Anyone who knows me can tell ya that I hate bougie floozies just as much as the next guy. When I see a gaggle of yacht club geese driving down the road past my house in their fancy-schmancy yacht rental, boy it really grinds my gears.
So I came up with a brilliant plan to get revenge on those schmucks…by discreetly joining their ranks. I’d gain admittance to their club and take as many free lunches as I could fit in my gullet. I decided I’d do this by pretending to be a fancy schamncy Italian chef and use my EBT and Medicaid money to lay the groundwork for my cunning venture (turns out there are plenty of loopholes in welfare programs that help down-on-their luck guys like me).
But knowing Uncle Sam, he wasn’t about to let go of his good American government money so easy. I had to get smart. Which is why I concocted the following lobster-ridden plan.
First, I purchased a dozen lobsters with my EBT/SNAP balance and traded a couple bottles of ill-gotten pharmaceuticals for a believable chef’s ensemble.
Then, I asked my friend Tony, whose family hails all the way from Sicily, to teach me a mean Italian accent (in exchange for some lobster, compliments of my SNAP balance, of course). After that I asked my other friend Tony, whose family hails all the way from Milan, to teach me how to cook Lobster Thermidor like a real Italian chef.
Once we had all 12 Lobster Thermidors cooked and prepared, we were ready. I was looking as authentic as any Batali or Bottura, and sounded like mother Italy herself. Me and the Tonys then gained access into the yacht club on meet-and-greet day by posing as the long-lost relatives of Antonio Carluccio—God rest his soul—and saying that we were hosting an exclusive charity dinner in honor of the late great chef’s good name.
After that, the money came rolling in. As soon as word got around that Carluccio kin had made authentic Lobster Thermidor, we coulda charged anything we wanted. People were paying tens of thousands of dollars per dish. We high-tailed it out of there before anyone could suspect a thing, and before I knew it I had my very own first yacht club rental.
So there’s my story. Today, I enjoy full membership to the yacht club, including their free complimentary Lobster Thermidor lunches, and I fooled those stuck-up snooty-nosed bougie monkey suit wearing rubber-lipped tight-assed old money yacht club folks, along with good ol’ Uncle Sam himself, to pay for it. Follow in my footsteps and maybe you, too, will one day be eating fancy EBT Lobster Thermidor lunches in a fancy Medicaid yacht.