This is me
In 2024, our founder received a JPEG of a rock for their birthday. Not even a high-res one. It was 144p, slightly blurry, and had a watermark on it. It was the worst gift they'd ever received — and somehow, the best business idea they'd ever had. "What if," they whispered into the void, "I charged people money for pictures of rocks?"
The original pitch deck was a napkin that just said "NFTs are dead but what if we sold pictures of rocks without the blockchain part." Investors hung up. Our mum sent €20 via PayPal anyway. That's venture capital, baby. We used it to pay for the domain name and a stock photo subscription. The stock photos are where the magic happens.
Let's be clear: you are not getting a rock. You are getting a digital image of a rock. Our expert geologist-slash-graphic-designer (a guy named Dave who has Photoshop and zero qualifications) hand-curates every image based on vibes, pixel quality, and whether the rock looks like it has a face. If it has a face, it costs more. That's just economics.
In a world full of high-maintenance pets that need "food" and "love" and "veterinary care," we offer something revolutionary: a JPEG. It doesn't bark. It doesn't shed. It doesn't need feeding. You can't even accidentally sit on it. It exists purely on a screen, silently judging you for spending actual money on a picture of a rock. You're welcome.
*They are pictures of rocks. All of these things are technically true.
Our team consists of one person doing everything, a JPEG of a rock named Gerald who serves as emotional support, and an unreliable Wi-Fi connection. We operate out of a bedroom that we call "headquarters" on the invoices. Our entire product inventory fits in a 2MB folder on the desktop. Silicon Valley wishes they had our overhead costs.