Once billed as “the most fun place on the internet” by its three Gen-Z founders, Pump.fun is now a case study in how quickly hype can curdle into crisis.

Act I – The Spark: A Betrayal in Plain Sight
In July 2025 Pump.fun announced its own token, PUMP, at a fully-diluted valuation of $4 billion.
The problem? The team had built its brand on the slogan “every pre-sale is a scam.”
When the same team launched a massive pre-sale for PUMP, the community called it betrayal.
IOSG Ventures founder Jocy labelled it a textbook “exit-liquidity event.”
Within hours of listing, PUMP crashed 75 %, then slid another 30 % to $0.0024—well below the public-sale price of $0.004.
Chain data shows 340 whale wallets—holding >60 % of the pre-sale—dumped in lockstep.
Two wallets alone cashed out $141 m worth of tokens, booking $40 m in profit.
Twitter timelines flipped from euphoria to eulogy: “We thought this was our ticket out; instead we paid for their yacht party.”

Act II – Market Share Bleeds, Competitors Feast
Trust evaporated and the metrics followed.
In a single month Pump.fun’s share of new Solana token launches collapsed from 90 % to 24 %, while rival LetsBONK.fun surged from 5 % to 64 %.
The difference: LetsBONK routes 58 % of revenue to buy-back-and-burn, aligning incentives with holders; Pump.fun’s model is pure centralised rake.
To stem the bleeding, the team pledged tens of millions for open-market buy-backs—then bought at a 60 % premium to the pre-sale price.
Critics jeered: “Paying retail to exit while pretending to rescue the chart.”
Revenue shrinks → buy-backs lose firepower → price drops → users flee. A textbook negative spiral.

Act III – The Legal Squeeze: From Securities to RICO
The UK’s FCA already forced Pump.fun to geoblock British users in December 2024 (9 % of traffic).
But July 2025 delivered the real hammer.
Class-action suits from Wolf Popper LLP now argue that every memecoin launched on Pump.fun is an unregistered security and that the platform is a “co-issuer.”
Amended filings in Aguilar v. Pump.fun added RICO claims—normally reserved for organised crime.
Defendants now include Solana Foundation, Solana Labs, and its co-founders, branded “architects, beneficiaries and co-conspirators.”
The most explosive count: North Korea’s Lazarus Group allegedly laundered Bybit-hack proceeds through Pump.fun memecoins.
If proven, the case could redraw the liability map for every L1 ecosystem.

Inside Job: When the Enemy Wears the Hoodie
Security wasn’t just external.
On 16 May 2024 a disgruntled ex-employee, “Stacc”, drained $1.9 m through privileged withdrawal rights.
He live-tweeted the exploit, citing “revenge” against “horrible bosses.”
Forensics show the attack used flash-loans to corner token supplies and siphon initial liquidity—a backdoor left open by poor internal governance.
The irony: a platform marketed as “anti-rug” couldn’t stop an inside job.

From Rug-Proof to Rug-Maker
Pump.fun’s origin story is now its indictment.
In January 2024 three 21-year-olds—Noah Tweedale, Dylan Kerler, Alon Cohen—promised to “make memecoins safe.”
Their one-click launcher lowered the barrier from thousands of dollars and dev skills to a few dollars and two clicks.
It worked—until the same tool amplified speculation to absurdity.
A $4 bn pre-sale at the peak of memecoin mania was the logical, lethal climax.
When regulators knocked, the founders denied UK nexus, severed employment ties, and played corporate shell games.
Each pivot looked less like naïveté and more like calculated risk-shifting.

Standing at the Crossroads
Pump.fun now faces a trilemma:

1. Open litigation with RICO teeth.

2. Shrinking market share and revenue.

3. Community trust in tatters.

It is DeFi Darwinism in real time: a species that evolved for speed and virality may perish because it never developed antibodies for regulation, security, or governance.

For the wider crypto industry the question is stark: How far does the responsibility of a platform extend when innovation skirts the law?
For every degen scrolling for the next 100×, the takeaway is simpler: today, telling fun from fraud is a survival skill.

Once billed as “the most fun place on the internet” by its three Gen-Z founders, Pump.fun is now a case study in how quickly hype can curdle into crisis.

Act I – The Spark: A Betrayal in Plain Sight
In July 2025 Pump.fun announced its own token, PUMP, at a fully-diluted valuation of $4 billion.
The problem? The team had built its brand on the slogan “every pre-sale is a scam.”
When the same team launched a massive pre-sale for PUMP, the community called it betrayal.
IOSG Ventures founder Jocy labelled it a textbook “exit-liquidity event.”
Within hours of listing, PUMP crashed 75 %, then slid another 30 % to $0.0024—well below the public-sale price of $0.004.
Chain data shows 340 whale wallets—holding >60 % of the pre-sale—dumped in lockstep.
Two wallets alone cashed out $141 m worth of tokens, booking $40 m in profit.
Twitter timelines flipped from euphoria to eulogy: “We thought this was our ticket out; instead we paid for their yacht party.”

Act II – Market Share Bleeds, Competitors Feast
Trust evaporated and the metrics followed.
In a single month Pump.fun’s share of new Solana token launches collapsed from 90 % to 24 %, while rival LetsBONK.fun surged from 5 % to 64 %.
The difference: LetsBONK routes 58 % of revenue to buy-back-and-burn, aligning incentives with holders; Pump.fun’s model is pure centralised rake.
To stem the bleeding, the team pledged tens of millions for open-market buy-backs—then bought at a 60 % premium to the pre-sale price.
Critics jeered: “Paying retail to exit while pretending to rescue the chart.”
Revenue shrinks → buy-backs lose firepower → price drops → users flee. A textbook negative spiral.

Act III – The Legal Squeeze: From Securities to RICO
The UK’s FCA already forced Pump.fun to geoblock British users in December 2024 (9 % of traffic).
But July 2025 delivered the real hammer.
Class-action suits from Wolf Popper LLP now argue that every memecoin launched on Pump.fun is an unregistered security and that the platform is a “co-issuer.”
Amended filings in Aguilar v. Pump.fun added RICO claims—normally reserved for organised crime.
Defendants now include Solana Foundation, Solana Labs, and its co-founders, branded “architects, beneficiaries and co-conspirators.”
The most explosive count: North Korea’s Lazarus Group allegedly laundered Bybit-hack proceeds through Pump.fun memecoins.
If proven, the case could redraw the liability map for every L1 ecosystem.

Inside Job: When the Enemy Wears the Hoodie
Security wasn’t just external.
On 16 May 2024 a disgruntled ex-employee, “Stacc”, drained $1.9 m through privileged withdrawal rights.
He live-tweeted the exploit, citing “revenge” against “horrible bosses.”
Forensics show the attack used flash-loans to corner token supplies and siphon initial liquidity—a backdoor left open by poor internal governance.
The irony: a platform marketed as “anti-rug” couldn’t stop an inside job.

From Rug-Proof to Rug-Maker
Pump.fun’s origin story is now its indictment.
In January 2024 three 21-year-olds—Noah Tweedale, Dylan Kerler, Alon Cohen—promised to “make memecoins safe.”
Their one-click launcher lowered the barrier from thousands of dollars and dev skills to a few dollars and two clicks.
It worked—until the same tool amplified speculation to absurdity.
A $4 bn pre-sale at the peak of memecoin mania was the logical, lethal climax.
When regulators knocked, the founders denied UK nexus, severed employment ties, and played corporate shell games.
Each pivot looked less like naïveté and more like calculated risk-shifting.

Standing at the Crossroads
Pump.fun now faces a trilemma:

1. Open litigation with RICO teeth.

2. Shrinking market share and revenue.

3. Community trust in tatters.

It is DeFi Darwinism in real time: a species that evolved for speed and virality may perish because it never developed antibodies for regulation, security, or governance.

For the wider crypto industry the question is stark: How far does the responsibility of a platform extend when innovation skirts the law?
For every degen scrolling for the next 100×, the takeaway is simpler: today, telling fun from fraud is a survival skill.