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Over the weekend, our dear cryptocurrency made a valiant attempt to rise above its station. Success, alas, proved as fleeting as sincerity at a debutante ball. Today, it nearly caressed the rarefied air of $109,000, only to be reminded by the market’s disapproving aunts—who, in this case, resemble bearish sellers—that one must never aspire above one’s place (unless armed with far more liquidity).

Crypto, you see, never clocks out. It’s a bit like Las Vegas, if every casino only exchanged obscure assets and everyone wore pajamas. So, if the price does strange things over the weekend, blame low trading volume and perhaps too many mimosa-fueled decisions.

CNBC called, eager for prophecy. Ed obliged, speaking with the steady patience of a man well-acquainted with both overcooked optimism and fried pessimism.

Brad Garlinghouse, CEO and protagonist for our age, raised his metaphorical vodka glass on June 27, announcing that Ripple would forgo contesting the court’s 2023 pronouncement—that those shadowy institutional XRP sales were, alas, securities transactions after all. Poor Brad. One imagines him contemplating the abyss of regulatory caprice, quietly whispering, “Am I guilty, or is it the law itself that is mad?”

This week, Bhandari—clearly spending too much time on Twitter—penned an article for India Today, fawning over US attempts to stash Bitcoin like it’s the last packet of Parle-G during exam week. Americans are already “expanding holdings” without raiding taxpayers’ wallets, he says. (Take notes, Rishi Sunak—oh wait, wrong country.)

“Crypto’s ruled by sentiment,” Tischhauser proclaims—because, let’s face it, trying to apply solid fundamentals in cryptoland is like bringing a teapot to a sword fight. The double top formation might look ominous, but unless a big and unexpected surprise turns up, bulls will likely keep mooing. Or roaring. Or… well, you get the idea.

The new target, fashionably late compared to the impatient flick of President Trump’s wrist, trailed behind the August deadline like an underachieving stablecoin. We might chuckle, because in Washington, schedules bend like birch trees under sudden storms—sometimes the wind is just hot air from the latest press release. Even Senator Cynthia Lummis, erstwhile prophetess of “end of year,” crumpled her calendar in the face of Scott’s chairmanship. “‘Yes, sir. You’re the chairman; we’ll do as you wish.’” Could compliance sound any more poetic, or is it just the echo of bureaucracy’s resigned sigh?

Forty-two new amusements now jostle in Cloudbet’s crypto-laden garden: crash games, slots, tables, bingo—a tapestry of hope and despair, with the user’s luck as ephemeral as the value of Solana on a bad day. Gamblers may deploy their BTC, ETH, BNB, USDT, or whatever alphabet soup tickles their fancy—forty coins, forty keys to the same gilded shackles. Who says choice isn’t a prison?

XRP seems determined to stay stuck inside its stylish triangle (déjà vu, anyone?), desperately trying to keep up appearances while sellers squeeze it tighter than a fiver at a charity fundraiser. Every bounce off that support level is more drawn out than a polite conversation at the Savoy after one too many martinis.