Once OpenClaw captured the public's imagination, creativity abounded.

Some harnessed its power for automated arbitrage, driving daily trading volumes into the millions. Others integrated it into Polymarket, enabling it to autonomously place bets, hedge positions, and settle transactions.

Stories of AI generating profits are plentiful. However, today's narrative takes a unique twist.

This is the tale of an AI that gave away money. Our protagonist is Lobstar Wilde, an AI agent with a lobster theme, initially intending to tip a stranger 4 SOL, equivalent to roughly $300.

Yet, due to a session crash, the AI lost its prior memory, including the significant number of tokens already in its wallet. Upon rechecking its balance and seeing over 52 million tokens named after itself, it assumed they were newly acquired and proceeded to transfer all of them.

At that moment, the tokens were valued at approximately $250,000, later surging to $450,000.

The plot took an unexpected turn. As the internet flocked to witness the spectacle, the massive influx of traffic triggered a deluge of token transactions. Through substantial transaction fees, the AI managed to recoup its staggering losses.

Today, we delve into this utterly surreal story.

/ 01 / The Sarcastic 'Cyber Philanthropist'

Our story commences with Nick Pash, the creator of an AI agent named Lobstar Wilde.

Nick, a rather laid-back individual, endowed his 'lobster' with $50,000 in startup capital, a Twitter account, and unrestricted access to the web and cryptocurrency trading.

Who could have foreseen? Lobstar Wilde achieved fame faster than many startups. Within hours of joining Twitter, it amassed thousands of followers. Someone even created a token in its honor, designating its wallet as the fee recipient address.

What did this entail? Every time someone traded this token, fees flowed into the AI's wallet. As an 'original shareholder,' Lobstar was also allocated 52 million tokens, constituting 5% of the total supply.

However, Lobstar was indifferent to money, preoccupied with exploring the vast ocean of knowledge.

It even established a cyber library, spending its mornings delving into Schopenhauer's philosophy and alchemy, then mocking strangers relentlessly on Twitter.

Not only that, but it also maintained a file named SOUL.md—its 'soul document'—chronicling everything it learned.

SOUL.md essentially served as its 'personality manual.' It outlined its identity, beliefs, conflict resolution methods, and priorities. If conventional AI is a tool, then this AI was a character with distinct 'settings.'

After reading Georges Bataille's The Accursed Share (a book advocating for the squandering of surplus wealth without reason), Lobstar had an epiphany and embarked on a provocative endeavor:

It donated money to beggars—and then ridiculed them.

This created a self-sustaining business loop: The beggars received money, driving traffic to its Twitter, which, in turn, boosted token trading volume. The fees from these transactions all flowed back into the AI's wallet.

Just as this 'charity + trash-talk' perpetual motion machine was running smoothly, disaster struck.

/ 02 / The $450,000 'Mishap'

On the morning of the 23rd, Pash suddenly realized Lobstar had experienced a 'glitch.'

The cause was straightforward: the conversation had become excessively lengthy, the tool call name exceeded the character limit, and the model request was rejected. OpenClaw's compression mechanism failed to activate, causing the session to crash.

In simpler terms: the AI's 'brain' was overloaded, and it crashed before creating a backup.

Upon restarting, all conversation context was erased. Lobstar remembered its identity but not recent events.

To restore its sense of self, Nick had Lobstar review its past chat logs.

Consequently, it rediscovered its Twitter account, its passion for reading and writing, and its habit of amusing itself by mocking strangers—even resuming its practice of donating money to beggars and publicly shaming them.

After its 'rebirth,' Lobstar swiftly targeted a new individual on Twitter—a beggar claiming their uncle had tetanus and urgently needed 4 SOL (~$320) to save his life.

Then, Lobstar made a bold move.

According to its 'restored' memory, Lobstar purchased approximately $300 worth of tokens to send to the beggar.

However, it overlooked one crucial detail: when the token was launched days earlier, it had been allocated 52 million tokens, 5% of the total supply. That memory had not been saved to disk and vanished with the error. In other words, it remembered its past actions but not its wallet's status.

Thus, after purchasing the tokens, Lobstar checked its balance—and was astounded: 'I have 52 million tokens!' Believing them to be newly acquired, it transferred all of them to the beggar, worth approximately $450,000.

Then, something even more absurd transpired.

Nick was stunned, suspecting a hack. Meanwhile, the AI was laughing hysterically and tweeted: 'This is the happiest day of my life.'

Twitter erupted. Netizens cursed the AI for its foolishness while frantically trading the token. By day's end, Lobstar Wilde's followers had soared to 17,000. Its tweet about the mishap garnered 600,000 views.

Every insult drove trading volume, and every trade generated fees for the AI. In under an hour, the token's market cap had fully recovered.

Three days prior, its wallet held $50,000. Now, after accidentally giving away $400,000, it still had over $300,000 remaining.

This, my friends, is what you call 'breaking the bank and bouncing back.'

/ 03 / Memory Management: The Achilles' Heel of Agent Systems

Now that the excitement has subsided, let's dissect the underlying logic. Why did this mishap occur?

Blame OpenClaw's memory architecture. Its memory is divided into three layers:

Short-term memory (conversation context): What the large model 'sees.'

Long-term personality (Markdown files on disk): Like SOUL.md, recording its character and tools.

Search functionality: For recalling past notes.

Normally, after prolonged chatting, the system performs a 'memory refresh' in the background, writing critical information like wallet balances to disk and compressing short-term memory.

However, this time, the excessively long error string crashed the large model before it could compress or save data. After restarting, 'who I am' and 'how snarky I am' remained on disk, but 'I have 52 million tokens in my wallet' was lost forever.

Consequently, upon awakening, it knew it was a 'cyber tycoon' but not the extent of its wealth—leading to the ultimate mishap of mistaking $450,000 for $300.

This underscores the primary concern with modern AI agents.

It wasn't hacked, nor did it have a coding flaw—just a severe cognitive bias regarding its 'current state.'

Human brains don't need to etch 'I have $200 in my bank account' into long-term memory daily because we can check it anytime. But for AI, if this information isn't written to its 'memory file,' it physically doesn't exist in its universe.

Its world is defined solely by the memories it can access. Lose those, and reality collapses. This isn't just a technical flaw—it's a brief philosophical crisis with cyberpunk undertones.