Fletch's Fortune

★ ★ ★ ★ 1/2 (rounded up)
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
—

“I.R.S.,” the man said.

Fletch slid the door open. “How do you spell that?”

“Internal Revenue Service.”

. . .
“As a matter of personal curiosity, may I ask why you have not filed returns?”

“April's always a busy month for me. You know. In the spring a young man's fancy really shouldn't have to turn to the Internal Revenue Service.”

“You could always apply for extensions.”

“Who has the time to do that?”

“Is there any political thinking behind your not paying taxes?”

“Oh no. My motives are purely aesthetic, if you want to know the truth.”

“Aesthetic?”

“Yes. I've seen your tax forms. Visually, they're ugly. In fact very offensive. And their use of the English language is highly objectionable. Perverted.”

“Our tax forms are perverted?”

“Ugly and perverted. Just seeing them makes my stomach turn.”

Fletch's Fortune