Lot's of people make the mistake of thinking tax day is in the middle of April. Not so. That's the day when the red hot poker gets inserted. It gets put in the fire tomorrow on voting day.

Before you pull the lever, consider your candidates. Picture them reading the poem below. Decide if they would smile knowingly, laugh maniacally or withdraw their nomination. Vote for the ones that would withdraw.

Tax his land, Tax his bed,

Tax the table at which he's fed.

Tax his tractor, Tax his mule,
Teach him taxes are the rule.

Tax his cow, Tax his goat,
Tax his pants, Tax his coat.

Tax his ties, Tax his shirt,
Tax his work, Tax his dirt.

Tax his tobacco, Tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.

Tax his cigars, Tax his beers,
If he cries, then Tax his tears.

Tax his car, Tax his gas,
Find other ways to Tax his ass

Tax all he has, then let him know
That you won't be done
Till he has no dough.

When he screams and hollers,
Then tax him some more,
Tax him till he's good and sore.

Then tax his coffin, Tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he's laid.

Put these words upon his tomb,
"Taxes drove me to my doom..."

When he's gone, do not relax,
Its time to apply the inheritance tax.

Posted by: Jim at 10:41 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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