The taxman cometh, and he requires of me about seventeen thousand dollars. Yeah, that’s right. I grossed a little over fifty G’s last year, and because I ride that crazy “self employment” train the IRS wants a big piece of the pie. It’s no biggie though: compared to, say, Bank of America, the Internal Revenue Service is a paragon of reason, patience, and customer service. Plus, their juice is only six percent.
The truth is that I sunk all my spare income over the past year into starting a new business and in paying off my high-interest credit card debts. That this now leaves me with a massive tax liability and no savings is a little annoying (Redman wants out!), but it’s a much better position compared to being square with the government, but without a growing small business and eight or nine grand in hock to the corporate shylocks.
Hell, by the time I pay this off — I’m guessing the end of the year or so — we might even be on our way out of Iraq, so maybe I can think of it as a kind of war-tax resistance.
That said, I’m actually fine with paying taxes. I don’t want to pay more than I have to, but I tend to think that for all its faults this old US of A has some pretty good perks. Freedom isn’t free, bitches. Besides, a bigger portion of the money I owe goes towards Social Security (which I believe in) than the Pentagon anyway.
Here’s to funded retirement and an end to empire!
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