You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
Tax Time.
I am stressed as hell this year.
The clock is ticking, like a time bomb in my head.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Bend over, grab your ankles, the the tax man cometh.
The tax man is a blood thirsty pirate, calculator clenched in his teeth as he swings onto my deck ready to lop off my head into a basket filled with snakes.
April 15th.
It’s Armegedon with a bad hangover. It’s mass suicide with an abaccus to keep count of the bodies as they hit the floor.
The damn government lives in my wallet. It’s set up shop there. It has an ADT alarm posted on the front grass, warning everyone to keep out, burglar all ready at work.
I feel the star spangled banner whistling in my ear telling me it’s that All American time again, time to pay the piper.
I feel uncle Sam’s fingers in my pockets, tugging and tickling.
If we were on a dark street corner I would probably owe 20 bucks for services rendered.
But in this case it is the heavy hand of the tax man and he is fishing around in my pocket looking for Benjamins.
I sent my tax guys all the documents i could find.
I sent them every scrap of paper, ever receipt. I even sent the directions to my Timex watch. (try figuring that out)
Find me a loop hole boys! Get me some tax relief boys. I want the tax rate of Warren Buffet, not his secretary, you hear me?
I bought a weed eater so I could toil like a farm laborer. Is that like a donation to the migrant farm workers of America?
Then I hurt my back weed eating. I went to the chiropractor to get expensive treatments that my insurance might not cover.
Can I deduct that? Some sort of red cross medically induced donation?
I sent my kid money at college. I see his debit card purchases. Subway, and Mello Mushroom, and Publix. Hey tax man, does his Jones for junk food factor into my deductions. It’s like subsidizing a crack head. Isn’t that deductible, like some inner city program to help junkies and pregnant mothers?
I bought a new lock at home depot and installed it. Can I deduct $18.95 for general life maintenance. It’s my neighborhood contribution to keeping crooks on the street and out of my house.
I sent my tax guys all my paperwork weeks ago. I sent everything I could think of including the new kitchen sink. Can I deduct that? Where’s the box to check for home improvement?
My tax guy calls me yesterday and tells me that it’s hard to cram a year’s worth of work into 10 weeks.
That’s code for I might not be able to file your taxes by April 15th.
Well damn tax preparation guy, we all got problems, right?
We probably will need to file an extension, He says.
I’ve been working since I’m 13 years old. I’ve never filed an extension. I’ve always paid on time, and I’ve never owed more money than what the tax man all ready pick pocketed out of my wallet.
But this year something is amiss.
My tax guys tell me that an extension is nothing, everyone does it.
Then he tells me if I owe money and I don’t pay in full by April 15th, I can expect to pay 1/2 a percent per month in penalty on the amount owed.
“there’s also a 3-4% interest rate on what you owe,” He says.
WHAT THE F***!
If I owe money!
It’s like 2 days to go and nobody knows if I owe the government money?
This sucks.
Its like going scuba diving and sitting on the edge of the boat, ready to roll over into a stormy sea and the dive instructor saying, “I’m not sure when we last loaded that tank with air.”
WHAT
“Don’t worry sir. People roll backward, blind, into the abyss all the time.”
Anybody got the number for a good undertaker?
How can I plan a trip if I don’t know where the hell I’m going?
I have to pay the government money tomorrow. I may have to pay them a lot of money tomorrow. But I still don’t know how much money I may or may not owe.
Did you save for this?
Save for What?
How can you save for a question mark? How can you put money away, in a secret piggy bank, to catch something as enigmatic as steam in a plastic bag?
Let me go stick my head in the kiddie pool and scream angrily.
It’s hard to prepare to pay the IRS when you have no clue what you might have to pay the IRS.
I’m frustrated.
I love my tax guy, but I hate the tax man. I feel like he pulls money out of my pocket every pay check.
Why suddenly is he asking for more?
I feel like a victim. I feel like a burglar is standing outside my house, he’s watching where I hide my keys and he is smirking. He knows he is about to enter my home and begin filling up his nap sack with my stuff.
Of course I will see this all happening, and I have to sit back and watch. I can’t call the police, I can’t pull out a baseball bat and whack the tax burglar in the melon.
I have to take it.
I am mad right now. I am mad at Uncle Sam. I am mad at my tax guys. I’m mad.
My tax guys are not really the problem. But sometimes the messenger gets blamed.
Trust me; I’m a news guy, i get blamed all the time for reporting facts that happen. People aren’t mad at themselves for screwing up, they are mad at me for reporting they screwed up.
Same with my tax guy. He is just doing his job, telling me what i owe, or hopefully don’t owe. I just wish he had told me a week ago so i didn’t have to wait.
It’s like sky diving and watching the Earth coming at you like a missile. I want to pull my shoot but I’m not allowed to. So i free fall and free fall and the Earth is rushing at me and the inevitable demise is coming and I can’t do anything about it.
I have to pull my shoot or splat!!
The question is, when I do finally pull my chute, will it even deploy? Was it packed by a blind man?
splat!
That is what I feel like right now.
Waiting for a guy, in San Diego California to tell me whether I’m going to owe more money to Washington D.C. for a job I do faithfully here in Nashville, Tennessee.
My tax guy is working 16 hour days. He’ll send me a bill. The problem is, I’m pretty sure, like a restaurant that makes me the wrong entree, I can’t send it back.
And that is crazy.™