No names. No credit. No hype.
Just real people taking care of real people.
Pull up a chair. You're among friends here.
On May 22nd, 2015, I found a friend moments after she passed. I watched her body try to hold on to something that was already gone. She was a Marine Corps veteran who was seeking care and fighting hard. She had chosen me as her safe place — not a partner, but a big brother. Someone who would always be there. She was moving into my home that day. I was on my way to get her when it happened. She had once told me I was more useful to her than the suicide hotline. I carried that responsibility for years. She was a mutual friend — connected to my closest friend and his wife, loved by all of us, lost by all of us. They are still together today. They have a family. We all carry what that day left behind. Just months later, through a connection I still can't fully explain, I learned she had told her therapist about me. About the person who showed up. The world closed that loop faster than I ever expected. I received the closure I didn't know I needed — the knowledge that she knew she was loved.
I called people I believed would be there. They weren't. After that, I stopped calling. I stopped looking. I told myself nobody would care enough to show up. I should not have believed that. But I did. And I carried it for years.
By 2025, I weighed 252 pounds. I was drinking. I was coming home to a little girl who wanted to hug her dad — and I was too far inside myself to meet her there.
Somewhere in the crypto space, I came across a token. The image was a monk. Grateful for sunshine. Just a small, simple figure — grateful for something as ordinary as light. And I looked at my daughter reaching for me and thought: I am not grateful for this. I am missing the most important thing in my life while it is happening right in front of me.
I pulled back from drinking — not because alcohol is the enemy, but because I had been using it to hide. Not everyone gets access to the help they need. Some people find their way to a bottle instead, and I don't say that with judgment. That was me. And looking back honestly, even that kept me here. I can't call it a failure. It was part of the path. I still have an occasional drink with my wife or a friend. That was never the point. The point is I stopped using it to disappear.
I came home from the Corps at 200 pounds. I let myself get to 252. I found my way back to 182 — not through a program, not with help, but because I looked at my daughter and decided to show up. That's the whole story.
And then something else happened.
I had never been a religious person. The people in my life who stood behind the Bible had caused some of my deepest pain. I kept God at a distance — until I couldn't anymore. There came a moment that felt less like a choice and more like the floor giving way. I dropped to my knees on a Sunday and asked God to let me hear from Pamela.
The next day I went to work. A refinishing job for a customer. I walked through her living room for two days, head down, not noticing what was around me. On the second day she showed me her family's heritage of Bibles — passed down through generations, kept in a chest her father built with his own hands. I asked if she had one she no longer needed. She opened that chest. Right on top was a Bible. I opened the cover.
Inside, in handwriting from December 1997: "Dear Pam: We can't think of a greater gift for a friend than God's Word. Our prayer is that it will greatly bless your life."
My customer's name was Pamela. My baseball number was 22. Pamela left on May 22nd. I don't know what to do with that except hold it carefully and keep showing up.
Dan is not a therapist, counselor, or mental health professional. He is a person who found his way through hard times and wants to share that honestly. If what you read here resonates with something you're going through, please reach out to a professional who can actually help.
Dan is not affiliated with any of these organizations. If you are in immediate danger, please call 911.
Give A Shit ($GAS) exists because most people already do. Not the people who talk about it. The ones who quietly show up — who drive a neighbor to the hospital, who teach a skill they didn't have to teach, who stay in touch even when it's hard.
This token was built to give that instinct a vehicle. A portion of every transaction finds its way back to the community — used to onboard people who never thought crypto was for them, to help neighbors who need a hand, and to keep a public record of every dollar that moves.
No venture capital. No anonymous team. No promises without proof. Just a Marine, his brothers, and a welder who helped when he didn't have to.
The foundation is a person. His name is Dan Greenberg. He is not hiding. His life is the credential.
Royalties go back to the people. Every distribution is logged publicly. No exceptions, no fine print.
Crypto should not be gatekept. We use this token to bring real people in — starting with our own.
I see you as a warrior — strength under control, powered by a compassionate heart. I believe those are characteristics that God has forged in you through your life.
No suits. No anonymity. Four real people — a founder, two Marines, and a welder — who were already living this before there was a token.
Before the Marine Corps, there was baseball. T-ball through junior college. Dan was a pitcher — part of a team, playing a game built on trust, timing, and showing up for the person next to you. That feeling of belonging, of being part of something that moved together — he didn't know yet how rare it was.
Then came twelve years in the United States Marine Corps. And he found it again. The brotherhood. The purpose. The knowledge that the people around you would not let you fall.
He was medically separated due to shoulder injuries. And just like that, it was gone.
He has spent nearly a decade looking for it since. Not the uniform — the feeling. The community. The sense that the people around you give a shit about what happens to you.
He found the crypto space in 2019. He watched people get scammed. He got scammed himself. He watched good causes get used as cover for bad actors. He saw what happens when trust is weaponized.
And he decided to try to be something different.
"I don't know exactly what that looks like. But I know that if we walk in a particular way, we will attract the teammates we need to build whatever our imaginations can come up with."
Marine. Welder. Mechanic. Heavy equipment operator. Rock quarry hand. Bathtub refinisher. Husband to Emma. Father to Aria and Nolan. Dan didn't come from finance or tech. He came from hard work and a belief that the people around him deserved better access to what the world is building. $GAS is his answer to that. Twelve years in the Marine Corps built a man who doesn't stop when things are hard.
Master Sergeant, United States Marine Corps. Active duty. On track for 30 years of service. He doesn't need $GAS to define his purpose — he already has one. But he believes in Dan, he believes in this community, and that's enough. If you want to understand what "give a shit" means as a way of life, look at Mike Adams.
Marine. Deployed to Afghanistan alongside Dan from July 2011 to July 2012. Every one of their Marines came home. They came back to a world that kept moving, and life pulled them apart in ways neither of them chose. Grief has a way of creating distance between the people who share it — but it never erased the bond. He's still here. Still reaching out. Still showing up. That's who he is. And that's what this project is built on.
Welder. Husband. Father. Met Dan online and showed up with knowledge he didn't have to share and time he didn't have to give. He helped Dan through welding school because that's just who he is. His whole family is invested in $GAS — not because they had to be, but because they trust Dan. That kind of trust isn't given. It's earned.
"You always made yourself available for the Marines whether it was on duty or off to ensure they were taken care of. It never failed — if someone had a question, you always had the answer."
"Your steadfast dedication and devotion to them will never fall short. They will never forget what most people fall short at."
"He's a great driver and a great American." · "A gentleman and friendly." · "Disciplined and respectful." · "Raddest Lyft yet."
"Strength under control, powered by a compassionate heart. Characteristics that God has forged in you through your life."
Platoon Honorman — PFC Daniel J. Greenberg
Marine Corps Association · Outstanding Performance in Recruit Training
Awarded by the Secretary of the Navy
5th Marine Regiment · March 2014
Hundreds of rides. Perfect marks across every category. Strangers trusted him. Consistently.
Dan da man. · Raddest Lyft yet. · A great American. · Disciplined and respectful. · Easy to talk to and great conversation.
Not financial advice. $GAS is a cryptocurrency token. Crypto markets are highly volatile. You may lose all money invested. Dan Greenberg is not a financial advisor, investment professional, or licensed broker. Nothing on this website constitutes financial advice or an investment recommendation. Always do your own research and consult a qualified financial professional before making any investment decisions.
Available on Pump.fun. No complicated wallets required to start. We'll help you get there if you're new to crypto — that's the whole point.
A portion of every transaction generates royalties that flow back into the community fund. Transparent. On-chain. Verifiable.
Members nominate neighbors, friends, and family who need a hand. The community has a voice. Dan and the team act on it.
Every distribution is logged publicly on this site. Who was helped. What it did. No exceptions. No fine print. Just proof.
This floor belongs to everyone. Submit a talking point — a topic you want explored, a story you're willing to share, a question you want answered. Dan will address them on streams and podcasts. But so might you. With any luck, this becomes a place where real people stand up and help other real people. We read everything.
Every dollar that leaves this community goes on record. Who it helped. What it did. No exceptions. Accountability by design.
The first entry will be made when the first distribution happens.
Watch this space. It will not be empty long.
Know someone in your community who needs a hand? This isn't charity. This is your community taking care of its own. Submit a nomination and the team will follow up.
Then you're already one of us. Come find the community. Buy the token. Bring someone new in.
From the dirt to the stars — every nail, every stitch —
this world was built by hearts that give a shit.