The Story
Pepe stood at the edge of his crater-shaped bedroom, zipping up his oversized space suit. The visor was cracked from too many falls, and a faded Solana patch clung to the chest.
Pepe stood at the edge of his crater-shaped bedroom, zipping up his oversized space suit. The visor was cracked from too many falls, and a faded Solana patch clung to the chest.
In 2017, during a particularly volatile shitcoin season, an experimental launch protocol malfunctioned. A rare Pepe NFT—minted by a rogue Solana dev high on caffeine and copium—was mistakenly airdropped... not to a wallet, but into literal orbit.
That NFT was Moon Pepe.
He spun through the void for years, absorbing cosmic radiation, outdated memes, and occasional Elon tweets bouncing through the atmosphere. His JPEG evolved. His metadata mutated.
When he crash-landed on the lunar surface, he wasn't just a meme anymore.
He was a meme god.
Moon Pepe scraped together moon rocks, Solana coins, and busted satellite parts to build his base.
He called it: LUNATIC STATION-420.
With only a jetpack, a Solana-powered GPU, and Wi-Fi stolen from Mars, he started broadcasting.
Not to Earth. Not to humans.
To degenerates.
He whispered:
"The chart has no ceiling… only stardust."
Solana degens heard the call. $MOONPEPE began as a joke, a meme posted at 2:41 a.m. by an anon with a frog PFP and negative net worth.
But the liquidity poured in.
Telegram lit up.
X was flooded with frogs.
And Moon Pepe, from his crater command center, smirked under his reflective visor.
Moon Pepe isn't just a token.
He's a movement.
He teaches the young degens when to ape.
He flames FUDders with interstellar sarcasm.
He holds the line when others paperhand.
And above all, he keeps asking the question…
"Wen moon?"
And now—thanks to Solana—it might just be now.
Be part of the Moon Pepe movement!
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