Thursday, April 28, 2005


I must confess, I am a slave of the IRS. Bills to file, receipts to save, records of the gifts I gave, all the paperwork I shirked throughout the year comes back to haunt me, to taunt me and I fear the fees and penalties will amount to a mountain of debt. I don't know yet the bills I'll get, I'll fret and fume, then face my doom and ante up, you can bet.

Income tax is a taxing time. The IRS wants every dime I owe and when I plead poverty the agents look at me as though the dough I owe and will have to pay is peanuts to the USA. But what's a pittance of a remittance to Uncle Sam is a damn fortune to me and other supporters of our failing economy.

What I tried to get away with I must now pay with money from my piggy bank. I'm tanked. I'm spent. And every cent I had is gone. I'm on my way to bankruptcy. And then last stop, the Federal pen.