Greetings, Infernal Revenue Service

If you're like me you found yourself writing out a check to our federal government today. It was the last day of the coronavirus inspired IRS extension.

If you're like me -- and god help you if you are -- you also appended the payment with some kind of appropriate commentary.

Made even more appropriate because we owe money to a government that turns around and hands that money out to megachurches, Fortune 5 00 companies and assnuggets like Kanye West, all of whom took advantage of Uncle Sam's PPP Feeding Trough for the Rich.

But what stings the most is that I owe Donnie's House of Whoring and Backscratching, more money than I've ever owed in my life. Because, and here's the kicker, 2019 was also the year I made the least amount of money I've made in the last 27 years in advertising. Ever since I was a young, up and coming 1993 copywriter, working for two of the industry's legends. Steve Hayden and David Lubars.

Steve liked me. Lubars, not so much.

Consequently, last year, I had to dip into my IRA savings. Thus, running up a substantial tax bill.

I don't like dipping into my savings. I like to log in to my Charles Schwab account and watch those numbers increase. I like to pull up the full screen chart and gaze at the line, climbing at a sharper and sharper angle.

You know like the number of Coronavirus cases. And now, the coronavirus deaths. There's nothing pleasing about those charts. Except the hope that #Maskholes throughout the country might finally realize the cesspool this regime has plunged us into.

But I'm not hopeful.
Or naive.

So now, what was mine, no longer is. That money is in the capable, tiny, vulgarian hands of Captain Fucknuckle, who will no doubt use it to buy new umbrellas, to replace the ones he failed to close.

Or pay for golf carts needed by Secret Service agents trailing him on one of his 8,974 golf outings.

Or, to reimburse DJT Jr. for expenses he incurred while scouring the Serenegetti and shooting groundhogs, or gerbils, or some other herbivorous wild game that poses no threat to the life and limb of that worthless silver spoon scumbag.

It makes my blood boil.

It also explains the purchase of my new mask.