Someone once said that there are only 2 things in life that are certain: decease and taxes. I would quarrel that death and taxes are really one and the same, the only inconsistency being that death can only demand you once, when taxes can slay you every annual.
I die a slow death every April 15th. I'd rather go on a one-way tour of the wreckage of the Titanic in a minisub that has a slow leak than do my taxes. Even if my mother-in-law was at the wheel and my rear end was on bombard, I'd still rather take that ride than to try and disorder through the latest assortment of forms and additions from the IRS. (I'm warning you, you're going to need Indiana Jones to decypher all the new tax code). I'm primarily wary of the IRS this year because it was recently reported that a cloud of Americans audited in the last few years have been poor, white southerners. Like tornadoes, it seems living in a trailer family attracts the Tax Man, too.
My terror of tax season stems from the faith that not material what I do, no material how honest I try to be (and I truly do attempt to be honest), I will somehow bring an end to ... unpaid the government a gazillion dollars extra than I really acquired. I have my own tiny IRS representative in my brain and she speaks to me anytime I obtain also approach the edge of reportable sanity.
'But I didn't even make a gazillion dollars last year!' I call.
'That doesn't matter, sir,' the voice says. 'You incorrectly calculated the accrued interest and long term chief gains from the marketing of that decisive attribute from the gathering of the first chapter to the party of the second chapter,
Christian Louboutin Ni toi ni moi 120 suede boots, which resulted in a $3.12 profit on your part that was not reported to the IRS on forum 1099FU. The discipline for not submitting the required fashion and the $3.12 to the IRS among the allotted sum of time is a gazillion dollars PLUS amuse. Have a nice day.'
Then there's the answer of accurate what qualifies as a dependent. This one always gets me because in my idea, whether someone depends on me because its existence and I have to take period out of my daytime apt tend apt it, it's a dependent.
'I'm sorry, sir, even though it would probably die if you didn't feed it and give it water everyday, your dog does not qualify as a dependent.'
'What variety of logic is that? Do you have any idea how many I spend on that dog? Now I'm not so melancholy about letting all my factories die over the winter! With stupid rules like that it's no wonder people cheat on their taxes!'
'Did you say something about cheating, sir?'
'Me? Cheating? No, of course not. That wouldn't be right.'
Surveys (no conducted by the IRS) have shown that even the most aboveboard, God-fearing Americans have thought about fooling on their tariffs just now alternatively different. It's a normal reflex, like opening your mouth to breath when you're six fathoms underwater. In truth, I meditation God built taxes as the ultimate test of human faith.
'Hmm,' God thought one nice April day. 'That angel thing was just too cozy. How can I really test man's ability to withstand temptation? I know, I'll create taxes! And what shall I call the entity I create to collect these taxes? Hmm, I've yet secondhand the name, Hell... I know, I'll call it 'The INFERNAL REVENUE SERVICE!' No, await a second, 'The INTERNAL Revenue Service' is even scarier! And for those who can not withstand the temptation to cheat, I will create THE IRS AUDIT!'
Most Americans would prefer work down a strike line with Jeffrey Dahmer than have to sit through one IRS audit. Being audited is like going to the dentist even though there's nothing erroneous with your teeth. 'Yes,
Christian Louboutin peep toe Yopi pumps black, I'm here to have my gums scraped with a rusty ice pick. No, ma'am, there's nought wrong with my gums, but the dentist sent me this placard to appear in, so here I am...'
Why do we alarm the IRS, even though a cloud of Americans have never and would never cheat on their taxes? Maybe it's because of always the horror stories that came out during last year's congressional needle of the agent. It was reported that both Jimmy Hoffa and Amelia Earheart were on their way to IRS audits when they perished. It was also revealed that three out of five people audited wet their jeans during the process. This came to light merely afterward the IRS sent the General Accounting Office a bill for $324,000 for plastic chair covers and potpourri wind fresheners. Scary stuff, my friends. Very scary material.
'Internal Revenue Service. How may I help you today?'
'I have a question about the new tax code.'
'Yes, sir?'
'I don't get it.'
'Don't get what, sir?'
'I don't get anyone of it. I don't know it.'
'You're not conceived to understand it, sir. That's why we shriek it code.'
'But that's the dumbest thing I've ever listened.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but that's just the access it is. Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr...Knox?'
'How'd you know my appoint?'
'We're the IRS, sir. We know everything. Do you have a problem with namely?'
'Problem? Nope, not me. I think you folks do a large job! In truth, I was hardly ever to send you a retard for a gazillion greenbacks!'
'Thank you, sir. The IRS appreciates your patronage. And Mr. Knox?'
'Yes, ma'am...'
'You have a pleasing day.'
Tim Knox Entrepreneur, Author, Speaker, Radio Host Check Out Tim's New Radio Show! =>
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