As the economically viable beings scurry, the citizens and residents start to panic for once a year, every year, a dark grey cloud covers the nation for an entire lunar month. Behold, this month shall be hence forth known as March, a.k.a. Tax Month.
Forms to fill, lies to tell, Ts to cross and Is to dot. But beware, do not fool yourself my child, for Uncle Sam is watching you. He is watching each and every one of you. He is waiting for you to dutifully pay your annual dues. Because it is not enough that we, the mere peasants of the land, have to pay taxes on our monthly salaries, and general sales tax on each and every item we purchase.
No! Our pay slips are taken and rung out, much like a wet towel, to drain us of every spare penny we may be hoarding away for a rainy day. Uncle Sam sees them. And he wants them. By the end of the month.
1 comment:
Prozac fueled peasants raise up against the establishment. We shall smite uncle Sam.
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