I don’t know what the fuck a fermentor is, but I set up a GoFundMe to buy one. You wanna know why? Because Larry wanted one, for fuck’s sake.

Larry, the lawyer, keeps a variety of Third World tennis teams stocked in all kinds of alcohol from kegs of Negra Modelo or his home-brewed beer to his made up “juice”.

The juice starts with Arizona fruit mixed with some secret sauces that will make a grown man giggle (or at least it makes Gibson giggle – jury is out on whether Gibson is “grown” – hard to be an adult when you have the tennis self-esteem of a rented mule).

When we added Jesus to the men’s team, the talk of home brew never seemed to stop. It’s like listening to two Trekkies argue over who fired the phasers (Sulu or Chekov?)

There’s malt and mash and yeast and some fucking thing called dry hopping. (Hops not humps — as far as we know Jesus is still celibate, even if it’s only dry humping).

The worst was standing next to the electrical transformer at Reffkin Tennis Park and drinking after the match with the Crustaceans (they call their team the Rattlers – but they are known fairy shrimp). It was a pathetic circle of 10-12 potential degenerates. Without the tennis bags and knee straps, we could have been a cult of homeless meth makers.

As usual, Larry brought enough beer and juice for both teams. The Crustaceans had a couple coolers of their own, but it was Blue Moon or some commercial shit. Good but not great.

Larry was drooling over a fermentor like a toddler trying to hit a second serve (which is ironic because Larry has the second serve of a toddler).

It was Jeff, or Josh or the other Jeff or Julian or some fucking dude whose name starts with “J” that said we should just buy a fucking fermentor for Larry.

Maybe it’s to reward him for years of bringing the booze to away matches (away matches “only” — you Third World snitches — outside booze is illegal in the 3rd world).

Maybe it was just to get him to shut the fuck up with Jesus about mash and malt and shit.

Maybe it was a moment of weakness when one of us wanted to do something nice for Captain Peer Pressure. (If Larry brings it, you must drink it.)

Over the next couple of weeks, a couple of beers into the evening, someone kept slurring the same suggestion, “we shoud jus pool r moanie n’ buy it.”

On May 17, I decided to start the GoFundMe – A Fermentor for Larry.

Most people use that platform to pay off medical debt, for new hearts or cancer. You know, to really do something good for others and society — not us. In the most selfish GoFundMe in history, we are using it to get more fermentation into our lives. (10 years from now, half the team will need it for new livers).

Donations from the fucked-up men’s team came in kinda regular. We got halfway there in 4 days.

But half surfer-dude, half wrong-generation-hippie Josh (who’s barely 40, has a man bun /pony tail and follows the Grateful Dead like he’s 70) challenged Kate to raise more with the mixed teams. She ended her response punctuating like a Trump tweet — “…we are BETTER! Ha!”

And those women kicked our asses, again. She sent 1 email to her two teams and within 3 hours they doubled our donations. Donations came in so fast, GoFundMe started sending me hourly updates on the campaign. All from the females. And Tamal (and maybe we’ll count that legendary pendejo Condo as a mixed male?) The fermentor and all the fix-in’s was Larry’s.

Of course douchebag-millennial, Julian emailed, “when are we going to present the fermentor to Larry and will there be a card?”

“I want to be there,” he wrote like he’s fucking Prince Harry and I’m the goddamn wedding planner.

The answer is not hell no, it’s Fuck No, you fucking little douchebag.

GoFundMe lets Larry withdraw the funds to his account. He can buy his own shit, ship it and set it up.

And… we are not going to have a fucking presentation party like it’s his fucking birthday. What are you 10?

Here’s how adults handle it. Larry will buy, set up and brew with his fermentor. Some time in the future, he will hand us beer.

We will say “thanks”.

He will say, “No, thank you. It was your fermentor”.

Campaign over.

You know the home brew, geek-out fest with Jesus is only going to get worse — but the beer and juice is likely to get better. And that’s why we got a fermentor for Larry. Whatever the fuck a fermentor is…