Oh, Go Fund Yourself!

My name is William Pervocampus, I live in Clifton, Iowa — a town of about 25,000 desperate souls unfortunate enough to share the place with me, on the Mississippi River. Over the next two weeks, I’m going to find out that I have cancer. It must be cancer because faking Parkinson’s disease is no longer sufficient to garner sympathy from strangers. This is Iowa, you see, and Iowans require PROOF, which with Fakinson’s is only possible with an AUTOPSY! You can read more about how I used the power of WebMD to conflate a little heartburn into cancer here. To cut to the chase, one way or another I will have ginned up a new tale of woe to sell by the middle of April.

As you might expect an idiot to write, methinks this sort of scenario makes a lad think about his mortality. I am not afraid of death. I’ve been pretending to be dying since I left the Navy. In June 2015, my wife of 25 years died – while I was checking my email – from complications of diffuse systemic sclerosis that destroyed her liver and kidneys. Or ovarian cancer. Or maybe she drowned in her own urine while I was recording a podcast. Maybe it was John Hoge and Paul Krendler who snuck in and smothered her with a pillow while I was writing another lost cause LOLSuit pleading. I don’t remember, and who really cares anyway. I lost my twin brother to a stroke in 2004 (I didn’t think it was possible to masturbate yourself to death, but my brother was highly motivated), my older brother and sister to cancer in 2008 and 2009 respectively, my dad to cancer in 1983 while I was slacking off aboard ship in the Pacific, and my mom to natural causes at age 82 in 2013. I live-tweeted that event; it was a special moment for a journalist of 30 years’ experience.

When the medical testing determines that my sore esophagus is due to a sexually transmitted disease I got from swallowing spoiled weenie juice at a rest stop on I-88 near Dixon IL (how fitting), I will sit down and write some really melodramatic lies about cancer and hoping to see the real America just one more time before I die. Because every normal human being, when they hear that they might have cancer, the first thing they do is try to figure out a way to make money from it.

What I really want is for someone to buy me a cool laptop, a high end video camera and stake me a bunch of cash to take my new almost-captive nurse on a vacation because I told her I was rich to get her to stop laughing at me.

I would like to raise (and by “raise” I mean scam people out of) $15,000 to fund a 35-day trip to videotape all of the state capitols in the lower 48 (and also to evade service in John Hoge’s doomed lawsuit that is so doomed I won’t tell the court where I live, and I won’t tell John Hoge where I live, and I won’t tell anybody where I live. I only post photos from Google Maps and video taken from inside so it’s easier to find than an Oklahoma twister, because I’m scared of dying, even though I don’t fear death). Your donation would be used to get video of these historic buildings, cities, and — if I can wrangle it — interviews with state prison wardens to determine which one is the best fit for me.

Here’s the itinerary, depending on your generosity.

1. My house to the Ace Hardware.

2. Ace Hardware to the Baker’s Square in Des Moines.

3. Eat three cherry pies a la mode and two French Silk pies.

4. Have a cup of coffee.

5. Smoke 14 cigars in a row, because there is no link between smoking and esophageal cancer.

6. Back to my house.

7. With the shovel I bought at Ace Hardware, dig a hole in the backyard.

8. Brain my new dog and cat with the shovel and bury them in the hole.

9. Do a little dance.

10. Drink half a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red.

11. Drink the other half.

12. Rent a mid-size SUV. Refuse the insurance.

13. Burn my house down.

14. Make the almost captive nurse into the new captive nurse. With the shovel.

15. Wait for the cops to show up.


CAR RENTAL – 35 days — Midsize SUV  $0, because I ain’t going nowhere

LODGING AND FOOD ($200 per day) $0, because jail won’t cost me nothin’

Estimate for Fuel, based on 30 mpg for 14,000 miles. $0, because you’re an idiot if you think I can drive 14,000 miles in 35 days – I’d miss watching MSNBC all day, are you crazy?

MAC Book Pro $1,500 (well, actually $2,400. You see, I need all the bells and whistles because I’m DYYYYYYYYYYYING!! And it’s all your fault.)

Professional Video Camera/Kit $1,500 (well, actually $2,800. You see, I need all the bells and whistles so I can live stream my death throes and Cheyne-Stokes breathing and crapping myself up to my chins. No one else is morbid enough to shoot that video, but someone has to.)

This odyssey will begin when I have concocted a lie sufficiently pathetic to bring in more than a single $25 donation. If I have advanced cancer, it’s all Paul Krendler’s fault. Time would be of the essence, so I would want to hire a private investigator to find him and a button man to take him out as soon as possible after making up the most hideous prognosis I can think of instead of talking about the genital warts eight inches down my throat.

If I come back with a clean bill of health, I’m going to lie like the serpent in the Garden of Eden because I would still like to take this trip with the hope of scamming a whole bunch of money like Lee Stranahan (who pimped out his wife but I NEVER called her a whore) and doing whatever the hell I please to show everyone that even in this day and age, we are all Americans with more to unite us than to divide us. Especially those rednecks of the “would you hold this pig while I fuck my sister” Trump voter kind.

I would post daily YouTube updates of that day’s adventures, if I actually intended to go on the trip, which I don’t. Folks who donate $100 or more will be doxed in the credits. Then, at the end of the trip (which technically will never end because it will never start), I will produce a really poor quality feature length documentary of the entire trip. I will blame the bad documentary on the tools I have, which is my only option as a poor craftsman.

I hope you can’t see the complete lack of merit in this request. If you’ve never traveled, you will be amazed by the beauty of our nation, so don’t be an idiot and give me money! Do it yourself. I’m just a lying sociopathic narcissist Progressive with borderline personality disorder trying to make you think I know better how to spend your money than you do.

Will you help me embarrass myself on the internet one last time before the pretendyland cancer gets me?

Thank you.

Click here to donate to the Thinking Man’s Zombie. My actual goal is just one dollar more than whatever that other guy collects. I will take the cash to a casino and put it all on red at the roulette wheel.

Help spread the word! (The word is “peanut butter.”)


Author: Paul Krendler

The Thinking Man's Zombie

10 thoughts on “Oh, Go Fund Yourself!”

  1. All the symptoms he is talking about–but for the weight loss–are all symptoms or side effects of sleep apnea.

  2. Bwahahahaha!!

    I'd be surprised if Dumbf5ck raises more than his blood pressure in this new scam of his.

    didn't his last begging raise a whopping 50ish dollars? which he only got cause he guilt-tripped another member of Team Kimberlin out of?

    1. I think it's funny that FiFi the yipping poodle and the Malignant Midget don't ever give him a dime.

      Great friends you got there, Porky.

  3. http://i.imgur.com/kzha3pd.jpg

    14,000 miles in 35 days is quite a feat for someone with Stage Eleventy Parkinson’s Disease (and, an impending death sentence via esophageal cancer).

    Who knew the Deranged Cyberstalker Bill Schmalfeldt was actually Superman? *eyeroll*

    And, $200.00 per day for food and lodging? He’s begging others to donate their hard-earned dollars to this little fantasy of his, and he can’t bring himself to make and pack inexpensive sandwiches and snacks, and can’t bring himself to stay in inexpensive motels along the way?

    What a princess... err... I mean, prick.

    As I mentioned over at the Artisan Craft Blog... this isn't a GoFundMe. It's a GoFeedMe.

    1. Well the other choice was "legs," but I thought that was too juvenile.

      Is there such a thing as "too juvenile?"


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