Subject: Taxpayer's Lament
From: Unicorn (unicorn@indenial.com)
Date: Mon Feb 07 2000 - 03:49:36 EST
"Taxes"
The stockbroker received notice from the IRS
that he was being audited. He showed up at
the appointed time and place with all his financial
records, then sat for what seemed like hours as
the accountant pored over them.
Finally the IRS agent looked up and commented,
"You must have been a tremendous fan of Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle."
"Why would you say that?" wondered the broker.
"Because you've made more brilliant deductions
on your last three returns than Sherlock Holmes
made in his entire career."
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"Taxpayer's Lament"
Tax his cow, Tax his goat;
Tax his pants, Tax his coat;
Tax his crop, Tax his work;
Tax his ties, Tax his shirt;
Tax his chew, Tax his smoke
Teach him taxing is no joke.
Tax his tractor, Tax his mule;
Tell him, Taxing is the rule.
Tax his oil, Tax his gas
Tax his notes, Tax his cash
Tax him good and let him know,
That after taxes, he has no dough.
If he hollers, Tax him more;
Tax him till he's good and sore.
Tax his coffin, Tax his grave,
Tax his sod in which he's laid.
Put these words upon his tomb,
"Taxes drove him to his doom."
After he's gone, we won't relax.
We'll still collect inheritance tax.
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