Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Although I am the founder of a Fortune 01 company, gentle reader, I still enjoy getting my hands dirty whenever April 15 rolls around. Sure, I could hire a tax preparer to do my taxes–heck, I could purchase a gaggle of tax preparers and have each one fill out a single line on the form–but I’m a very do-it-yourself person. That reminds me of a quick story, actually.

This was a while back, I believe, but I don’t recall the exact year. I was just starting out because I remember eyeing my fifth condo when I received notice of an impending tax audit. The government apparently didn’t take too kindly to my claiming Oompah-Loompahs as dependents, and for the life of me I still don’t see why not. The Men in Suits and Dark Glasses were promptly deployed, though there might have been a Woman in a Blazer with Dark Glasses, I’m not sure. Things were just more conservative back then, so women were relegated to a more domestic role–as lithe ninja assassins who prowled noiselessly on rooftops for tax evaders.

Muse wasn’t around because she had flown to Chantilly to sue for libel. Some crackerjack author had apparently published a reimagining of Milton’s Paradise Lost and painted Muse in a rather scandalous light. Anyway, this made my escape from the States much easier, and so I booked it all the way to Bangalore with my auditors in close pursuit. Why they chose to follow me, I’ll never know. I got tired of running at some point, so I put on my Gloves of Tastefulness and made all the “deductions” I needed. It was a violent scene filled with papers and carnage, and to this day I still feel a little guilty. That’s why I do my own taxes.