Wherein I Face My Demons

I got a letter in the mail today. The letter was from the Internal Revenue Service, the IRS. I wondered why they might be contacting me.

Maybe they were making a donation because they’re fans of my blog. Maybe it was a late arriving holiday card. Maybe it was a “Thank You note” for… well, for just being me. As I was unaware of anyone ever receiving such a letter from the IRS, it became crystal clear in my mind, before reading the letter, that I am now completely and totally fucked, inside-out, for the foreseeable future.

I opened the letter.

I read the letter.

Yeah, I’m fucked. It turns out that the IRS has a few questions about a substantial portion of unreported income from my 2005 tax return. In all honesty, that’s just the tip of the iceberg and I’m sure they’ll figure that out soon enough, if they haven’t already.

Does anyone know of a publishing company that would be interested in optioning a book called “IRS: SOS!” wherein I chronicle my immanent demise at the hands of the tax man? It’s a cautionary tale of sorts. All proceeds will be sent directly to the IRS to clear my debt and save my ass from going to jail. Let me know. Seriously.

Does anyone know a good tax attorney that would be willing to work for a favorable review on a formerly famous blog that hardly anyone reads anymore? Let me know. Seriously.

Crap.

RNC: Sarah Palin’s Speech

What kind of drugs did they use to knock out Sarah Palin’s baby? If you know, please tell me. I want some. There is no possible natural way, Corky Disease or not, that a baby could sleep through that many raucous repetitions of “Drill, baby, drill!” 

Just sayin’.