Tag Archives: Taxes

Someone In Delaware, Get On This Please!

As Uber and Lyft are to taxis,

As AirB&B is to lodging

We need a low-cost solution

To enable the art of tax-dodging.

Uber and Lyft are slang and misspellings.

AirB&B is the service plus “air.”

I suggest “AirTyght” for our no-tax service

And if you disagree I don’t care.

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Seriously, Look It Up People!

Nixon heard of the Laffer curve

And thought it was a joke.

Reagan heard of the Laffer curve

And said “that’s why we’re broke!”

Obama heard of the Laffer curve

And asked “what did you smoke?”

Trump heard of the Laffer curve

And said “this is bigly woke!”

Most of you heard of the Laffer curve

For the first time just now,

You don’t know what it is

Or how it affects your chow.

So please look up the Laffer curve

So as to be better informed

And we can get to fixing

All the folks who’ve been social-normed.

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The Real Darkness Approaches…

Once a year we celebrate

The gruesome and bizarre,

The stuff that gives clowns nightmares

And makes wolves hide under cars.

We make light of the horrific,

Let go the values we hold dear…

We call this celebration “tax day”

And it’ll come in half a year.

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Evidence For Those In Support Of The Belief That Puns Are The Lowest Form Of Humor

Sometimes I take a bath

To ease the stress of taxation.

I fill the tub with herbs

Such as thyme for relaxation.

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1040-eHarmony

Internet dating

And income taxes

Are emotionally the same.

There’s little fun

In either one,

And both will cause you pain.

No one says

“I’ve made enough

“And I’m happy to contribute

“To an elite few

“Who’ll give to you

My wealth to redistribute.”

Likewise, those

Who go online

To stop their solo-selfie habit

Will seldom say

“She looks ok.

“I just hope we don’t kill the rabbit.”

Instead, you

Fill out some forms

Which make you very bored.

A silent alarm

Says “this may cause harm,

“But chances are you’ll be ignored.”

You look closely

For line 1F,

It’s gone, but you search some more,

Then you say “good enough”

To five digits of fluff

(Or for poets like me, prob’ly four).

And then your attention

Goes all out

On trying to attractively answer

“What makes you feel alright

“On a Saturday night?”

When the truth’s “writing poems about Cancer.”

And when you’re finished

You feel exposed

And tired from each number and letter,

But you won’t go to jail

Or with sexy toys flail.

Now there, don’t we all feel better?

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Anything But That!

Putrid lasers fill the air
At the annual super villain’s fair.
Cackles dance among the stars
As they network and blow up cars.

And I look on with quiet glee,
Knowing the evilest of all is me.
I will release a weapon of dire stress:
A letter from the IRS.

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