Let’s say you start a club.
If I had my druthers, I’d call it the Unicorn Club, because I actually belonged to that prestigious group when I was in fifth grade, along with Jennifer, Terri, Rachel, Trish, and Dena. However, I can not use this name for a club because Jenny Lawson wrote on her blog about a club of similar title called the Unicorn Success Club, and she even made stickers for it. Clearly not the same, but I’d rather she not sue me. Plus I don’t want to look like a copy-cat. But I promise I’m not lying.
So our pretend club is going to be called Emerald City, because I love things related to The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and also because FUCK YOU, that’s why.
And so the Emerald City Cuz Fuck You, or ECCFU, club is born.
Next we need members. Pretend ones, because it’s a pretend club. I’ll be the president, and all you readers can be the members, and I’m sure if Jenny Lawson knew about our club she would be our patron because she is awesome like that.
The Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club
consists of happy alcoholics.
So there we are, drinking Sangria and chilling on the back porch, congratulating ourselves on coming up with such a fabulous name for our club (you totally wish there was really an Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club, don’t you?)… when suddenly out of no where appears a wild t-shirt suggestion.
Fucking out of this world!
I love the Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club!
How cool is that? We’re going to have t-shirts made now! This non-existent pretend club rocks my socks!
Hold the steam press. Who is paying for these Emerald City Cuz Fuck You t-shirts? I already pitched in for the Sangria, so I feel like maybe you guys should contribute more than just your funny commentary and complaints about all the ants and how hot it is outside and WHY ISN’T THE FUCKING A.C. WORKING?! Yeah, it’s totally your turn to pay up, moochers.
And how many Emerald City Cuz Fuck You t-shirts do we need?
We do a headcount and find that while several of us have been attending regularly, some only pop in every so often. Fine, you guys are excluded. You don’t have to pay for t-shirts, but nor do you get to receive one. Then one of you points out that you’ve only been attending sessions at the ECCFU club a couple weeks now, and so why should you contribute? Fair enough. No t-shirt fees for you, either, but don’t come crying later that you want one. Bitch.
Did you know the Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club
has a Public Assistance Program?
Several of you complain about the cost of the t-shirt, but tell me you still want one very badly and that you would wear it proudly. I get that. I’m poor, too. It stretched my budget beyond all measure to pay for the Sangria you boozers guzzled. So I send you a ten-page scholarship application and ask you to complete and return it to me along with proof of income, and a phone number at which I can set up a Skype chat interview.
The Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club’s
application process is too much trouble.
The majority of you say FUCK THIS and drop the subject, which is fine by me. Two of you return the form with all the requested documentation, and when we chat it up over Skype, it turns out one of you lived next door to my second cousin’s boyfriend’s sister in Arizona, and the other of you is a complete ass hat. I say yes to the one I quasi-know, because we really hit it off. I also say yes to the ass-hat, because although I hate you, I can not deny you’ve fulfilled the requirements of the application process. I’ve got my eye on you though, a-hole. You know who you are.
The Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club
does not condone selfishness.
Finally, after several months of this administrative bullshit, we get all the monies turned in and processed. I do the legwork and find a really great deal for having t-shirts made, and it turns out we have more funds than necessary. We debate throwing a huge party, but then one of you quietly suggests we donate the proceeds to one of our club members who is going through a hardship — her child has autism and is short on cash. Most of us agree, because THAT’S THE RIGHT THING TO DO, STUPIDS. A couple of you are greedy motherfuckers, though, and you pitch a fit. You know what I tell you? FUCK OFF AND GET OUT OF MY CLUB.
The Emerald City Cuz Fuck You club t-shirts arrive.
*and there is much throwing of glitter*
We gladly reimburse the greedy a-holes who got kicked out of our club, rather than allow them to rock our message across their selfish chests. We distribute the t-shirts to the remaining members. We present Wonder-Mom with funds to pay toward her child’s medical needs. Everyone lives happily ever after.
And that is why you should always pay taxes and pass levies. It’s not just for the t-shirts, ass-hat. It’s for the kids. And to weed out the rotten apples. Let’s call it an investment in securing our future, taking care of each other, and being proud of the club to which we belong: America.