The God #Wine
I’d like to start with a risky disclosure. [deep breath] Okay! Here goes! Hang on tight, this is going to be one hell of a ride.
In real life I’m not that entertaining.
I know, right?!
I have an analytical personality, specifically “INTJ” aka The Architect which includes, among other things, this telling description: “One Reflects More When Traveling Alone.”
Hella.
As an analytical type, I’ve often gotten into trouble in social situations after being asked a question, especially when I’m not prepared. A question stimulates my brain into “pondering mode” and my face goes blank in the same way as a computer that has been tricked by Captain Kirk.
To the person asking the question, I’m told, this comes across as rude. (Whatever the hell that means.)
(128 words in and the H-bomb has already been dropped three times in a post containing the word “God” in the subject line. Is this guy good or what? -Ed.)
Taxing FIRS
FIRS = F-word of your choice + IRS.
Are you enjoying national tax day? Are your taxes done? Or have you committed a boo boo?
The local news has been reporting the scam for months. Clever identity thieves somehow are able to take a minimal piece of information, like a social security number, and use it to abramoff with someone else’s tax refund.
The most unbelievable part is that they are somehow able to get around the world famous tight security at the IRS.
There’s one for you, nineteen for me.
–The Beatles, TaxmanAh. A story problem. Math will elucidate the tax bracket faced by the The Beatles. 1 + 19 = 20. So the tax rate (the 19 for the taxman) is 19/20. My calculator tells me that equals .95 aka 95 percent. Yes, The Beatles were in the 95 percent tax bracket. Says Wikipedia, “As their earnings placed them in the top tax bracket in the United Kingdom, the Beatles were liable to a 95% supertax introduced by Harold Wilson’s Labour government.”
Hearing about this scam over and over again, and how it apparently worked, I began to formulate my plan. I was going to steal the Declaration of Independence file for Mitt Romney’s tax refund. With that I’d finally have enough money to retire, move to a beach on Zihuatanejo and hang out with Andy Dufresne and Ellis “Red” Redding.
All I had to do was get my hands on Mitt Romney’s W-2 forms. Dammit, foiled again!
Like I tried to teach my son when he was younger, there is no $20 dollar bill fairy. If you lose your money, there is no force in the universe that will say, “Tell me all about it. Here, allow me to give you some more.” It just don’t work that way. What’s gone is always gone and it always stays that way. So don’t lose that $20 dollar bill.
Meanwhile, though, apparently the IRS is in the habit of giving refunds to the wrong people. The bad people. And that got me to wondering. Is there a tax fairy?
Think of it this way: Let’s say I owe you $20. Then, for whatever reason, I give your money to Bob. Does this mean I no longer owe you a debt? I doubt you’d agree. You likely say, “I don’t care who you did what to for how many cookies. I want my $20. Guido here is about to offer some encouragement to your kneecaps.”
The simple point I’m trying to make is that the IRS being fooled by criminals should not alleviate their responsibility to give people their own money back. So you gave the money to Bob? Boo freakin’ hoo.
If not, then I suggest a new tax form. Let’s call it the 7734-PROX-EZ.
- Line 1: Amount of tax you owe.
- Line 2: Amount of money you gave Bob. (Enter amount of line 1.)
- Line 3: Amount you own the IRS: (Subtract Line 1 from Line 2.)
- Line 4: Sign full name to indicate your tax burden this year is a mulligan.
If the IRS isn’t being a tax fairy for the victims of crime then I’m sure they’ll understand.
Last, but not least, one other simple concept:
- The guy who threw a rock and smashed your window to bits? He owns the glass store.
- The guy who slashed the whitewalls on your car? He owns the tire store.
- The people who make computer viruses? The makers of your favorite anti-virus software.
- The company that makes tax filing software? They vigorously oppose efforts to make filing taxes simpler.
This is all, of course, predicted by GUNT, my Grand Unification Negativity Theory for everything.
In case that last bullet point is somehow unclear, let me say this:
TurboTax Maker Linked To Fight Against ‘Return-Free’ Tax System
Source: NPR
It looks like there is a tax fairy after all. He just works a bit differently (more sinister and evil) than even I expected. And his name is TurboTax. I try to be negative but sometimes even I can be schooled.
Well played, TurboTax.
You Don’t Know Polite
Why does shit like this happen to me? (This is my version of the “dark and stormy” night opening as a literary device.)
My wife and I were out to dinner and having our usually jolly time. Things were clicking. My jokes were firing on all cylinders. I was witty. Our repartee was fast and furious on a highly intellectual level.
As we exited the restaurant I was feeling pretty good. (It could happen.) I saw four people behind us. They were far enough back that I could have let the door close and no slight would have been perceived. I decided to be nice and waited to hold open the door.
They came through single file. As she passed, the first person actually said, I kid you not, “Thank you.”
Wow. It’s a modern day miracle. I’m now that much closer to sainthood. I was momentarily stunned and at a loss for words. As quickly as I could I responded with, “You’re welcome.”
Oops. By then the third person was already walking by. She heard what I said and turned and looked at me. With dagger eyes. Of hatred and death.
Ah. She thought I was talking to her and assumed I was being snotty because she decidedly did not bother to say thank you.
Good intentions: 0. Crass misunderstandings: 1.
Bad form, Mr. Smee. Bad form.
And now some politeness tips from yours truly.
Continue reading →
Bad Things, Gerbil Sings, Awful Wings
Sometimes bad things happen to awful people. Sometimes awful things happen to bad people. Which is worse? Which is better? Which is more entertaining? It really comes down to a judgement call. We all see things in our own way. Vive la difference!
Gerbil trama is no laughing matter. Until it happens to people you don’t like. Then it’s popcorn time.
What’s the point of living through extreme circumstances unless it is to gain valuable perspective that will come in handy when the shit rains down on someone else?
This is a story about some awful people I know and some brief exploits of their gerbil. Grab some shredded newspaper and get comfortable. It’s story time.
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Bullshit
Tip: Always aim for subtlety in the subject lines of your blog posts. Thoughtfully I have provided an example. Those subjects lines are like little windows to the soul. Of your blog posts.
“Bullshit.”
The driver’s side door on my car doesn’t open from the outside. You might think that sucks but to me it’s just one of the innumerable realities of my existence. So my routine is to enter the car from the passenger side, start the engine (a 50-50 proposition) and lean across and unlatch the door, pushing it out gently and hoping against all hope that it doesn’t click shut again, thus forcing me to go back and repeat the process, something I like to call “the Sprinkles on Top.”
Soon even this reality will be denied to me. The handle on the passenger door feels like it is about to fail in exactly the same way. After that I’ll have to get inside by crawling through an air duct or something.
Anyway, that’s how, every morning, I find myself getting into my car with the engine running and the radio already turned on. And, more often than not, it is usually tuned to the local public radio call-in talk format show on the station I was listening to the night before.
The other morning I slid into the spaceship (that’s what I call my car) and a word from the radio pierced my consciousness.
“Bullshit.”
Okay. You have my attention. I paused to listen. Did I really just hear that?
Continue reading →
Interview Success – Honesty Can Suck It
The other day when I wrote about Facebook being the new creepy I got so worked up and excitable that I completely forgot the point. The main point. Writing an entire article and forgetting the primary thrust. Yeah, that’s me in a nutshell. And in more ways than one, if you get my thrust. (Wink, wink.)
This is part two in our ongoing series entitled Shit I Forgot To Say. Enjoy!
Let’s say you’re the elite. You wisely went out and got yourself a shiny Facebook page.
You voluntarily put your real name on it.
You populated the account with a myriad of pictures of your wonderful countenance. Because the world needs more of that. Yeah.
And then, gasp, you did something truly out there. You went way beyond the pale.
You spoke the truth about that fig pucker, your boss.
Obviously you can never have a job again.
Continue reading →
She Who Boots my Floppy
I love my computer
you make me feel alright
every waking hour
and every lonely night
I love my computer
for all you give to me
predictable errors and no identity
and it’s never been quite so easy
I’ve never been quite so happy
all I need to do is click on you
and we’ll be joined
in the most soul-less way
and we’ll never
ever ruin each other’s day
cuz when I’m through I just click
and you just go away
I love my computer
you’re always in the mood
I get so turned on
when I turn on you
I love my computer
you never ask for more
you can be a princess
or you can be my whore
and it’s never been quite so easy
I’ve never been quite so happy
the world outside is so big
but it’s safe in my domain
because to you
I’m just a number
and a clever screen name
all I need to do is click on you
and we’ll be together for eternity
and no one is ever gonna take my love
from me because I’ve got security,
her password and a key
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