In Which We Fill Out Forms

I'll panic if I want to, bitch.  You're not the boss of me.

 

I did my taxes tonight, always a highlight of the year.  Hot little forms have been showing up in the mail for the last couple of months all claiming to be "important tax information." which I pile up on my desk where they glare balefully at me. I spend all of February doing nothing about them and dreading the day I will actually dive in and wrestle them to the mat. When I finally do turn to, all I have to actually do is check off a bunch of little boxes my tax guy has created.  They are all  questions like "did you invest in bitcoins last year?" And then every year I remember, oh yeah this is no big deal, this is why I pay the tax guy.  EVERY. YEAR.  

As long as I was in a government state of mind, I went ahead and completed my census form.  I had merrily assumed it would just be asking for my address and if I was a white boy.  It did ask that but it also seemed reluctant to take my word for a number of other impertinent queries.

For instance, it asked how many people lived here.  I said just me and then the next question was, pretty much, are you sure?  What about just for a little bit?  Did you look in the closet, did you check under the bed? Dude, I swear I am the only one here.

They also focused a lot on my internet access and tools, to the point where I started to wonder if this was actually a census or a marketing survey. 

They then asked in two different places what my ancestry or ethnic origin is, like they were trying to catch me out on a lie.  When I checked off "white" it wouldn't let me move on until I specified what flavor of white I am.  I claimed I was Finnish because I figured that would screw up their algorithm.  My family comes from England, Germany, Ireland, Scandinavia, pretty much everywhere the natives survive on potatoes and cabbage.  So I suppose I could have just listed "Western Europe," but where's the fun in that?

Guys:

David Ciachek.  When they finally get around to creating sexbots, this is the blueprint they should work from. 

Oopsie.

I don't know who this is, but we do know, almost certainly, he is in either California or Australia because those are eucalyptus leaves he's standing on.

I almost forgot to mention, poor Diane von Austinburg slipped and face-planted on the sidewalk.n  She fractured her arm and has a big ol' black eye.  I am refraining from addressing her as "Slugger."

Beefy.

I just love those dimples right above a man's butt.

I hope some rich old man is paying top dollar for that prime pussy.