Seemingly every week, we are bombarded with GoFundMe links from you idiots.
“Hey man, big fan of the site, we are hosting a sorority bakeoff to benefit kids with hemophilia, any support helps.”
“Bro, love your shit, my boy broke his foot in Cancun jumping off a balcony into a palm tree while high on whippits, help us out.”
“Our frat hound got his foot caught in a bear trap and we need to raise enough money for a shotgun so we can put him out of his misery. Article worthy?”
Usually we ignore them (unless it’s something like this) because we aren’t y’alls personal GoFundMe booster and we don’t want to anger our fans by repeatedly asking for their money. But this? This is definitely worth covering even though we don’t care whether or not you donate to this guy’s cause (of needing a pool table to impress a hottie). It’s stupid and four months old at this point — in which time he’s raised $26 from 2 people — so he doesn’t deserve anything from anyone due to his lack of hustle. But you should still read it.
Above is the actual link, but I’m not good with technology, so below is the campaign description. Thank you for your support.
Here is the breakdown:
My name is Beau. I’m 6 ft 2, lean build, average face, plus personality, 26 years old. If you donate I’ll share more.
I recently purchased my first home. It was an older home that needed renovation. So, I renovated it. That should make sense. All of my wealth acquired in the previous three years–Medical sales, Uber XL, Pai Gow, petty theft, pick-up basketball, parents divorce, railroad bonds, etc–have went into this home. I am extremely happy with how it turned out. I put meticulous detail into the minutia, even putting in a few late nights with my guy Ramon hanging drywall. It turned out great, and I’ve been happy, for the most part. I’m realizing now it wasn’t quite enough…
Here’s what happened and what has led me to this crowd funding avenue. It went down like this:
I just left my fourth haircut of the week. I was headed home. The stylist told me she would come check out the house. I had played it cool and made it back to my place of residence. She would be over in about half an hour. I hastily swept the floors, wiped the counters, turned the TV to Oxygen Channel, repped out some pushups to fluff, and then strategically placed my E-Trade statement envelope open on the island, just so she would know…
So, she shows up. I offer her a beverage. Declines. I begin the tour. Start in the kitchen, where I note the Italian quartz countertops, 3cm thick. She tells me they’re nice, and checks her watch. I run my hand across the stainless steel kitchen appliances, let her know they were Kenmore Elite, not just Kenmore. She says, “cool”. I start to get flustered. I show her the furniture, nerviously fumble over some product features like “stain-resistant” and “5 year warranty”. She’s looking at her phone. Instinctively I yell “$4800 couch loveseat combo!” She looks up from her phone, because I yelled, and appeases me with a smile. Now I’m more nervous. I’m sweating. I start walking around the house pointing at things and yelling, hoping something sticks.
“5 AND A QUARTER INCH BASEBOARDS!”
“RECYCLE GOES OUT ON THURSDAY!”
Nothing. It hurt.
That’s how that went. She smiled, gave me a guarded hug, and left to get back to work. I was dejected. I stood in the dining room area, which was empty, when I realized what was missing. It was the pool table. That’s all that it was, all that was keeping us from being Facebook official. If I would have had a nice Brunnswick table, in the open area adjacent the kitchen, this is how the previous interaction would have went down:
She arrives. I’m drinking a Bud Heavy, watching Rambo in the living room. I say, “sup?” She glances around open living room/kitchen/dining room lay out, taking it in. She sees pool table, then takes notice of fine Italian Quartz counterops and stainless steel appliances. She asks if they are Kenmore Elite? I nod, and wink. I walk to pool table area. She follows. I crush my beer and hand her the bottle. She disposes as I rack the pool balls. She walks to wall behind pool table, grabbing a pool stick. Before handing to me, she leans over table, cleavage in play, and says “nice stick.” We make out, probably on the pool table, and two weeks later she is Bae and we’re dating.
Now you know what is missing. Now you know what I need.
I need a nice pool table, regulation pool-hall size, and you know why. I’m a little short on cash, because fine Italian Quartz costs a lot. Please, help me, so I can start dating/ the hot Baton Rouge hair stylist.
Help spread the word!
You know what? Fuck it. You made me laugh. Take my money.
If he made you laugh too, donate here..
Image via Shutterstock