GoFundMe or Go Top Yourself

In a world where people will crowdfund anything from elective toe surgery to psychic dolphin communication, it takes a certain kind of idiocy—or audacity—to get booted from GoFundMe. Yet for every legitimate GoFundMe request, there’s a campaign so absurd, so nakedly self-serving, so cosmically unhinged that even GoFundMe—the digital Wild West of online panhandling—has to step in and say, “No, absolutely not.”

The following are three  campaigns that were so ridiculous, offensive, or obviously fraudulent that they were  booted from the platform. Each one is a cautionary tale, a cry for help, and a masterclass in American delusion.

In Portland, Oregon, a woman launched a campaign entitled “Funeral for My Dog’s Imaginary Friend.” Her dog, Mr. Pickles, was grieving the loss of his invisible companion, Sir Waggington. She requested $2,300 to host a full memorial service with a canine grief counselor, a new age jazz quartet, and biodegradable paw-print balloons. The eulogy would be delivered by a golden retriever in a clerical collar named Reverend Barkley.

Pickles hasn’t touched his squeaky duck in days. He needs closure,” the woman wrote, with the solemnity of someone who had never been told “no” in her life. GoFundMe removed the campaign for violating its policy on “non-essential personal enrichment.” Portland was divided. Some called it “a beautiful expression of canine empathy.” Others called it “emotional Munchausen by proxy, for dogs.”

Mr. Pickles has since “adopted” a new imaginary friend named Bark Obama. His owner is reportedly planning a welcome brunch.

In Texas, a self-proclaimed prophet launched a campaign called “Truck Stop Jesus.” According to that campaign, Jesus appeared to him in a Buc-ee’s parking lot and commanded him to build a forty-foot statue of the encounter using only recycled truck parts. The statue’s design featured Jesus holding a Slim Jim and wearing a “Don’t Tread on Me” bandana. The base was constructed from crushed Monster Energy cans and catalytic converters.The man requested $50,000 to bring his vision to life. GoFundMe removed the campaign for “misuse of religious imagery for personal gain” and “potential zoning violations,” which is impressive considering the platform once allowed a man to raise $800 to exorcize a haunted Roomba.

Texas evangelicals were torn. Some hailed it as “a bold new chapter in roadside theology.” Others said it looked like “Jesus got lost on the way to a Kid Rock concert.” The man is now reportedly working on a new campaign to fund a “Baptismal Dunk Tank for End Times.”

Not to be outdone, a 32-year-old man from New Jersey launched a campaign entitled “Wizard School Tuition.” He claimed he’d been accepted into a “secret wizarding academy” in the Swiss Alps and needed $9,999 for robes, wands, airfare, and “emergency owl care.”His “acceptance letter” was a Hogwarts template with “Swisswarts” overwritten in Comic Sans. The official seal was a pizza emoji. His proof of magical aptitude? “I once guessed a card right three times in a row.”

GoFundMe flagged the campaign as a likely scam. Still, a few donors chipped in for the sheer entertainment value before it was taken down. One donor offered to send him a used bathrobe and a stick.The man has since pivoted to offering “private wand lessons” in a strip mall parking lot behind a Spirit Halloween. He claims to be working on a spell to make GoFundMe “less judgmental.”

These campaigns are a reminder that while GoFundMe is a platform for compassion, it’s also a magnet for the delusional, the opportunistic, and the tragically creative. Whether it’s a Slim Jim-wielding Messiah or a dog’s imaginary friend, the line between satire and sincerity is thinner than a single-ply square of Charmin.

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The preceding is satire. Straight up, Skippy. No warranties are expressed or implied. For life advice, try a professional. For investment tips, try a dart board. For salvation, the gentleman in the robe has been handling that portfolio for 2,000 years.