The bear market is a dumpster fire, and we’re stuck at the McDonald’s fry station—greasy aprons, $2 an hour, portfolios drowning in red. We’re all just trying to survive the shift, no bull market, no Lambos—just high calories and crispy fries.

Born in the McDonald’s kitchen, built for the broke hustlers, $FRIES stands for every brother flipping fries in the fryer, cooking in the ruins of shattered dreams. No VC backing, no moon life—just greasy hands pulling fries from the vat, eyes locked on a chart that won’t stop tanking. We’re not mooning anytime soon, but we’ve got enough fries and a crew of degens who get the pain.