I’m So Evil, You Guys

Going back to my being a horrible adult, I got my W2 form the other week. And that means taxes.

I’m about to sound really spoiled right now, so I’m just gonna ask that you shut it and let me vent my first-world problem to you. I’ve never done my own taxes, and I get a little hyper-ventilatey when I think about doing them. I worry that I’ll accidentally check the box that says I have a kid or handicapped geriatrics living with me and the government finds out and fines and fees explode all over my face, and that pressure is too strong and too bizarre for me to willfully ignore.

Throughout high school and college, my mother always did my taxes along with hers. It made much more sense and was easier for all parties involved if she handled it rather than I [meaning easier just for me] because of the whole “child in school and a dependent” thing. Last year was the first time that the taxes would be reflective of a whole year’s worth of income of me as an adult. And boy was that just a hurricane of a clusterfuck.

I was supposed to receive two W2 forms, one for the job I have now, and the other for American Eagle, only the American Eagle one never came. Which immediately made me freak out. I ended up calling my mother [how old am I?] and she got me an extension for filing taxes, until the end of October. Which was awesome.

So after hunting down the right people and a good deal of waiting, I eventually received the W2 form. I happened to be on the phone with my father when I saw I had received it, and he said that if I fax over all my W2’s, he’ll take care of my taxes for me. Done and done!

Seasons change. And my new W2 arrives.

I’m on the phone with my father saying that maybe this time, I’ll take my taxes to someone like H&R Block or something in the hopes of getting more money. Good idea! he says, followed by Make sure you bring them last year’s W2’s, as well.

Father what?

Apparently he never got to my 2007 taxes. At all. Yeah, they just weren’t done. As in not completed and given to the government. As in, every single time you’ve seen me in the past year, you were looking down your nose at a dirty, low down, piece of shit felon. I have committed tax fraud, you guys. I’m a fucking criminal. I’ve broken federal laws and shit and now I’m a goddamn fugitive.

Here I am, Dr. Evil, sitting on my [no doubt stolen] throne of illegalities, reveling in my land-o-lack-o-taxes, breaking the law EVERY DAY and acting all la-di-da about it all, just grinding my arrogance all over Uncle Sam’s face and laughing like a vicious beast.

Don’t look at me, you guys. Avert your gaze.

I told you. Horrible adult.

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