Pardon the intrusion —
I don’t mean to pry —
But the deficit’s soaring;
The figures don’t lie.

Uncle Sam’s in a pickle —
Needs money like mad —
So he sent me to tell you
You must pay to be bad.

He’s taxed income and outgo
And capital gains;
Now, an excise on excess
Is all that remains.

Uncle wants to be fair —
No sin taxes he’ll seek
‘less you go making love
More than one time a week.

I’m installing surveillance
To monitor your behavior.
Lusting under covers won’t save you —
I’ll hear your cries to the Father of your Savior.

But please don’t take this personal —
It’s my job to listen and view it.
Hey, you know what they say:
Someone’s got to do it.








Did you ever notice that when you put the words “THE” and “IRS” together, it spells THEIRS? -Anonymous

It’s April 15th — tax day in America. If you haven’t already done so, it’s time to reward Uncle Sam for the fruits of your labor — even if you claim you hate your job (sour grapes are nonetheless taxable).

In this country, the job of collecting donations to the federal government falls to the IRS — AKA the Infernal Revenue Service. In years past, I (like many other nightmare-lovers) have often opted to procrastinate up to the last day to prepare my tax return. Not so this year — as you will see when I relate a brief but curious conversation I had this morning with my neighbor, Max, over the backyard fence:

“Hello, Muse!”
“Good morning, Max.”
“Have you done
your income tax?”
“Taxing though
it be to say,
know I did
it yesterday.”
“Did you take
your deductions?”
“I deduced
for reductions.”
“Four reduced?
I laud your feat!”
“I took off
both hands and feet.”
“That’s the way
to keep ahead!”
“Yes, I used
my limbs in stead.”
“Instead of
head? Way to go!”
That’s the way
to save some dough!”
“Have you done
your income tax?”
“Good day, Muse.”
“Good morning, Max.”