A fine is a tax for doing something wrong; income tax is a fine for doing well.
This is the time of year taxpayers need additional help—like an orthopedic checkbook.
By Alex Berger
April 15th – A Day To Tax One’s Soul
A fine is a tax for doing something wrong; income tax is a fine for doing well.
This is the time of year taxpayers need additional help—like an orthopedic checkbook.
Alexander the Great imposed a tax on beards and created barbers.
The owner of a small deli was being questioned by an IRS agent about his 2001 tax return. He had reported a net profit of $80,000 for the year. “Why don’t you people leave me alone?” he said. “I work like a dog every year and my family helps out. The place is only closed 3 days a year, and you want to know how I made $80,000?”
“It is not your income that bothers us,” the agent said. “It is these deductions. You listed nine trips to Aruba for you and your wife.”
“Oh, that,” the owner said smiling. “I forgot to tell you—we also deliver.” Welcome to “Income Tax Day.”
With April 15th rapidly approaching, it is time for late filers to get cracking. So, empty your tool chests, gather your financial records and rush to your accountant, lest you’ll be sorry forever. I never forget that infamous date. It falls on the day after President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated in Washington D.C. in 1865. If you emboss that statistic into your memory bank, your tax returns can never be late. Ah, April 15th. It is my day for taxes. The rest of the year is my audit time. I once was asked what my greatest work of fiction is. I said last year’s tax return. If you ever thought that no one knows you are alive, try filing your income tax late.
Since I am one of the Income Tax procrastinators, I wait until April 15, and immediately, expeditiously and posthastely, contact Gerard, my accountant, to prepare my tax return. Luckily, I have Gerard. He is a renowned CPA. I know this to be true because the government is seeking to name a loophole after him. Just last year, I heard a woman ask him if birth control pills were deductible. “Only if they don’t work,” he smartly replied. Even Alan Greenspan consulted with him on the best way to balance the federal budget. Gerard did some figuring and e-mailed back the answer—close 27 states.
Two years ago, Gerard saved me mucho dollars on taxes. With the refund we received, Gloria wanted to go to Europe, I wanted to go to Aruba, and the government wanted us to go to Leavenworth. I gave Gerard my usual instructions—show that I didn’t make the money I did. Posted on Gerard’s wall is his annual advice to clients: “It is tax season! Send a check made out to the IRS for whatever money you have left after spending it on food, clothing, and shelter.”
I then began grumbling about paying taxes. Gerard grabbed me by my tongue and assured me my money was going for good causes, such as: repairing Flushing’s potholes, which sink a week later; supplying Little Neck’s meter-maids with ball-point pens; and paying for President Bush’s speech lessons (which perpetuates a Texas drawl). He added that Congress just simplified the tax form this year. The 1040 form consists of only three parts: “1. How much money did you make in 2001? 2. How much do you have left? 3. Send in the entire amount listed in (2).”
“I know it is a privilege to pay income tax,” I told Gerard, “It is just that sometimes, I get the feeling that I am too privileged. I really do owe a lot more than money to the IRS—my ulcers, nausea, and shingles.”
It is a fact that an estimated one trillion aspirins have been consumed world-wide during the past 100 years and 99 and 44/100% of them were swallowed during Income Tax season right here in the good old U.S.A. Of that total, my household alone fell into the 31% bracket.
After cleaning and adjusting his spectacles, Gerard began his task. He looked over my figures and said I have a wonderful wife. She is a credit to her cards. He then asked whether I wanted my tax return faxed in. “No way,” I replied. “That would be like a do-it-yourself mugging.” He noticed a bead of sweat streaking across my brow.
“Don’t worry. I see that your income taxes could be a lot worse. Just suppose you had to pay on what you really think you are worth?” He laughs louder at my tax return than he does at my jokes. But he is fair. He can come up with so many extra deductions that I wind up with enough money left to post bail. He has written a self-help pamphlet, “30 Ways To Save On Your Taxes and 60 Things To Do While You Are In Jail.”
I instructed Gerard to list six of Gloria’s relatives under the “charitable contributions” category. I defy anyone to prove that they are not an organized charity. Gerard said, “If you are called down, the IRS has an express lane for 10 loopholes or less. They also have a sign in their office which reads: ‘It is illegal for anyone to die during a tax audit, especially if that person owes money.’ ” I hope the tax people will be as good to me as they were last year. They only took away my cat, the storage box with my priceless 200l columns and my computer, but they let me keep Gloria.
Gerard finally finished my return. It took 93 seconds flat; however, he advised to wait until dark before dropping it in the mailbox. He didn’t want anyone to recognize me. I heartily recommend Gerard to everyone. He will save you time, reducing your ten-year sentence to five.
Before leaving Gerard, I wanted to test his grasp of the principles of accounting, so I asked him the four questions: 1. When does a person decide to become an accountant? 2. How does an accountant liven up a party? 3. What are the three kinds of accountants in the world? And, 4. What is a shy and retiring accountant? He was stumped so I answered: 1. When he realizes he doesn’t have the charisma to succeed as an undertaker. 2. He invites an actuary. 3. Those who can count and those who can’t. And, 4. An accountant who cooks the books and becomes thousands of dollars SHY in his numbers. That is why he is RETIRING. Gerard turned red, grabbed me by my 1040s, and threw me out. Uh, Oh! I wonder whom I can get to do my income tax next year?
NOTICE TO THE IRS – This column was written by Barry, Gloria’s brother.
Reach columnist Alex Berger by e-mail at HYPERLINK mailto:timesledger@aol.com timesledger@aol.com or call 229-0300, Ext. 140.
