Costco - Gold Star Member
Being inducted into Costco's prestigious Gold Star program is one of the proudest achievements in my professional life, which is why it's always front and center on my résumé. I've learned that Costco branch managers get a little weird if you list them as professional references, though; they probably want to save that kind of thing for Executive Business members.
San Jose Silicon Valley Chamber of Commerce - Temporarily Suspended
When one runs San Jose's most successful dog kissing booth, one deserves the same respect and consideration other dues-paying Chamber of Commerce members enjoy. If you don't want my CEO at your CEO Roundtable just because my CEO is an Irish Setter, then you are quite frankly a racist organization. By the way, there is not one shred of proof that it was Barksamillion who left the no-no in the foyer. My theory is that it was the dude who owns the Chili's on Coleman.
California Bar Association - Pending Member
I signed up for this hoping to get a license to buy cases of liquor wholesale, but they made me take a really hard, expensive test. I failed the first time, but I've been brushing up on drink recipes and memorizing all of the "Coughlin's Law" things Bryan Brown says in Cocktail, so I should be in pretty good shape for next year.
The James Randi Educational Foundation - Expelled
As a longtime admirer of James Randi's work in the field of skepticism, I became an ardent supporter of his foundation's mission to expose charlatans who pretend at the paranormal. At the same time, joining his cause shouldn't necessarily mean I must discontinue my own sorcery. Unfortunately, Mr. Randi became very uncomfortable during my attempts to levitate him and asked me to leave his bathroom.
The Skeptics Society - Expelled
Losing Mr. Randi's friendship was difficult for me, but my expulsion from the Skeptics Society was more bitter still. While I admit that it was rude to interrupt the keynote speech of their annual conference by running up to the podium and yelling about how I had a VHS tape that would blow their goddamn minds wide open, I feel that it was perfectly justified: I had what I believed at the time to be clear and credible evidence of Bigfoot's existence. I later found out it was a late-night Fox documentary called The Chewbacca Autopsy, but it looked real enough to convince a die-hard skeptic like me.
World Chess Federation - International Grandmaster
When I was nine years old, at the home of an older boy, I drank what I thought was a two-liter bottle of Crystal Pepsi but was actually six million dollars worth of purified liquid DMT. When I regained consciousness, I was covered in blood, thirteen years old and ranked as the 7th best chess player in the world. They invite me to tournaments in Russia sometimes, but I still haven't learned to play chess.
Humboldt State University Alumni Association - Former Member
My dear alma mater got pretty peeved when I secretly shot my independent film, Professor Weedburg's Hooter Academy, in their hallowed halls. I tried to make up for it by donating all the film's proceeds to the school, but they got mad all over again when I made the check out to "Humboldt State University - Weedburg Memorial College of Busty Science." They told me it wasn't a real thing-- it could be if you accepted my $200, idiots!
Screen Actors Guild - Membership Revoked
These guys got mad at me because they found out I wasn't really Richard Dreyfuss. Hey, idiots, isn't not being Richard Dreyfuss a good thing? No hard feelings, though, because I still get a check for $7.25 every time Lost in Yonkers is on TV.
National Basketball Association - Power Forward, Utah Jazz
Due to a clerical error, I'm still listed on the roster of the Utah Jazz despite replacing an injured Karl Malone for just two games in the 1985-1986 season. I didn't quite match his point average, since I was only four years old, but I feel like I made up for it on rebounds. The team sometimes bugs me to renegotiate my contract, but I'm pretty happy with my current salary. It's not Kobe Bryant money, but it keeps me in chinchilla through the hard winters.
North American Association of Trout Hatchery Owners - Expelled
Literal-minded, fascist snobs. I can't wear my funny trout tie to your "black tie" fundraiser event? So you're going to get your thugs to manhandle me and throw me out on the curb? Really, assholes? Maybe I shouldn't nurse a grudge on this one, since I had the wrong address and it was actually the White House Press Correspondents' Dinner that I got thrown out of, but they're still a bunch of snobs anyway. A bathtub can too be a hatchery, if only I could get the damn trout to hatch. Give me some time to work on it before you kick me out, jerks.
Official Chris Isaak Fan Club - Junior Deputy Chris Isaak
At the Junior Deputy level, I'm authorized to autograph glossy 8'x10' photos with Chris Isaak's signature, wear a pompadour up to .75 Isaaks in height and appear as Chris Isaak in concert venues with capacity not exceeding 200 persons. When I reach the Senior Deputy level, I can autograph albums, appear as a commentator on VH1 nostalgia shows and grow a pompadour of up to .88 Isaaks.
John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation - Ex-Fellow
My 1997 MacArthur Fellowship "Genius Grant" was revoked on a technicality after I accidentally misspelled my name on the acceptance form (as "David Foster Wallace"). Yeah, so maybe they meant to give it to a different guy. But he's dead now, and I'm still here, waiting for my genius money.
American Automobile Association - Plus Member in Poor Standing
I think I'm still a member, but they've stopped taking my calls. The brochure says 100 miles of free towing, so that means like 50 tows to my brother's place and back when I don't have gas money. Don't write checks you can't cash, AAA!
Brookings Institution - Senior Middle East Policy Analyst
I used to mail a lot of Iran jokes to David Letterman, but he found them a little too dry, long-winded and technical, so he started forwarding them to this Brookings thing. Maybe they weren't "monologue material," but my jokes were meticulously researched, hundreds of pages long and, I thought, pretty funny if you took the time to analyze the complex political dynamics of the region.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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