Once upon a time, there was a guy named Kevin. But Kevin wasn’t just any guy. Kevin was that guy. The kind of guy who shows up to weddings in sweatpants. The kind of guy who brings up motorcycles at every family dinner, even if no one asked. The kind of guy who didn’t dream of buying a house, or settling down, or making smart investments — nah.
Kevin dreamed of one thing and one thing only: the Yamaha R9.

It wasn’t just a motorcycle to him. It was a purpose. A destiny. His Mount Everest.

Kevin was 27, still living with his mom, working three part-time jobs, and somehow still broke. But every night — every single night — he’d be on YouTube watching R9 exhaust clips, test drives, and engine ASMR like it was religion. His screen time for “Yamaha R9 acceleration test” videos was over 39 hours a week.

His friends had long given up trying to talk sense into him.
“Kev, invest in your future.”
“Kev, at least finish your license first.”
“Kev, you need to fix your finances, man.”
But Kevin would just shake his head, smile, and say:
“Bro, you don’t get it. The R9 isn’t just a bike. It’s a lifestyle.”

And then, one night — 3am, full of energy drink and watching a video called Manifest Your Dream Life in 7 Steps — he had an idea.
A big idea.

“I’m starting a fundraiser,” he said. “GoFundMe. For my R9. People raise money for anything these days. Why not this?”

So the campaign began:
“Help Kevin Ride.”

He uploaded a profile picture of him looking sad next to his old rusty bicycle. The description read:

“Hey, I’m Kevin. I have a dream. The Yamaha R9. It costs around €13,000. I need your help. Every euro counts. If you support me, I promise to take each and every one of you on a ride. Thank you. #RideOrCry”

People laughed.
His mom threatened to cut the Wi-Fi.
His boss asked if he was being serious.
Even his dog, Bellini, looked disappointed.

But Kevin believed.

Day 1: He raised €12.
Day 2: Nothing.
Day 3: €1 — from his ex — with a note that said, “So you’ll stop texting me.”
Still, Kevin didn’t give up.

He started posting Instagram Stories every day.
“Guys, if each of you just donated €60, I’d be almost there.”

And then it happened.
A comment under one of his posts:

“Bro, I’m serious — I wanna help. Let me know, I’ll send you 60 bucks.”

Kevin almost cried. This was it. The breakthrough. The sign from the universe.
He DMed the guy instantly:
“Dude, for real? I’ll send you my PayPal right now!”

But then…

The reply came. Cold. Ruthless. Soul-crushing.
Just one sentence.

Kevin stared at his screen.
At first, he thought it was a joke.
Then, maybe sarcasm?
But no.
It was real.

“You don't get the 60$ for 50+$”
Like a slap from the digital gods.
Worse than a flat tire. Worse than running out of gas 10 feet from a gas station. Kevin was devastated.

He posted on his story:
“I know who you are. Karma’s coming for you. I’ll still ride. Even without your 60 bucks.”
And added a photo of the Yamaha R9 with a heart emoji and a crying face.

Days passed.
The campaign stalled.
€37.68 in three weeks.

But deep down, Kevin still believed.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someday — he would ride.

He’d sit on that Yamaha R9, sunglasses on, hoodie in the wind, cruising down the freeway like a man who raised €13,000 through pure delusion, memes, and stubborn willpower.

And when someone pulls up next to him at a red light, rolls down the window, and asks,
“Yo Kev, how did you afford that thing?”

He’ll just smile and say:

“Thank you guys anyway"