Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Fuck taxes


It turns out my tax preparer neglected to tell me I was supposed to send in a check. Thanks, buddy! Now go fuck yourself with a rusty spoon!

Last night I was so stressed over this - I am a worrier, people. I worry. A lot - that I didn't want to think about my screenplay. My script is so serious and sad, it was just compounding my worry.

So as I fell asleep I tried to think of a way to turn taxes into a movie. I ended up coming up with this surreal artsy thing with mystical elements - a story about a woman waiting in line to pay her taxes in a big white room with a huuuge green desk and some ugly old lady behind it but really high up. Then the woman goes through a portal to another world where she gets lost in a sea of paperwork.

Then, because I'm me, some dude showed up with a shitload of guns and started blasting the place.

It's the gunfire that lulled me to sleep.

6 comments:

  1. Could your zombies eat the tax preparer, or are they of the variety that only eats organisms with brains?

    ReplyDelete
  2. This is a good idea. I'll assemble my zombie hordes immediately.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Never know the tax script could be a nice follow up to Brazil. :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sorry you're having to deal with this situation. You're write-up about it, however, was hilarious.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Heh. Thanks. I paid it and as long as it doesn't affect my credit I'll be okay.

    But it did not help my tendency to worry too much.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Anonymous9:28 PM

    death and taxes

    Hats, I'm new not to the world but to your blog.

    ReplyDelete

Please leave a name, even if it's a fake name. And try not to be an asshole.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.