A Meeting With My Accountant.

“Income” can be difficult to define, but I’m pretty confident that Uncle Sam is going to get his this year.

My accountant, Jerry (above), always gets me what I deserve. Last year, that was a pretty slick networking opportunity in which I sat down with an IRS agent for like, I dunno, six hours? Haven’t kept in touch, but I liked him.

Jerry! My man!

That time of year again, huh? Wow. Flies, dunnit?

Hey, so you blocked off the rest of your afternoon, right? Good. Because in the past 12 months I have become a man of great means. I now drive a Mitsubishi Eclipse. So this will probably take a while.

I’ll be honest with you. I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ll tell you right now that I grossed a whopping $18,000 Canadian last year. It’s a lot. I don’t know what salt-of-the-earth dudes like you doing the Lord’s work here in the finance game are raking in on the yearly, but I’m going to ballpark it at $475 for the season. So think about your life, and then add a Mitsubishi Eclipse, a girlfriend you share razors with, and about 120 hours of sleep per week, and that’s how I’m doing.

And the 18K Canuck doesn’t even take into account my richness of spirit. I picked up a book for the first time ever last June and it’s been wild. It’s like movies for your head, and you get to be Shyamalan. That’s real wealth. I’m not sure how we’re gonna explain that to the feds, but they deserve forty percent of that, no question.

I’ve also been taking a lot of work lunches this year. Gonna need to write those off. Not so much heavy on receipts or nothing like that, because mostly they’re just me and my personal assistant Beckley brown-bagging it at the top of the hospital parking garage, shooting the shit, trying to spit on birds, and forecasting moves for our foundation. Still got the bags, though, if Mnuchin needs proof.

Additionally, I’ve been dipping my tootsies into the barter economy just to figure out what the hell’s going on over there, and now we gotta think up a way to file these crates of dates. I’ve got, like, shit, man, couple dozen crates of these dates I earned from my neighbor Samip for taking his big daughter out to the movies a couple times, but I guess that’s business, huh? Anyway, Jer, I’m gonna approximate their value at $450,000. They’re sweet, not tart, and are pretty good for poo pranks if the light is dim.

Finally, I’d like to address the elephant in the room. It’s no secret that fiscal year 2016 was truly a boon for me professionally — I shook hands with big wave surf legend Laird Hamilton at a Waffle House, my father passed on and I inherited his Can-Am Spyder Roadster, and I think that the success of the vape industry is a rising tide which will lift all boats. The list goes on.

Unfortunately, this year has not been as robust a success for my personal life as I would have hoped. As has been made public on social media, I experienced two marriages and three divorces this year. Allow me to explain. I began the year happily married to the love of my life, Jandra. Out of nowhere, she started snooping around asking questions I just didn’t like the vibe of, telling me I wore shorts too much, stuff like that. So she got shit-canned. Plain and simple. Love is hard. Divorce number one.

Next, I met Lindalyn. Cool chick. She had two different colored eyes and a pretty bad haircut but I don’t think she cared about either. That’s hot. Married her. Best day of my life. Didn’t work out — she neglected to inform me that she was into dogs. I do cats. Later, bitch. Divorce number two.

Then, one day, I was taking a shower and I felt a lump in my breast. You ever feel a lump in your breast, Jer? You’d think it would be hot, but it doesn’t feel like boobs at all. It feels like you’re gonna die. So, what did I do? Called Jandra, apologized. You can’t die alone — that’s how you become a ghost. Long story short, the lump was actually one of those dates from Samip that had adhered to my chest when I passed out one night snacking. There’s a lot of natural sugars in those dates, Jerry, and they’ll really stick to you good if you lay on them long enough.

That’s pretty much divorce three. I know the IRS likes to hear about crud like that. Write it up however you want.

I don’t know about you, but I’m shooting for a return of about $85,000. That’s low end. Feel free to get me more.

So damn good to see you, pal. I’ll be at my arraignment if you need me. Talk soon.

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