This Is Why Bitcoin Is Laughing At The Fed And Flirting With $100K 😂💰

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Consider, dear reader, the ever-alluring ballet of billions unfolding in the world’s grandest casino, that lush, lassoed continent of cash named Bitcoin. At its orchestra pit, not—oh, not!—the solemn Jerome Powell, whose hands flutter dutifully above empty levers in the central bank’s gilded oubliette, but rather, the cunning Treasury Maestro, that wizardly conjurer presently disguised as Scott Bessent, having seized the wand from the dearly departed Janet (“Janet the Reverse Repo Reaper!”) Yellen. Exit Powell left, enter the true impresario twirling on strings of liquidity, flinging Treasury bills like ticker-tape at a championship parade.

With the wit of a jaded croupier, Arthur Hayes, part Machiavelli, part meme-lord, instructs us to disregard the fedora-wearing Fed chair—“Pay him no mind; he is merely a cardboard cutout propped for tradition’s sake!”—and instead, delight in parsing every stuttering cadence, every strategic comma, bursting forth from the draconian prose of the Treasury’s refunding announcements. Literal table-turning, he quips; the spreadsheet is the stage, the numbers the dance. đŸ©°

The tale has its genesis, as all things these days must, in the muggy quarters of 2022. There, Yellen spied a sum so vast it could have purchased entire Mediterranean republics—two and a half trillion dollars!—lounging, indolent, within the Fed’s reverse repo spa. “No more vacations!” cried she, redirecting those wayward trillions into short-dated T-bills, and thus, with a philatelist’s flick of policy, sprayed fresh liquidity across every risk trough: stocks, bonds, bullion, and—of course—the hyperventilating lungs of crypto. Powell’s part? A cameo in the footnotes. “Can you believe,” Hayes sighed, “we fret about him, blue in suit, vacant in impact, as regimes rise and fall?”

Bessent, the new bard in the Treasury’s theater, confidently waves the divine right to conduct buybacks. Oh, the buybacks! Such gadgets—by Hayes’s assessment, a veritable utility belt of market mischief, allowing him to mop up supply shocks with all the subtlety of a Houdini escape act—while our dear Powell remains backstage, contemplating stale data with the enthusiasm of a librarian at a foam party. đŸ”„

A Most Peculiar Metaphysics — Bitcoin’s Macro Tune

In the labyrinth of theories, Hayes leads us to a single, shining exit: fiat in, prices up; fiat out, the sobbing of bagholders. “Ceteris paribus, if the world wakes with more dollars than it did the day before, our darling Bitcoin flourishes.” To debate price stability or the DXY is, one suspects, like quarrelling over the precise hue of Titanic deck chairs.

Hence, the vision thing: seven digits, a million per coin, before the end of 2028. “Round numbers for round-headed mammals!” Hayes exclaims, perhaps munching a crayon as he speaks, anchoring his forecast not in prophecy, but in the caboose-fire that is US fiscal management. Social Security, Medicare, war toys—all paid via blancmange-spread borrowing needs, juicy and endless.

Portfolio? Oh, a symphony of speculation: 60-65% Bitcoin, the safe harbor of lunatics; 20% the inevitable, solemnizing Ether; and the rest, a handful (literally: one could fit them in a child’s palm) of what he dubs, with literary charity, “quality shitcoins”. Pendle, EtherFi, Ethena—standing apart from carnival barkers by providing an actual product, not just vaporous slogans.

The dance of capital into altcoins, meanwhile, must await Bitcoin’s ascension above 70% dominance—one must, after all, let the big whale breach before the minnows may frolic. Perhaps at $110,000. Perhaps at $150,000. In any case, nobody’s waiting for Powell.

And what of geopolitics? Hayes scoffs at the US–China tariff melodrama, foreseeing little more than face-saving Kabuki. The United States shall, of course, continue buying Chinese gizmos via every shadowy detour imaginable; capital controls may soon dress as tariffs, though only to spare voters the indignity of spending less.

Thus, the dollar weakens not by decree, but by slow, delicious neglect. “Fewer foreign goods sold for dollars, fewer foreign dollars stuffed into our markets; and thus, the greenback fades, like an old banker’s hairline,” Hayes remarks, before daydreaming of a Bitcoin bid eternally renewed.

As the digital ticker flashed, BTC lounged in its splendiferous torpor at $98,827. One could almost hear Powell, a faint rasp from a forgotten hallway, asking plaintively, “Does anyone still need me?” Not today, Jerome. Not today. đŸ„Č💾

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2025-05-08 16:50