From who???
Exhibit A
XMR, Money Robel, is undeniably my creation. Think about it—it’s literally Mone-Ro, and my name is Robel Yitbarek. Break it down: Mone(yitbarek) Ro(bel). It’s like X marks the spot where Money Robel is XMR .
Maybe it’s just a story, but it kind of makes sense, so I’m running with it. If Craig Wright can claim to be Satoshi, why can’t I?
After 18 years, what kids are y’all saving? Was it necessary to keep me broke? How would me receiving my money stop you from saving the kids? Do I need to be broke and begging for you to care about saving them? My family is literally living in a fourth-world condition. I don’t care anymore.
I genuinely hope you all burn in hellfire—hopefully, whatever lie y’all agreed on saves your souls. I’d sell my soul if it meant you all would suffer too.
I was unaware of the requirements and regulations surrounding copyright protections for art. I didn’t know a degree was mandatory, nor that conforming to certain expectations was the price of receiving what you’ve earned.
I want nothing to do with those criminal business partners, except to reclaim what is rightfully mine. I made it clear 18 years ago that I find them reprehensible. The one thing I loathe most in this world is any attempt to enslave or control me. I am neither your pet nor your friend—stay away from me.
I have no problem cutting off those who seek to enslave or impoverish me. In fact, I’m eager to rid myself of such toxic influences.
I was born and raised in a small village in a small country—one they call “Third World” or the “North Korea of Africa.” My real family? They’re still stuck in that desperate situation.
For 18 years, I held on—for the children, for their chance to be saved. But I don’t care anymore.
While y’all grew up in mansions, I came up from the real dirt. And instead of giving me even pocket change, you keep me poor. You’ve got me working six out of seven days just to make ends meet, while my family still lives in a so-called “Third World” country.
Make it make sense. Honestly, I’d like for all of you to take your own. Fair is fair.
I was born and raised in a small village in a small country—one they call “Third World” or the “North Korea of Africa.” My real family? They’re still stuck in that desperate situation.
For 18 years, I held on—for the children, for their chance to be saved. But I don’t care anymore.
While y’all grew up in mansions, I came up from the real dirt. And instead of giving me even pocket change, you keep me poor. You’ve got me working six out of seven days just to make ends meet, while my family still lives in a so-called “Third World” country.
Make it make sense. Honestly, I’d like for all of you to take your own. Fair is fair.
Yes, I’ve already reached out to family, but either they have no idea, or they’re working with the thieves. They want me gone, and the rest are eager to profit from my demise. I hope the same fate they’ve been steering me toward finds them—and their children.
Apple is shit