Death and Taxes
It's closing in once more on that time of the year when the Gubmint Men come a knock-knock-knocking on the door for our forced tithing to the state. Well, they won't get it, this year! I'm locking all the doors! Loading all the rifles! Putting on a football helmet and buying a pack of wild pit bulls to protect me! Taxmen come 'round these parts, he's gonna get his greedy little hands chewed off. Then I'ma headbutt 'im with this here football helmet!
Well, okay, not true. Relax, IRS, we pay quarterly. We're good little taxpayers. We love our government. Mmm-mmm, tasty government. Honest. Clean. Simple.
("Simple." Hah. Shhright. The tax code is a crazy labyrinth, and at the center lurks a giant minotaur with a stack of W2 forms and an abacus. Damn you, tax code.)