OMG! Two Pools Just Stole Bitcoin’s Soul, Party 🎉 or Last Rites 💀?

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The iron lung of the people-Bitcoin-once roared like a proletarian locomotive, and now it coughs like a consumptive clerk. Only two stone-hearted ticket-punchers clasp 51 % of the engine’s steam valves. The factory whistle of decentralization, so beloved by dreamers, has shrieked itself hoarse-“Smoke for all, my brothers!”-yet the chimney only feeds the landlords’ parlors.

This is not the apocalypse; it’s merely an audition for one 😏. A ghost rattles its chains in the blockchain cellar: the 51 % double-spend specter, wearing two monocles labeled “Foundry” and “Antpool.” He taps his cane on the ledger like a bored metronome. The audience clap politely-then panic.

What 51 % Really Buys You-Besides Contempt

Once you own the glassworks, you may reorder the mosaics. Same here: shuffle transactions, erase yesterday’s promises, and recolor the memory of payments like a Stalin-era photo. The revolution has been airbrushed, comrade!

Leon Waidmann-comrade Leonidovich the Data-Smith-cries from atop the haycart of Twitter: the tailors of the network stitch their monopolist’s waistcoats while rural pickaxes rust. And Ethereum-yes, the bourgeois philosopher with coffee-ring tattoos-now chuckles in satin sleeves. “At least my nodes drown in Wi-Fi, not in Siberian hydro slush!”

Two pools 51 %? Red lines painted over with red tape. BTC strutting like a czar in rented ermine tonight, while ETH smirks in worker’s overalls.
– @LeonWaidmann, August 21, 2025

No one can mint extra coins from the void-the spouses of Aurora can’t conjure babies on command. Yet the might exists, and might, as every Gorky character learns, feeds pride until pride chokes on a stale crust of regret.

The Eternal Return of 2014-But With Worse Costumes

A decade ago a single Giga-pool crept past the halfway mark. The villagers revolted, shouting in muddy forums: “Our grandmother’s cheese is in that ledger!” Miners scattered like spooked geese, and balance returned. Yet history has grown bored; its cap is already rumpled, and nobody mends it anymore. How many more hymns must we sing before the miners cough up their lungs to listen? 🤷

The Leaking Lifeboat Named “Solution”

Hark: Stratum v2 comes riding a tin steed, promising every grunt a vote over which transactions to cram, or spare, in the boxcar. Non-custodial pools sparkle like affordable moonshine-potent, portable, still damned scarce. Switch, leap, hop, shout! Yet most sleepy diggers cling to their masters’ coat-tails like scabs sleeping under chandeliers of watts. Alas, the bureaucrat who files “Urgent” stamps hasn’t purchased enough ink.

So the locomotive coughs. A warning, not a death rattle, the pamphleteers insist-while the coin, that $113 864 golden calf, twitches upward, as if death spasms were bullish.

Comrade, Don’t Miss a Single Drop of Digital Kvass!

Obey the Telegram whistles, swallow the expert borscht, gulp volatility like moonlit vodka. The circus is forever.

Proletarian FAQ-Remember, No Refunds

Has this horror flick played before?

Indeed: 2014 saw the villain hit 50 %, then blush and step back after villagers pelted him with virtual turnips.

Can we duct-tape the locomotive today?

Do lecture the miners on Stratum v2, golden parachutes of quick-switch, and non-custodial samovars. A pamphlet may convince the deaf kettle.

Shall the black-hat barons counterfeit Satoshi?

They can never mint fresh coins or empty the proles’ encrypted burlap; however, they can rub yesterday’s letters off the slate and replace them with lies written in cheap chalk.

End transmission. Blow your nose with unpaid hopes and wait for the whistle.

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2025-08-21 12:30