Friday, June 19, 2009
Fuck you, Uncle Sam. Now pay me.
The U.S. government is fucking me. And not in the good way.
It kind of figures. For the first time in my life, I got my act together and went to an accountant. A really good accountant.
He showed me a myriad of things I could write off, and when all was said and done my refund was the largest it’s ever been. By a country mile. I’ve never gotten back thousands of dollars before. 2009 was gonna rock, baby!
And then, the fuckers must’ve just decided that I wasn’t worth that much money. They probably got wind of the fact that I’m just out here coasting through life and did not earn the right to get back so much of my hard-earned dough that I involuntarily send to their diamond toilet and gold-plated yacht fund every year.
I had to go so far as to file a claim with the U.S. government to either track down the original check (which some online robot swears was mailed out) or eventually send me a replacement check.
Of course, the paltry little California state return came back with a quickness. Bah! Sure, you owed my that chunk of change, and I’m glad you were man enough to pay it, Mr. California. But can you please say something to yer boy America? There’s a kilo of cocaine, a gross of condoms and a week fucking as many dirty hookers as (in)humanly possible in Amsterdam between raiding coffee shops for their supplies of Sour Diesel buds in my future whenever they gimme my $$$$. That shit is gonna be epic.