoids. The tension quickly spreads down my back and I drop her card to the floor.
It's not her card that bothered me. I'm aggrieved by the idea that I might not be the only parody in the building and she is doing a better job at it than I.
'''
Author: /u/PatrickBitmain
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