🍽️ Solo Feast Doctrine – Part 2: The Warning Was the Winter

18 Jun, 2025

You laughed. You danced. You chirped your little song like preparation was a joke— Like those of us grinding were paranoid ants too busy stacking to live.

Now?

I’m feasting. And you’re the grasshopper, iced out in the snow, mouth open, belly empty, soul cracked like frozen dirt.

I warned you. I didn’t just grind in silence—I clacked my pincers, built the fortress, and lit the stove where you could see it.

“Better stack while the sun’s out.” “Better hustle before winter shows its teeth.”

But no—you were too busy “clucking off,” wasting time, burning bridges, mocking the ones you’d later beg.

And now? The doors are shut. The stew is boiling. And your sob story? Can’t warm shit.

You weren’t exiled. You just didn’t bring anything worth sheltering.

So yeah—I’m dolo. But I’m warm. I’m fed. And I didn’t need a damn violin to get here.

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