The XXVII Club
Some say it's merely a urban myth: The increased risk of death the second one hits the age of 27 and, for whatever reason, subsides back to normal levels 365 days later.
Unfortunately, I became a candidate for this infamous club 2 days ago thanks to my birthday. Also unfortunate is that there's only one way to avoid birthdays, and it's the very thing that gets you into this club in the first place... DEATH.
Thus why I conceived this campaign from the safety of my house (which technically isn't 100% safe as I could always succumb to carbon monoxide, a sink hole, or a random satellite crashing in from space). The challenge? I want you to bet against my life.
You have until 11:37 PM EST on May 1st, 2020. If I were to somehow perish before this deadline, the person with the highest bid will win all the money crowdsourced through this little twisted game of mine (minus taxes and however much getting cryogenically frozen costs). However, if I successfully avoid The Reaper before the deadline, all the cash collected will be routed directly to the charity of the highest donor's choice.
Q). Can I kill you?
A). You can! Only thing is you won't see a cent of the proceeds and will possibly face a very, very long jail sentence
Q). Can I hire someone to kill you?
A). Also, yes! You can! However, if it is found to be a hired hit by an assassin or organization of any kind, you will also not see a cent of the prize and hopefully face the rest of your life behind bars you sneaky son of a bitch.
Q). What if I make it look like an accident?
A). My god, do I really have to explain myself again? If my body is found lifeless due to any method of "suicide" or external tampering, kiss that cash and your ability to roam the streets a free man/woman goodbye.
Q). Okay, let's say you live. What charity can I route the proceeds to?
A). If you're the highest bidder? Absolutely anything!
Except PETA. Fuck PETA.
Let the game begin.