With tax season fast approaching, we pulled this great John Phipps column from the Farm Journal archives.
Short dark days. Bitter winds and harsh conditions. Must be tax season.
But tax season is more than just hours of indoor fun. No, meeting the Feb. 28 tax deadline requires a primordial struggle of memory vs. evidence, rule vs. interpretation, man vs. morals. A time to put a price tag on our love of government.
Although most Americans immediately think of the Internal Revenue Service at the mention of the word “taxes”, the problem does not originate there. It begins, of course, with the wacky shenanigans of our elected representatives, whom we choose with the same discerning method as toothpaste - from TV commercials. These dedicated public servants are sent to Washington with one simple mission: Tax everyone except their own constituents. The resultant tax code, a shining example of duplicity and unmitigated self-interest, is therefore somewhat difficult to administer. The IRS is just trying to do the best gosh-darned job they can.
But, seriously.
Income taxes are a powerful force in encouraging moral behavior, as well. For example, should you discover that crime does pay after all you’d better report that income! As lawyers have proven from Al Capone to O.J., murder can be managed, but when the long arm of the tax law is after you, the glove usually fits.
Most amazing to me is the difference in attitude between those who actually pay taxes (farmers), and those (the vast majority) who never even see those dollars at all, because of “withholding”, a concept not unlike “protection money” (Pay da money, and nobody gets hoit.) There are millions who get giddy contemplating a hilariously named “refund” without realizing that the government is giving them their own money! This is like thanking a bully for only taking half your lunch money.
Farmers know better. Taxes are about big checks from our account to someplace in Kansas City - a money pit so large it has its own weather forecast. Of course it could not happen, but imagine there was no withholding and all taxes were paid on April 15. The stark realization of this gargantuan sum would create the largest day of national outrage since Kevin Costner’s last movie. The backlash could cause the Federal government to be downsized to a President (working on commission) and maybe 7 Congresshumans.
But as much fun as paying income taxes is, it is the process - the thrill of deduction and agony of disqualification - that makes my day. As one of relatively few farmers who have discovered that tax preparation is not beyond our ability, just beyond our ambition, I now find this process to be disturbingly entertaining.
Since the advent of computers, the “1040 Tango” has been taken to a new level. The old struggle to add three figures correctly has disappeared; to be replaced by the problem of what three figures the IRS will buy. Now, when I commence the Big Game late on 27 February, I command a sophisticated battalion of electronic armaments on my side. But I never underestimate a cunning opponent like the IRS, whose unofficial motto is “Don’t even think of trying that.”
Often the IRS uses questions that seem to indicate it may not fully trust me. (Oh, that hurts.) The forms are littered with queries like: “Do you have proof? Is it written down? In English? Really? Can we call your Mom to verify?” There are also some dramatic moments requiring actual truth or what I like to substitute: “genetically-modified-reality” (GMR). For example:
Q: Is this computer used solely for business?
A: Yes [I’m a professional FreeCell player.]
Q: Is another vehicle available for personal use?
A: Yes [If my neighbor leaves his keys in it.]
Q: What percent business use is this ATV?
A: 100% [When I’m on that rascal, I’m all business]
Q: Do you have a diary of your gambling winnings and losses?
A: Yes [But if Jan can’t find it, you never will.]
Q: Do you want to contribute to the Presidential campaign fund?
A: Of course. [That’s precisely the kind of activity I’d like to encourage. Also, please send some of my money to the “Handguns for Tots” fund.]
Q: Is your home office space used exclusively for business?
A: Define “is”. [Learned that one from the President]
Q: Are you the head of the household?
A: Absolutely. [Jan said so.]
There seems always to be new and fertile ground to plow in the tax code. This year I am examining the concept of “depletion” as it applies to humor. Maybe I am running out of this natural resource, and hence can apply for the same tax benefits as Exxon, et al. Many of you may be subpoenaed to verify that I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.
