By Alex Berger
Tax our car, tax our oats, tax our pants, and tax our coats.
Tax our phones, tax our work, tax our tie, and tax our shirt
Tax our oil. Tax our gas, tax our money, when will it pass?
Tax us good, and don’t you know? After taxes, we have no dough. If we holler, they tax us more, tax
us ’til we are good and sore.
Tax our coffin, tax our grave, and tax the sod in which we lay.
These words we’ll put upon our tomb: “Taxes drove us to our doom.”
But, after we’re gone, we mustn’t relax They’ll still be after the inheritance tax!
— Anonymous
There’s a lot I can say about taxes -— but I must remember that this is a family newspaper.
Yes, dear taxed-out readers, be prepared once again for that coup de gras of all tax impositions — Income Tax Day, the day that forever lives in infamy. Don’t you agree that it should fall on April Fool’s Day, not April 15?
This year, my annual battle with income tax will again take a lot of Kleenex — not only do I cry a lot, but I always end up paying through the nose. No, don’t ask me to run to the nearest religious institution to pray, It’s too late for that.
And I will not fret either. That’s because, each year, I know exactly where to seek help. I beeline it to my expert in the field, Gerard the Accountant, for some last-minute fiscal advice. He is a good tax man and he always comes up with enough deductions to maintain my home until I get out of jail. He also stoutly pledges that if any of his customers is audited, he will personally stop by and water their plants until they are paroled. What a guy!
On one visit I found Gerard busily reading a worn hardcovered book, “Accounting For Dummies.” On his desk was a sign which read, “Telling the truth will invariably confuse the IRS. My best advice is to say nothing and just mail them your bankbook.”
Gerard is such a considerate and compassionate fellow. He is the only certified public accountant I know with a recovery room. He also stacks a carton of aspirin and an oxygen tank alongside his desk, and his wife, Beryl, is on call to administer them as needed.
“Will you give my millions of readers and me some helpful tax tips?” I implored Gerard. He deftly removed his glasses, huffed on them, wiped them clean and put them back on his nose. Then, grimacing for a few moments, he finally replied, “Yup.”
“I love my job,” the wise one said. “I am one of the lucky few who get paid for sticking our noses into other people’s business. It is a fact that America is the only country where it takes more brains to make out your income tax return than it does to make the income. And, if any of your readers think no one knows that they are alive, let them try filing their income tax late. So, here I am, ready, wiping and able to help.”
“But, before I do,” he continued, “I must warn your readers that if they ever are called in for an audit they should NEVER copy the following stories that were used by other taxpayers and denied by the IRS over the years: NEVER file a return jointly with your dog and claim the pooch is your reincarnated husband. If the reader is an artist, NEVER deduct mileage amounting to twice the circumference of the earth and argue that you have to commune with nature to do your job. NEVER claim both your mother-in-law and your dog as dependents and claim that you had to spend $50 more on your poodle last year than on your mother-in-law. NEVER tell the IRS that if they do not leave you alone, you will cheat again next year. That’s a definite NEVER.”
“And, for Heaven’s sake,” Gerard emphasized, “if a reader is asked by the IRS why he hadn’t filed a return in several years, NEVER say, ‘Didn’t you receive my death certificate?’”
“And without a doubt,” Gerard continued, “you should heed the CPA’s credo: ‘If you enjoyed it, you can’t deduct it. Only in a democracy does every citizen have complete freedom in deciding their taxes — whether to pay by check, money order, or Internet.’”
“A person can chart his financial success by the frequency of times he is called in for an audit,” Gerard added, “so, Beware the Eyes of Audit. The average IRS auditor is normally a very cranky individual. He hates his job because he didn’t have the charisma to make it as an undertaker. In his office, he hangs a sign which reads: It is illegal for anyone to die during my tax audit, especially if that person owes money.”
Gerard is intrinsically a very honest man. He reassures all his clients that if anyone gets audited, he will personally go down to the IRS office and deny that he ever met you.
In conclusion, Gerard expressed two thoughts: “When you do a good deed, always remember to keep the receipt. Heaven might be like the IRS.
“And, remember, be sure that your passport is up to date.”
Reach Times-Ledger columnist Alex Berger by e-mail at aberger3@nyc.rr.com, or call 229-0300, Ext 139.
