EE entered the grayish office, paper overflowing his arms. He dropped the yellowish pile of papers onto his accountant's grayish desk and settled into the armchair with a thump. He wheezed like a broken squeaky toy and spoke.
The year my start-up business, mini socks as nose and penis warmers, failed, I was sitting in church praying for my own good, I heard the organ intone the chords to 'It came upon a midnight clear' and I know that the choir sang 'They come on April fifteenth my dear to take our gold away.'"
"No one looks forward to a 1040." The accountant's gray eyes scanned the pile of papers. His slim fingers smoothed the crumple sheets and sorted them into piles.
"It's not fair because it's not theirs to take! It's mine. I'm not sharing a cake at a party where Mumsie insists I cut it up in equal pieces. It's a mugging in the parking lot."
"Are you still a greeter? I need your W2," the accountant said. EE slipped a form to the accountant from inside his pants.
"April most definitely is the cruelest month for words, for those cute little African violet posies my wife grows on the bedroom window and for taxpayers most of all. The Constitution is clear in it's respect for personal property and the government taking it. They have no right to take fruits of MY labor. A privileged few suck off the public tit. Everyone needs to contribute. Those welfare people should give back to the taxpayers in some meaningful way."
"Until then, we must file, mustn't we?"
"Look, I know Miss Snark recommended you and that John AssCrack-McFeely uses you..."
"...Grisham sir, his name is Grisham."
"Who cares? I still won't pay taxes with a smile."