How to Profit Off Your Best Friend’s Terminal Illness Without Feeling Guilty

Last Updated on July 7, 2025 by Michael

So your best friend’s dying.

Tragic.

Anyway, let’s talk money.

What? Someone’s gotta say it. While you’re sitting there clutching your pearls, the hospital’s charging $80 for a Tylenol and the funeral director’s already mentally spending their commission on a boat. They call it the S.S. Grief Profiteer, probably.

You know what the difference is between you and them? They went to school for this. You’re just a talented amateur with a flexible moral compass and a friend who’s circling the drain.

Time to dive in.

Crying on Command: A Masterclass

Real tears are for people with souls. You need theatrical tears. The kind you can schedule.

Think about your Amazon Prime membership going up again. Remember the Game of Thrones finale. Picture yourself working retail forever. Feel that? That’s not sadness—that’s motivation leaking out your face holes.

But here’s what nobody tells you: crying is like jazz. It’s all about what you DON’T do. You don’t wail. You don’t hyperventilate. You don’t ugly cry unless there’s a photographer present and you’re angling for the GoFundMe header image.

You want that single-tear-down-the-cheek action. The kind that says “I’m being strong for them” while mentally calculating the resale value of their PlayStation.

Practice these hits until they sound natural:

• “You’ve fought so hard” (please stop fighting, this is taking forever)
• “I’ll take care of everything” (everything valuable, anyway)
• “Don’t worry about me” (worry about your passwords though, gonna need those)

Your Moral Bankruptcy Scorecard

That last one’s a joke. Unless…?

GoFundMe: The People’s Pyramid Scheme

$9 billion. That’s how much GoFundMe has raised. You know what they haven’t raised? Standards.

Watch this: “Experimental holistic treatment in Switzerland featuring crystals blessed by Tibetan monks.” You just made that up. There’s no treatment. There might not even be a Switzerland. But Brenda from your friend’s job just donated $500 because she “believes in miracles.”

The secret is medical words mixed with hope and a dash of exotic locations. “Specialists in Germany.” “Breakthrough therapy in Japan.” “Revolutionary procedure in Newark.” Okay, maybe not Newark.

But here’s the genius part—that donation “tip” GoFundMe suggests? People think it goes to the platform. Add your own tip jar. For “administrative costs.” You’re administrating. Administrating that money right into your Venmo.

Set the goal at a million. Why? Because GO BIG OR GO HOME. Small goals look desperate. Big goals look legitimate. It’s like pricing a house—nobody trusts a cheap mansion.

Content Creation: Monetizing Mortality

The algorithm doesn’t have feelings. You know what it does have? A weird fetish for tragedy plus upbeat music.

“POV: Visiting my dying bestie! Day 94!” adds trending audio about being a material girl

Start a series. People love continuity. They’ll literally watch someone die in real-time if you add good transitions and nail the hashtags. #DeathTok #GriefJourney #Estate Planning #Unboxing

But you’re thinking like a hobbyist. Think bigger:

• OnlyFans but it’s just you reading their will
• Masterclass on “Grief Grifting: A Beginner’s Guide”
• NFT collection of their last words (blockchain meets deathbed!)
• Mukbang videos eating their last meal requests

Someone’s definitely going to hell for that last one. Might as well monetize the journey.

Playing the Will Game Like a Sociopathic Chess Master

Listen. Anyone can show up with flowers. You’re showing up with strategy.

Phase One: Become furniture. Specifically, become load-bearing emotional furniture. The kind they can’t imagine the room without.

Phase Two: Everyone else is the enemy. That cousin who visited once? “She kept asking about your jewelry.” The brother? “He googled your net worth in the bathroom. Saw it myself.” Their own mother? “She mentioned something about power of attorney. Just thought you should know.”

You’re not lying. You’re selectively distributing truth-adjacent concerns.

Phase Three: Leave estate planning pamphlets everywhere. Bookmark the “charitable giving” section. Circle your name. Subtlety is for people who don’t want yachts.

The endgame? When they’re updating that will, your name better appear more times than punctuation. First name, middle name, nickname, social security number if you can swing it.

Side Hustles for the Morally Flexible

Pre-Death Garage Sale

They’re bedridden. Their stuff is just… sitting there. Being stuff. Unmonetized stuff.

That KitchenAid mixer? $400. The Peloton they used twice? $1,200. Their college diplomas? Weirdly, also sellable.

List everything as “blessed by dying person—extra spiritual!” Marketing is everything.

Subscription Parasite

Your friend has 47 streaming services they’re not using because they’re busy, you know, dying. Time for some password liberation. Netflix and steal, baby.

But think broader. What else are they subscribed to? Wine clubs? Meal kits? Monthly underwear delivery? (That’s real. Google it.) Redirect everything to your address. It’s not theft, it’s… address confusion.

Grief Influencer Academy

Once you’ve mastered the art, teach others. $997 for your online course: “Six Figures From Six Feet Under.”

Module 1: Choosing the Right Dying Friend Module 2: Tears to Cash Conversion Module 3: Legal Loopholes and Moral Workarounds

Upsell them coaching. These people need help, and you need their money. The circle of life. Or death. Whatever.

When Your Conscience Shows Up Drunk at 3 AM

Sometimes you’ll feel this weird sensation in your chest. That’s either guilt or acid reflux from stress-eating your friend’s food.

If it’s guilt, remember: every billionaire is a billionaire because they saw an opportunity where others saw ethics. You’re just disrupting the death industry. Silicon Valley would cream their khakis over this innovation.

“But what about friendship?” Friendship doesn’t pay rent. Friendship doesn’t buy that new PS5. Friendship is a social construct invented by poor people to feel better about being poor.

Still feeling feelings? That’s just your poverty mindset talking. Rich people don’t have feelings. They have lawyers.

Threat Level Assessment

The Miraculous Recovery Nothing—NOTHING—is worse than your friend getting better. You’ve invested time, energy, fake tears, real gas money. The absolute betrayal of their immune system suddenly working.

If they start improving, you need to act fast. Show them their medical bills. Mention how tired they look. WebMD is your friend here. “Says here that feeling better is often a sign of impending catastrophic decline…”

Family Members With Functioning Morals These are your natural enemies. They’ll ask questions like “Why are you here every day?” and “Is that my mom’s jewelry in your pocket?” and “Why are you measuring the living room?”

Gaslight. Gatekeep. Girlboss. “Jewelry? That’s my emotional support necklace. How dare you accuse me during this difficult time?”

Paper Trails Your browser history is a confession waiting to happen. Delete it. Delete your whole computer. Actually, burn it. Burn your house. Fake your death. Start over in Ecuador.

Wait, that might be overkill. Or is it?

The 90-Day Money Extraction Timeline

Days 1-30: Worm your way in. You’re not just supportive—you’re aggressively supportive. Suffocatingly supportive. They can’t sneeze without you offering a tissue and asking about their will.

Days 31-60: Launch everything. GoFundMe, TikTok, memorial merch, organ waiting lists (kidding). (Unless?) This is your hustle season.

Days 61-90: If they’re still alive, you need uglier friends. This one’s too sturdy.

The Final Heist

That flatline sound? That’s your starting pistol.

You’ve got 24 hours—48 tops—before people start asking questions. Move like you’re robbing a bank, because technically you kind of are.

Speed-run checklist:

• Eulogy that’s an MLM pitch in disguise
• Apartment “cleaning” (bring a U-Haul, not a vacuum)
• Password harvesting (check for crypto wallets)
• Memorial fund launch (the fund is your bank account)
• New identity documents (just in case)

Pro tip: Check the freezer. Old people hide money in the weirdest places. Also check inside books, under mattresses, and anywhere else Your friend might’ve gotten creative. Death makes people paranoid about banks.

Let’s Get Real for Exactly One Paragraph

You’ve read this whole thing. Either you’re laughing because you recognize how absolutely deranged this is (good job, you’re still human), or you’re genuinely taking notes (seek help immediately, maybe an exorcist).

The truth is, if you do any of this, you’re not just going to hell. You’re going to the special hell. The one where every meal is airplane food and the only entertainment is other people’s vacation slideshows. Forever. With commercial breaks.

But hey, at least you’ll be rich for the six minutes before karma and/or the FBI catches up.

Your move, champ.

Disclaimer: This is satire, you absolute walnut. If you need this disclaimer, you’re either a lawyer or someone who definitely shouldn’t be allowed near dying people. Or money. Or society in general. Please go sit in the corner and think about your life choices.