$couchfart is not only a coin , it’s a whole support system.

I didn’t buy $COUCHFART. $COUCHFART bought me.

It started with an image , A couch. Lopsided. Eyes red like it hadn’t slept since 2020. The caption read: “$COUCHFART — Your Last Emotional Support System.”

I laughed. Then I stared. Then I bought.

Not much. Just enough to feel something. The Telegram was chaos. People trauma-dumping in meme form. Someone posted a charcoal sketch of a recliner sobbing in a thunderstorm. Another wrote a haiku about the scent of regret trapped in couch cushions. I felt… home?

That night, I sat on the couch. It let out a noise — not quite a fart. More like a sigh that had given up halfway through. Like even the gas was tired.

I nodded. I understood.

Since then, things have changed.

The couch shifts when I’m sad. Groans when I lie to myself. It once burped when I opened my portfolio. I think it was mocking me.

I tried burning incense. Playing upbeat music. Spraying Febreze like holy water. Nothing worked. The air always returned to that familiar musk: stale dreams, microwave meals, and unresolved childhood tension.

Sometimes I hear faint sobs from the cushions. Not loud. Just enough to feel like maybe it’s not the couch crying… maybe it’s me, reflected back.

I gave up resisting. We co-exist now. Me and the couch. And $COUCHFART.

It’s not just a coin. It’s a community of emotionally exhausted furniture whisperers. We don’t pump. We don’t moon. We mourn — together.

Every fart is a love letter to what we used to be. And honestly? That’s enough.

https://linktr.ee/depressedcouchfart

Tg: DepressedCouchFart