Fluffy didn't ask to exist. He just appeared one day, covered in fluff, holding a wallet he doesn't understand, aping into things he can't explain.
3,000 of these deranged little creatures are hitting Ethereum. Each one more unhinged than the last. No roadmap. No utility. Just a deeply confused NFT who thinks he's going to make it.
Spoiler: some of them will. Most won't. That's the lore.
Dr. Fluffy cooked up a potion at 3am. He called it "the whitelist." Nobody knows what's in it. Smells like free mints and regret.
Whitelist frens drink for FREE (+ gas, obviously, this is Ethereum, we're not animals).
Public frens pay 0.001 ETH. That's less than your morning coffee. You spent more on a rugpull last week.
3,000 supply. When it's gone it's gone. Fluffy will not be making more. He's tired.
the art is fluffy. the chain is Ethereum. the metadata is on-chain so even when everything else rugs, your little guy survives.
ERC-721. 3K supply. each Fluffy is a different flavour of unwell. some are rich. some are cooked. all of them are ngmi in their own special way.
dev doesn't dm. dev doesn't shill. dev just ships and disappears into the mempool like tears in the rain. culture > everything. fluffy > all.
THINK YOU'RE FLUFFY ENOUGH TO MAKE IT?
3,000 spots. free for the chosen. 0.001Ξ for the rest. fluffy is watching.