Sigh, shit. The reason why I oh shit. Sigh, it’s just people, Josh. It’s okay! Just talk!You don’t know how to talk, Josh? You do? Great! Then fucking do it. Okayyy! Here! I! Go! The reason why! The reason. Fuck, let me give a minute to myself. Okay, I’m back; needed some water. The reason why. . . I came to you beautiful people today is… is… Nigga, I’m fucked up! Shit happened, and I need you mathafuckas help! No offense. I’m sorry! I’m just stressed.
Let me break my fucked up life down to you so it’s comprehensible. I don’t got much family, so that already leaves me fucked. They’re heartless and won’t give a dollar even if I’m starving. I don’t have a job, which I’ve been desperately searching for. My dream job was to make sandwiches for rich folks at Subway. Walk out with a couple of pennies and a nice sandwich and shit, but I don’t know if those mathafuckas hiring, because my broke ass don’t have a bike to peddle or a car to drive!
So here’s the plan. I know everyone has bills to pay, and a bum asking you for something you don’t have(that’s me), probably already ticked you off from the very start, so all I’m asking, out of simple courtesy because I don’t own your shit, is everyone to chip in ONLY 50 cents a person. Once I’m own my feet, you won’t hear from my begging ass again, and I promise you, I will do my best to keep myself afloat.
If you wanna help out, please send money to my PayPal account: [email protected] (Region: United states). If that doesn’t work, use PayPal.Me/Joshian962. Please don’t send cash for pick up, because I can’t walk 50 million miles for some damn money. And! I don’t wanna get fucked up, because remember! It’s your money.
Please. . . I really need this money. Hey look, look, it’s only 50 cents, right? That’s two quarters out of a wallet. Let me say it again, 50 cents. If you need any more information to send money to my PayPal account, let me know. If you don’t wanna send a little 50 cents, 50 cents just like we just talked about, I might just. . . I don’t know. Cry. Maybe cuddle my pillow and wonder how I will get to a job interview the next day. You know! Because I’m sleeping in the dirty south, and every job is at least 10 miles away. But it’s okay! Fine oh fine. It’s not like you don’t have 50 cents in your bank account. Oh, you do?! Hm. Okay! No hard feelings. Worry, but no hard feelings.