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MOVIESTen Things I Have To Do Before I Can File My Taxes
There’s no point getting all the way to “Just Taxes” only to find I’ve forgotten my W-2 or my W-4 or any of those other letters that say ‘Important Tax Information” or “Reply Requested” or whatever. Bett
er just to bring the whole year’s worth of unopened junk mail, bills, Dominoes coupons etc, with me.
The problem is, some of that shit could be literally anywhere by now. So I’d better make sure I’ve looked in every closet, under every bed, behind the couch…
You know, now I think about it, a really thorough house cleaning is probably the way to go. Two birds with one stone, right?
As a freelance writer, there are lots of expenses I can legitimately deduct, and I’ve pretty much kept track of them. But what’s the point of showing up at “Just Taxes” and sitting in some shitty plastic chair drinking instant coffee waiting for one of their seasonal CPA’s to ask me things I wouldn’t tell my own
Mother if I haven’t figured out every possible deduction?
Think it through. Tools of the trade we know are deductible, so that’s the new computer and what I would have paid for all my pens if I’d bought them instead of taking them from work. But what about the stuff I do on the computer? Can I deduct my Internet service? I do all my research on the Internet.
And what about porno memberships? I’m writing about them right now, so that’s research too, right? And what about all the time I spend at work looking at porno? Isn’t my time worth something?
Sure it’s cheaper than H&R Block—a lot cheaper—but isn’t that kind of suspicious? Plus the place smells like Beefaroni and the computers all run off really long extension cords coming in through the back door.
It can’t hurt to look the place up online.
And as long as I’m online, I should see if ‘Ask Jeeves’ knows if I can deduct online gambling losses if I write about them… which I just did.
And I should check if Abi has any new pics up. She thinks she’s so hot she doesn’t have to update. I mean why the hell should I pay for a membership if she’s not going to update?
Because family is everything. What kind of father am I if the weekend roles around and I’m all “Oh, Daddy can’t play with you girls now, I have to go do our taxes.”
I remember how my Dad was always too busy for me on the weekends, because he ‘worked’ weekends at the ‘hospital’ where he was ‘chief of surgery’ or some other thing.
NOTE TO SELF: While spending quality time with girls, see if they know their Social Security Numbers. I’m pretty sure I need those. See if they know Wife’s number too.
Been promising to do this for months, or if Wife’s word is to be taken seriously, ‘years’. How mad is she
going to be if I put it off again with some lame excuse about doing taxes?
Seriously, if I have to hear one more time about how I “Made a commitment”, how “I said I’d do it and I’ll do it”, how my failure to fix the garage door is a symptom of my self destructive, ruinous, untreated depression, I will just go completely nuts. I mean what the hell, if I was constantly nagging Supermom about some fucking broken garage door, she’d be depressed too!
What, is their something related to my penis that means only I can fix a damn door, is that why it’s my responsibility, if I hacked off my Johnson could I get a few seconds of peace and quiet? Jesus!
Oh, it is not April already!
Fuck.
Taxes are friggin’ complicated enough without having to answer god damn personal questions about 
money when you’re so sleep deprived you’re ready to crack as it is. I don’t think a few nights in my own bed is too much to ask before pushing the Sysaphean stone of my finances up the damn mountain to “Just Taxes”. If she’s that damn mad at me, she can spend the night on the fucking couch for once.
And if those kids wake me up before Nine, THEY can do the fucking taxes! I mean, my God! “Daddy, we need breakfast, we need to go to school, we need lunches for school!” It’s endless! DON’T THEY HAVE ANOTHER PARENT? Can I NOT be allowed one fucking DAY just to SLEEP!?
I mean, come on, right? Is life just about money and keeping track of it? Can’t I have a nice meal, see a sunset, walk on the beach? Fuck, am I just some sort of drone lumbering around a hive for no other reason than to do the fucking taxes and then get shoved outside by the Queen to die in the cold?
Screw that noise! The government is going to get its pound of my raw, bleeding flesh and make interest off it, have no doubts about that, my friend! Every moment it’s in their bank account and not mine is robbery. All you smug bastards filing in March and February and fucking January are just a bunch of happy Brown Shirts.
Look at all the books I’ve bought over the years, meaning to read, never getting to. “Ulysses”, “Gravity’s
Rainbow”, “What Color is Your Parachute?”… The total tonnage of paper I’ve paid for is a crime by itself, and then you add on the wife constantly carping about how I only buy them so people who come to the house will think I’m the kind of guy who’d read that shit, Jesus! I mean she’s made it so I have to read them just to prove she’s wrong, right? And I have to do my taxes, that’s the law, Uncle Sam will lock me away and take all my stuff while I rot if I don’t.
So see, the beauty of it is, if I make an agreement with myself that I can’t file my taxes until I’ve read one of the big ass books, I’m golden.
I mean, they have them right? They have to. Like, say, suppose I was on my way to file my taxes and some kind of mad animal or robot something was menacing some old lady and I stepped in because I don’t let that kind of shit go down, and I end up getting my arm ripped off? There’s no way they’d expect me to have my taxes in on time, right? I mean, they’re in the street, totally illegible with arm blood and I’m being rushed to the hospital! So if they have extensions for shit like that, there I such a thing as getting an extension.
I mean, is it my fault they’re due in April? Who the hell’s idea is that, that’s like right the fuck after Christmas. I bet a lot of people don’t get them done on time. I mean, I know its commitment. I said I’ll do it and I’ll do it. Worse comes to worst, I can just put it all on next year’s taxes.
You can do that, right? I bet you can do that.
