Whimsy, satire, irreverent humor, and hijinx from a place not so far away

Simpli-tax, the series

Simpli-Tax part 1.


The rookie CPA was tense
Ne’er spoke to crowd so huge
Of fellow standers on the fence
“Don’t want to seem the stooge.”
The Bean-filled Vegas hall got hush
As Smelford took the stage
A stumble from his anxious rush
That wrinkled his front page.
               Good morning, fellow Green-shade toads
               Let’s talk ’bout:  News in Tax
               This squawk of simplifying codes
               Needs our collective whacks.
               Our paws and grampaws worked so hard
               To gin this convolution
               Spent years and years on mounds of lard
               To ensure mass confusion.
               Let’s not let their fine work be squashed
               To some dumb 1-page form
               Our fine profession won’t be washed-
               Out with this half quaked storm.
“Rah, rah, rah”  Bean-arazzi shouts
“We’ll help you fight this fight.
We’ll kill this weed before it sprouts
Into some tax-less blight.”
Part 2.
My father told me, years ago
How simple taxes were
Forms could be filled by Average Joe
Without eyes going blur.
No blur?  No fog?  No walk in mist?
No smell of stale cigar?
No raging screams of uber-pissed?
It all seems too bizarre.
Deductions:  would just add them up
Just add them!  ‘Magine this?!?
No worksheets someone spat ’em up
How rudimentary, this.
No hundred-page instruction books
To fill one measley line
No hidden tricks for profs and cooks
Or hooks for shnooks who dine?
Those old rules weren’t ambiguous
T’was just too black and white
So easy…was ridiculous
Could whip out in one night (what fright!)
Oh my, it almost took us down
Destroying our profession
But luckily, dads went to town
When Congress was in session.
And turned that black and white to gray
Yay!  Loopholes few would know
Penned verbage full of may not/may
And yes…they made it slow.
So slow, old Joe now took a week
To get dern taxes done
By Day 3, Joe would mega-freak
His bowels would start to run.
Came running to we CPA’s
Just after change of trou
We’d vault him from his tax-freak daze
And halt his birth of cow  (oh, wow!)
Part 3.
Incumbent on us…at this point
To not let fore-dads down
Not let their Master-work disjoint
To sheets which wipe fresh brown.
In fact, must add complexity
To baffle Compu-Tax
Need ramp-up tax perplexity
Disguise our hidden cracks.
That only we, the tax gurus
Can pilot through the channel
Without fear that IRS screws
Will call for some empanel.
May ask the Congress to approve
Make tax forms just in Latin
Dump English, time to make the move
Provide less taxin’ chattin’.
Keep amateurs out of our Biz
That give those ornery discounts
That call themselves the New Tax Wiz
Then drizzle out their miscounts.
New Licensing is what we want
With standards set by us
Transcribed into the smallest font
By some old fart named Gus.
With tests and hoops and loop-de-loops
That help us to decide
Who gets to join our esteemed groups
And whose hide’s getting fried.
Yeah, licensing would add that wall
Might cause a wee-bit splatter
But, hey, some win, some take the fall
Cuz we need to get fatter.
Part 4.
They felt rush of adrenaline
From deep beneath their mounds
Some tummies were not settlin’
Strange symphony of sounds.
But now prepared to make a march
Parade of wing-tip gloss
Packed suits and ties, shirts laced in starch
Stashed extra rolls of floss.
With briefcase full of extra pads
And Cross pens freshly filled
And U’s to shield their lasses, lads
In case some stuff gets spilled.
They headed for the Power Hub
With Smelford at the wheel
With hopes to get into the tub
To play:  Let’s Make a Deal.
Played crazy bean games, state-to-state
Like count the 2-toned cars
Add numbers from their license plates
Divide by sleazy bars.
Count passers-by whose pants are flared
Times children filling gullets
Then add the Herrs with no hair, squared
Subtract the count of mullets.
The winner is the one who gets
A number close to Pi.
It’s “Bean Fun” to alleve the frets
Don’t bother asking why.
Part 5.
Smelf parked the bus at Spud’s motel
Good spot for buds on budget
The inn-keep did not look to well
His butt…could barely budge it.
A quick night stay at half-way point
In Who Knows, Pennsylvania
In some inept decrepid joint
That’s certain not to drain ya’
They packed a bus load in one room
Packed in eight roll-aways
The room smelled of a toxic fume
A fog of bean soup haze.
They’d stopped and dined at Burger Fred’s
Had ordered Double Cheese
But later, when they’d fumed the beds
Brought roaches to their knees.
Quick game before all went to bed:
Count brown splotts in the rugs
Took more time counting in the Head
Where splotts had killed more bugs.
Next morning…bus back on the track
Next stop would be DC
But then they heard the clickitty clack
Oh my…what could that be?
Part 6.
“The right rear bearing,”  Elmer said
“Yer bearing there is shot.
Can go get one from Burger Fred
Let’s go see what he’s got.
          “What?  Burger Fred?  The gaseous king?
          Give me a side of pube?
          Sells car parts, as some sidebar thing?
          Know where he gets his lube.”
“Yeah Fred is one ‘dem Aunt Pee-noors.
He’s in all kinda stuff.
Picks up our garbage, cleans our sewers
I go to him for snuff.
I think ole Fred will fix you up
Gots bearings on the shelf.
He keeps them in a soda cup…
I’ve pulled some out myself.”
Sure ’nuff, Fred had the bearing there
Right next to bags of buns
Was dusted with some old cat hair
Not spared the squiggly ones.
The bearing changed…back on the road
And paying freeway tolls
To sounds of Clem, the human toad
And counting telephone poles.
Part 7.
“We’re here!  We’re here!”  the bean-bags cheer
“We made it to the Mount
It’s like your car is free and clear
So joyed, I can’t e’en count.”
Smelf quickly seeks the Lobby firm
To drive this new crusade
A firm called Shadey, Shlock & Squirm
Would earn what they’ve been paid.
Their office, in some rundown house
Down around DuPont Circle
A smell of beer, a touch of louse
Were greeted by DeFerkle.
          “We hear you want to fight this bill
          To simplify the tax
          We heard you guys got pretty shrill
          Your grouse-meter pegged max.”
                    “That’s why our busload came to you
                    The Champs of the Perplex…
                    Creators of the Tax Code goo
                    Tax muscles set to flex.
                    “We’re desperate.  We need to kill
                    This move to make tax easy
                    Please guide us to help kill this bill
                    If needed, please get sleazy.”
          “We hear you.  But if truth be told…
          And thank you guys for stopping…
          On this one, we will have to fold
          You’ll need to go re-shopping.”
Part 8.
      You what?  You guys are baling out?
      You just aren’t making sense
      What wimp cards are you mailing out
       To all your new ex-friends?
                         Our guys here want things simplified
                         When they do their own tax
                         They’re tired of getting limpified
                         When pawing through tax stacks.
       They got to you!  The other side!
       Gave you a better deal
       Have you lost all your Tax Chef pride
       Just when we need a meal?
          Think back to your long history
          Of building tax confusion
          The weaves and bends of mystery
          And layered tax illusion.
          We worked together like a team
          We shared a-many beer
          Created every tax fright scheme
          Our dream of tax code fear.
          Now this?  To leave us in the lurch
          Just when we need you most?
          Force us to do some dag-blame search
          Just so you dweebs can coast?
                                          We’ve realized the harm we’ve done
                                          We’ve got some new religion
                                          Now need to get the spins unspun
                                          Raise our respect a smidgen.
Part 9.
                           I’m sorry.  But that’s not our Bag
                           Do I smell rotten core?
                           A bag that almost makes us gag
                           May we show you the door?
The 12th rejection just this week…
Seems no one wants this fight
A bar room fight of pungent wreak
To fight for what’s not right.
But finally, the 13th try
A firm with sub-floor standards
Who’ll do whatever cash will buy
Oblivious to slanders.bizarre173
So happy just to take the case
Their case load had got thin
About to be thrown from their space
Their bank rolls had lost skin.
           Come in.  Come in.  Please have a seat.
           That Simpli-tax?  Plain wrong!
           Will only serve up to deplete
           Our fine Accounting throng
           You really need to plant a seed
           To throw computers off.
           A virus…yeah, that’s what we need
           Give Comput-tax a cough.
So CPA’s then inked the deal
With Stunkfunk Lobby Inc
The deal – it had a queasy feel
The ink brand seemed to stink.
Part 10.
The Stunkfunk team went right to work
On several lobby fronts
They planned to pull out every quirk
In their rich trunk of stunts.
Decided first to start-off small
Get rumors on the street
Misinformation set to crawl
To keep the shell game neat.
Met with key staffers. Took to lunch:
     “D’ja see the new report?
     That Simpli-tax will maxi-crunch
     Cause revenue distort.
     Yeah, previous analysesbizarre128
     Were static in their calcs
     Assumptions used were falacies
     Developed by their ‘pals’.
     The new Code will cause major shift
     In what folks say they earn
     Will watch the skidding, downward drift
     As business starts to churn.
     Would no doubt cause a small revolt
     A cold path sure to haunt
     The global guys may choose to bolt
     That’s sure not what we want.
     Best keep the old Code we’ve got now
     It’s a known quantity
     All know what is/is not allowed
     Know every oddity.”
The Stunkfunk lob-sters were a trip
Dished out 2 tons of doodle
Consistency of nasal drip
And smell of liver strudle.
Part 11.
The News Release read:  Simpli-Tax
Is found to be a fraud.
Its rationale found full of cracks,
Its Mathematics flawed!bizarre174
So says McBoob, the President
Of Econ Masters Group.
“This bill would be a detriment…
Create new lines for soup.”
“Its guise of being simplified
Is just more smoke and mirrors.
Your prep work will be blimp-ified
Best stock up now on beers.
“And in the end, when revs fall short
There’ll be a tax addendum
Just ‘temporary’, they’ll report
Send dollars and they’ll spend ’em.”
This breaking news comes on the heels
Of Push for Tax Reform
From pundits in their spiffed-up spiels,
Chock full of fact de-form.
McBoob advises:  “Kill this now.
Before folks grab false hope.
Please nuke this undigested chow
Can someone get a rope?”
Part 12.
The letter-writing campaign starts
With notes from guys named Jones
Ten thousand Jones notes tug at hearts
Ten thousand tax bite moans.simplitax12
To News rooms for their Op Ed page
To Congresswomen types
To loudmouths from the screen and stage
Who seek to find new gripes.
The Jones blitz had a blanket reach
To even late night news
It found its way to News Talk screech
And dudes who teach the Blues.
They’d interview a Jones or two
Who’d rail ‘gainst Simpli-Tax
Who’d grouch until his head turned blue
Or BP popped to max.
The talking heads were stumped by this
Thought Simpli-Tax was cool
Could fill out forms while taking piss
Or resting on the stool.
Now all this outrage…what was missed?
Had seemed like one slam dunk.
This caged-up rage adds such a twist
The slam dunk just went clunk.
Part 13.
The Stunkfunk spunky compu-geeks
Devised a sleek new virus
It only took them 2-3 weeks
Called their new virus:  Tyrussimplitax12half
Would complicate the Compu-tax
Throw user on some tangent
They’d infiltrate with clever hacks
Was simpler than imagined.
You’d enter on Line 23
Would show on 28
Negate the 28 and see
Would wipe out your Line 8.
The program would erase your name
Sub some obscenity
From random obscene naming game…
A hack amenity.
Forced you to fill out some fake form
That made no freaking sense
Looked just like an official form
That also made no sense.
Then added ’bout a thousand bucks
To how much tax you owed.
And then it told you: “Man, this sucks!
Seems your grass just got mowed.”
The Stunkfunk gang all had a laugh
They almost blew a geyser
Had turned this into Compu-Gaffe…
Best stick with your Advisor.
Part 14.
Meanwhile Stunkfunk’s crack econ team
Was ginning up new “facts”
For “Facts sheets” spun to fit their scheme
With dreamed-up tax impacts.
Made up fresh numbers as they went
Drew graphs that had no basis
Made statements – who knows what they meant
Then closed with smiley faces.
Baked pie charts in a flaky crust
Fruit flavors of all kind
But crust would bust and turn to dust
And filling’d taste like rind.simplitax13
Weaved quasi-nalysis to ‘splain
Conclusions that they want
Could convolute a wiz-kid brain
Deciphering this gaunt.
Showed middle class will pay much more
The rich guys pay much less
Low-end pay less than less before…
Who’s wanting all this mess?
That 19 percent rate they claim
Bett’r add 5 more percent
Then 3 more, rolling out their game
Cuz that dough’s all been spent.
They’d accept all this bilge as true
Had Rex McBoob’s initial
Report’s crisp letterhead was blue
It all looked quite official.
Part 15.
Had town hall meetings, where they’s claim
The Simp-Tax was a plot
By Ultra-rich…and names they’d name
Like Shlumpp, Bill Shmates, and Shmott.
     Oh yes…these barons will all say
     They just want things more fair
     But they know how much less they’ll pay…
     ‘Nuff to redo their hair.
     And screw the working middle class
     The plumbers and the cops
     The ones who don’t spend time on ass
     Who’ve farmed this country’s crops
     It’s all one big conspiracy
     Wrapped up in slick disguise
     Be careful of their heresy
     Their twists, their spins, their lies.
Was beautiful…this tale they weaved
Like some fine work of art
Could get the town folk so darn peeved
‘Fore they left for Wal Martsimplitax15
Some fell asleep in rows in back
Worn out from piled-on hype
Wiped out from gripes from some new quack
With smell that’s much too ripe.
Fatigue of Change:  was all a plus
A factor they’d forgot
Folks just pooped-out of fuss and muss
Whose energies were shot.
Who just want to turn on the tube
At ends of busy days
Don’t want to hear a ranting rube
Who sets his pants a-blaze.
Part 16.
The Vegas bunch were feeling pumped
Were sensing shift of tide
Felt backbones get untied, unslumped
The backseat boys just cried:
     “I can’t believe my weary eyes…
     Tax may stay pains in butt!
     So we can keep our mesmerize
     Keep filers in their rut.”
They all went out to celebrate
With shots of discount rum
Next morning, not sure what they ate
But sure they’d gotten dumb.irishjig
Recalled that Norfberg did a dance
Right up there on the bar
An Irish jig, in rum-laced trance
While smoking rank cigar.
And sang a song, “Oh Give me Tax
Just like my daddy did.”
No one there ever heard those tracks
‘Cept some old fart named Sid.
They hugged and sang ’bout quaint tax things
While patrons all looked puzzled
At some point, they had ’nuff tax sings
Said:  these guys should be muzzled.
Part 17.
The polls they took would say it all
The Simp-Tax trend had drooped
Fave numbers, each week , took a fall
Some stuff was needing scooped.simpli poll
Jones letters kept on flowing in
Got Jones inside their bones
So much Jones that their heads would spin
And rattle much loose stones.
They’d lobbied every interest group
Pressed hard convincing banks
That they’d all need to clean the coup
Get used to hitting shanks.
Pushed hard on every charity
Stressed contribs would dry up
Fundraisers:  be a rarity
Bring back your begging cup.
Bye bye to 401K plans
That well will soon go dry
Best sell before stuff hits them fans
And PUTS hit all new highs.
The only fear that Stunkfunk feared
Was lack of fear itself
Were careful not to get too weird
Used mostly fears on shelf.
Part 18.
The final step in Stunk’s grand plan
The last nail in the coffin
A plan to get a target clan
Whom they would need to soften.
The CPA firms ‘cross the land
Had held hands and agreed
To give this group a helping hand
A group that’s so in need.simplitax18
They’d offered every congressman
And congresswoman, too
A break for all the “good they’ve done”
That’s helped, well, who knows who
A 90 percent reduction
In personal tax service
An earmarked target deduction
That made no tax guy nervous.
A mini-pay-off…some might say?
But they’d just say:  a perq.
For all their services, night and day
That, some might claim, is work.
But would this be enough to swing
Enough to drown this float?
Who knows?  But let’s see if they bring
The Simpli-Tax to vote.
The End.