Category Archives: Life In These United States

Life In These United States

IOU, IRS

Yesterday I received a note from the IRS, telling me I underpaid my 2006 tax return. The damage comes to less than 60 bucks. So of course I will pay it, because I have no desire to get audited or lose any hope of ever owning anything of value.

But here’s the thing: A 2006 return is for the 2005 calendar year. That’s 4 years ago now. I have no effing clue what I did that year. I mean, I do, but I couldn’t prove it. I might have receipts and documents somewhere, but I wouldn’t count on it. At least, I wouldn’t count on having everything I need. I probably have my W2’s, but anything else is probably tucked away in some envelope shoved at the bottom of a milk crate, next to old seven-inches.

So it occurs to me that this is actually a fradulent revenue-raising tactic for the federal government. You take people who make a certain amount of money. You pick a year that’s long ago enough to be hazy in people’s memories, but not so long ago that it’s ridiculous. Then, you pick an amount of money that they “owe” that won’t kill anyone.

Say you get eight digits of Americans to just write a check. That ain’t chump change.

What if you fight it? Then you get summoned to your local IRS office. They seat you in a dimly lit room with one long desk and two seats. They make you sit there for a while and sweat it out. Then some officious looking person enters, sits across from you, and slides a manila envelope your way. You open it up and discover 8-by-10 glossies of yourself doing something awful.

YOU: Where’d you get these?
IRS GUY: That’s not important. What is important is for you to pay that fine.
YOU: Yeah, but what I’m doing here…technically, it’s not illegal.
IRS GUY: No, but I’d bet you still don’t want those pictures posted all over the Internet.
YOU: *sigh* Fine, I’ll get my checkbook.

We’re through the looking glass here, people…

Life In These United States

And that Little Boy Who Nobody Loved Grew Up to Be…

Just heard (thanks to eagle-eyed reader TheWhiteBoomBoom) that the kid from Jersey named Adolf Hitler has been taken from his parents. Contain your shock if you can, please.

Most people, I’m sure, are happy to hear this. Me, I just hope his home situation was actually abusive or unsafe enough to warrant this move, because I think kids should only be put into foster care under extreme circumstances. I fear that the town Adolf lives in was embarrassed by the attention and pressured into doing something, even if his parents provided him a reasonable home.

Maybe reasonable isn’t the right word. How about adequate? Tolerable? Sufficient in all respects except for constant stream of hatred issuing from dad’s mouth?

My point is, yeah, I yelled bout this case when it popped up like everyone else. But on further reflection, I just hope the relocation was necessary. Being racist doesn’t necessarily make you an unfit parent. If it did, then at least half of the kids I grew up with should have been taken away by Child Protective Services.

Then again, simply naming your kid Adolf Hitler is a form of abuse. That’s a scar that ain’t gonna heal.

Life In These United States, Literary Endeavors

You Hate Me! You Really Hate Me!

I got a fresh piece of hate mail yesterday, something I haven’t received in quite a while. When you write for the web as much as I do, it’s like yelling in a vaccuum. It’s hard to gauge if your words have any impact at all. So it’s nice to know that someone read your work and was touched by it, even if the work touched them in such a way that they want you dead. 

The hate mail had nothing to do with Scratchbomb, but a piece I wrote at the now sadly defunct Freezerbox.com, a site I contributed to for several years. The emailer didn’t specify the source of his/her ire, but they were very clear about what they wanted me to do myself, or have done to me.

I’m not going to reproduce the hate mail here–not because it’s filthy, but because I’d rather not give the writer’s words any more fame than they deserve. The gist of the message was:

1) I am on drugs because I disagree with this person politically, and also because, unlike them, I peppered my work with proper spelling and fancy punctuation.
2) They hope America gets taken over by Muslim terorrists so I’ll get what I deserve. It’s funny–I never hear liberal commie types like myself wish that the US would succumb to foreign aggressors, but AMERICA: FUCK YEAH! types say this all the time. That would totally be worth it–the beacon of Western democracy should fall to teach me a valuable lesson.
3) I should go back where I came from. I don’t know where they thought I came from; Jihadist Russian Homo-ville, I guess.

I was mildly upset at first. I thought, Wait, I’m such a wonderful person! Who could possibly hate me? But hey, I’m not exactly innocent when it comes to writing really angry stuff online. Plus, in thinking these things, I’ve put more thought into the hate mail than the sender had.

In the old days, if you decided you hated someone, you’d have to type or write a letter, go down the post office, and spend money on a stamp before you could possibly express that hatred to them. Most people didn’t bother, because they knew some secretary would read this letter and throw it out. And because taking all this time out of their busy day interfered with their elaborate masturbation rituals.

So in volume, I’m sure there was far, far less hate mail in those days than there are angry emails/comments today. But the instataneous nature of the Intertubes is a good thing on this front. Because if someone reads a post that pisses them off, they can fire off a snotty email or comment, and that’s pretty much the end of it.

Read the comment sections of any site–political or not–and you will see some of the angriest, hate filled language ever written this side of the Aryan Nation. And yet, as far as I know, no blogger has ever been murdered a la Eric Bogosian in Talk Radio. 

Way back when, people were less inclined to publicly declare their hatred. But then all that animus built up over time until they started picking off people from clock towers. So I like to think of the Internet as a safety valve for the Crazy Steam that builds up in some people’s brains. They let it off, and then they’re close to normal for another few days.

Hey, I’ve been there. I know that if I don’t post here often enough, I start getting pains in my head! But then I vent my frustrations and the neighbor’s dog stops talking to me for a while!