With a heart filled with vindictive rage, I respectfully rescind my membership, effective immediately. Of course, this means that I also relinquish my role as co-chairperson of the second annual “Dew Be Dew Be Dew Dance, Potluck & Silent Auction.”

I concede that, technically speaking, my thoughtful and articulate proposal to establish my rightful place as “Dear Leader” of our ACM chapter lost in a vote registering 1 yeas, 23 nays and 1 abstention (due to Frank’s previously scheduled colonoscopy).

Thing is, there shouldn’t have been a vote in the first place. All that was necessary was a spontaneous, unanimous proclamation of my permanent dictatorship, punctuated with tears of joy in everyone’s eyes. While not a requirement, per se, a balloon drop would have been a nice touch.

But no. You put my proposal to a vote as if you and the other members know what’s best for us. You don’t. Your endorsement of Larry as club treasurer despite his fancy for “playing the ponies” makes your collective idiocy as glaring as those who confuse stratocumulus clouds with nimbostratus ones. Dumbasses.

So it is that I announce my self-exile and await the day when new, smarter members raise your collective IQ above mentally impaired. Then, I shall return triumphant—and in my best Dockers and newest Crocs—exactly as the Great Destiny has deemed it to be.

(Not that further evidence of my superiority is required, but remember that I am the only member who accurately predicted precipitation at last month’s new member recruiting picnic. Let it be said that Lisa’s rain-drenched Bundt cake will forever be a symbol of my unrivaled forecasting powers.)

When I return in glory to the chapter, you can anticipate the following changes:

  • Our logo will be modified to not only include a sun and clouds, but also a Bundt cake.
  • The club will recruit four sergeants-at-arms to keep the peace and ensure that my directives are followed to the letter. (Note: If the rumors about Lizzie dating an ex-con are indeed true, he could be most helpful in recruiting efforts.)
  • Members will not be allowed to fornicate nor fraternize with members of any other meteorological organization but especially those of our archrival, the Amateur Meteorology Association. To avoid confusion, I should clarify that members will not be prohibited from associating with the grassroots movement to encourage more use of meteorologists, meteorological terms and meteorological plot lines in the adult film industry. (I still contend that Stormy Daniels should be invited to serve as the honorary chairperson of this year’s “Dew Be Dew Be Dew.”)
  • The chapter’s bank account (last reported by Larry to have a balance of $247.12) and all other assets will be transferred into my name. (My recent inventory of club’s assets found the following: one partially operating coffee maker; one wind speed indicator; two temperature gauges; three plastic, Weather Channel-branded ponchos; six rain gauges; eight metal folding chairs; and, most valuable of all: one autographed photo of Al Roker during Hurricane Sandy.)
  • Club members will commission and personally pay for an artist to paint my portrait on the side of the abandoned beauty parlor that we rent for our monthly meetings. (It’s imperative that this portrait capture me while wearing a cape, holding a lemur and looking toward the horizon with a gaze that says I fear no front, be it warm, cold, stationary or even occluded.)
  • The club will use all means necessary, including the hiring of seasoned lobbyists, to convince the United States Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration to name a cloud type in my honor. If all the cloud types are currently named, I will settle for a classification of barometric pressure.
  • Lastly, should I acquire a third wife and should she, unlike the first two, be willing to conceive children with me, my oldest child will assume the role of Dear Leader upon my death.

In closing… Just as a tornado will not form without the proper atmospheric conditions, your club will not attain great things without the proper leadership: mine. Deep in your hearts, you know this to be true.

Forever Your Dear Leader,

Toby R. Klumpfer III

P.S. Please return my three-quart Tupperware container that I left behind when I exited abruptly from the last meeting. It’s the one with the red lid and the “Meteorologists Make Great Lovers” bumper sticker on the side.

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