If you thought things were finally calming down, bad news: just weeks post-hack, on August 13, 2024, it emerged that Nischal transferred—nay, yeeted—100% ownership of Shinjuku FZC LLC (one of those crypto holding companies with a name that sounds like sushi and a Bond villain’s lair) to his wife, Moujhari Guha. Not 10%, not 50%, but the whole enchilada. 🍣🕶️
Judge Torres, with the solemnity of a railway ticket inspector, announced: “Gentlemen, the locomotive of The Law chugs along. If the tracks haven’t changed, why should my train?” She reminded both legal warriors that no matter how much they tip their wigs or shine their boots, public judgments aren’t effaced by private nods. If Ripple and the SEC wish for peace, either they must drop their theater of appeals, or keep dancing through the corridors of bureaucracy.
Despite its brief nap, Dogwifhat remains awake in the market, with trading volume plodding along quite healthily. This means that plenty of people are still keen—either to get rich or to have an excellent cocktail party story about their animated hat dog obsession.
The scam, called “pig butchering” (don’t worry, no bacon involved), is where tricksters feed you sweet nothings, fatten you up on fake romance, and then—CHOP!—your investments vanish. All the while the bank’s fraud detectors seemed to be taking a very, very long nap. Zidell shipped off 43 wire transfers totaling $20 million, which is either devotion or the most expensive online dating subscription in history. The complaint claims Citibank didn’t even try to chase down the dastardly crypto villains.
Yadav’s journey into the hall of fame for ill-conceived life choices began on Facebook, when a “Priya Sharma” slid into his DMs. Only, Priya was about as real as the free vacation giveaways in your spam folder, and twice as dangerous. Facebook begat WhatsApp begat Telegram, each platform more “secret” than the last (because nothing says “secured info” like passing it around messaging apps with more leaks than an old teabag).
Krak, a symbol of impatience with the sleepy, dust-laden habits of financial tradition, melts crypto’s urgent spark into the rusted machinery of global banks. Imagine sending wealth far and wide—110 countries, the press release says in a fevered whisper—across 300 conjured shapes of value, all without the cryptic rituals of bank codes or wallet numbers. The messenger is free. The metaphorical babushka is impressed. 👵
SHIB dropped 0.76% since yesterday, or as your uncle calls it, “still not enough to be worth anything at Thanksgiving.”
Not so long ago, XRP slumbered in the fields of indifference, its price listless, almost as if yearning for the stolid comfort of rural obscurity. And yet, from the lowly dirt between $1.92 and $1.95—a support as vital as fresh vodka on a winter’s evening—it roused itself fiercely. This revival, as is the custom in our restless era, was not due to any nobility of purpose, but because the mighty Bitcoin and Ethereum had, with the petulance of generals outflanking one another, abruptly decided the battle would go their way, dragging along their lesser comrades for the ride.
Those who peer into the glowing abyss of market charts whisper: Bitcoin has found new life, climbing from $103,500 with the mania of a St. Petersburg society woman seeking gossip. The price crashed past $104,200, $105,500—each a checkpoint on a somber march towards fulfillment or ruin.
With a flourish on X (the social network formerly known as “not really Twitter anymore”), Trader Tardigrade observed that the recent Doji smacks suspiciously of a plot twist: could this be the moment Dogecoin’s fortunes rise, phoenix-like, from a sea of investor regret? The analyst suggests a reversal is possible, as if the price now yearns for the sweet, giddy heights it once knew—preferably somewhere in the vicinity of that mythical $0.2 mark, beloved by the optimistic and the overly caffeinated.