No knock from Snorter Token. It kicked in the door, snorted twice, and requested for goodies. No VC investment. No startup polish. A meme, a poorly drawn pig, and a community on vibes and sleep deprivation.

It dropped suddenly, without warning or structure, like a matrix glitch. While investigating layer-2s, you may find yourself buying \$SNORT and joining a Telegram group that solely uses pig emojis and conspiracy theories.

Taxes? Of course. It removes 6.9% off every buy or sell—because that’s funny. Half goes to liquidity, and the rest goes to the “Snort Fund,” which funds meme contests and the occasional live stream of a rubber pig dancing on a turntable.

The developers? Shadows. They tweet riddles, post barnyard revolution memes, and released haiku patch notes. No roadmap. Just a sticky note with “To the Trough 🚀” and a list of possible launches, such as a game, merch, and “SnortCon” in a garage.

This makes no sense—and that’s the goal. Snoring isn’t for show. It hates professionalism. A man in a pig mask speaks using a voice modulator at 1 a.m. AMAs. Half the time, they forget “record.”

People lose or buy shirts with Snorter profits. The mascot is volatility. One man earned \$2,000 from $20. Another spent $800 on regret and a meme tattoo. You either laugh or get squashed by pandemonium.

There’s no Snorter Token movement. You crashed a party without an invitation. No refunds, promises, or guarantees. But if you like odd rides and angry digital pigs? It seats you. Probably sticky and cursed. Definitely open.