A person I much admire is Warren Buffett. Notwithstanding, he and I have one permanent, albeit silent, disagreement. He wants to pay more tax. I don't.
I presume that the reason for our major difference is that, whereas he still looks relatively well, I have this appalling anaemic look about me, the way the IRS vampires have been feeding on me. So, I am afraid that this will be the one disagreement that we will both carry to the grave. Much to my chagrin.
Lately, I have been toying with the idea of getting a permanent cure for my illness. First, I thought of committing a minor crime, say, something like throwing a medium-sized rock through the shop window of New York store. I figured that, the way American prison sentences are surreal, I might get 25 years to life without the option of parole, which would enable me to lead a comfortable life at the expense of the State, instead of it being the other way around. Finally, I gave up on the idea, for, with my luck, I might just get 300 hours community service at the local mortuary.
It was at that point that I decided to become more creative. I looked up the tax codes and found out that there is no tax on begging. At my age, I can easily let my beard grow, buy myself some tattered, old clothes, and I will have a morning occupation. In the evening, I'll shower thoroughly, put on my tuxedo and go out on the town.
What's more, if I interpret correctly President Obama's vision of the future, I might still be eligible for social benefits!
