Ah taxes, the bain of my existence. Though my mother was a mathematical genius I unfortunately did not inherit any of her pprodigious skill. While I am able to comprehend simplistic everyday monetary math (for example, one extra large cup of coffee 2.25 plus one bagel with extra cream cheese 2.45 means I need to have money out when I get to the register) I however somehow fail completely if you ask me to comeplete tasks such as adding a column of figures, multiplying it by a percentage rate and then deducting it from the total of an above column of similar figures.

In other words, doing your taxes.

Now most folks when confronted with an extraordinary amount of math fail come tax time would simply walk down to their nearest tax store and hand over their 45 dollars to have someone else beat their return into submission, I have always taken another tack (little old me marching to the beat of a different drummer…fancy that)

I run like hell

The unfortunate thing about running like hell in my world is that I happen to be a Libra (scales of justice cursed me with a big streak of the symmetrical and the need for balance) and being the good little Libra I am I have a nice little voice in my head that chimes after I have been avoiding something for a period of time (hey dum dum your tax scale is completely lopsided, you might want to fix that….*bang bang bang* OI! NOW!!!!) And recently my wonderful little scale monitor has been yelling itself blue in the face

It seems that in my quest to avoid the nightmare of numbers I haven’t actually filed taxes since 2004 and I missed a couple years before that as well.

Now my lovely local Canada Revenue folks haven’t come knocking because it seems they owe yours truly rather a lot of money (nice of them to be so refreshingly up front about that) And I haven’t gone to them because it’s my worst nightmare (WAYYY too many numbers in just ONE return never mind 8 of the ruddy things)

But finally I had had enough. So I made the dreaded call to the tax man and shortly thereafter a veritable MOUNTAIN of dead trees arrived on my doorstep (Can someone tell me why the HELL the idiot government trusts all the sensitive information in your T4 slips to the postal service but they COURIER your forms to you?! That seems backwards as all hell)

Now taking this mountain of dead tree to a tax center turns out to be a proposed cost of 45 x 8 which, while I am incapable of providing you an exact figure, I know is much more money that I am willing to spend for some math nerd with a pocket protector to save me from my arch nemesis. (hell I dont like spending that much on groceries for pity’s sake) But boy howdy it was just too much for my normally rational mind to handle.

Enter the drag queen.

While attempting to buckle down and complete my first return I became frusterated with the goverment’s legalese malarky and nearly gave up the ghost right there and then. But suddenly a small voice echoed inside my head “Fuck you 12,179 multiplied by 6.05%, you ain’t better than me…I’m a drag queen bitch! And you, you idiot forms guide, what the hell is the point of having a Line 420 section on page 48 if all it tells me is to look at the Line 420 section on page 46?! Who the HELL dropped you on you head when you was a baby forms guide? I been doing things you can’t imagine since you was a twinkle in some big old daddy tree’s eye and I am SO not lettin you pull this shit on ME

And thus the solution was born.

When I get stressed at the numbers on the pages in front of me, my wonderful inner diva provides a little comic relief and off we go again!

While I am more than surprised that everyone has not opted to carry around such a handy thing as a drag queen in their head at all times, I understand that some of my compatriots on this watery blue ball called earth are not so fortunate as I to have such a useful device available to them. I shall therefore use the space below to regale you with some of my drag queen’s more entertaining throwing of shade at the tax man.

On the idiocy of having separate books for forms and guides

“You people must hate trees something fierce and you seem to think we’s all too dumb to know the difference between an instruction and a form apparently. But since every time I move my sequins have the opportunity to sparkle I shall accept this moronic decision pending review. You! Human in which I am entrapped….why the HELL aren’t you wearing sequins yet!?”

On the uselessness of having the form the guide and the T4 all tell you to do something with the number indicated but never the same thing

“Bloody tax weenies are brilliant! I see it! They tryin to bring out everyone’s inner drag queen through stress! How simply marvelous”

(NOTE:The above comment is in no way meant to infer that the workers at Canada Revenue are all gay. They’re merely helping…..add some extra gay to the world 😛 )

On multiplying figures by a percentage of 6.05

“You dimwits wrote a 52 page instructional manual on EXACTLY how to fill out all 450 lines in this idiot thing and somehow FAILED to think that including a quick tutorial on how to multiply by percentages might be a GOOD IDEA?! Who put the acid in your spam???!!!”

On having to complete and include tax schedules computing the amount of provincial and federal tax you owe “even if the result is 0”

“Spam…acid…EPIC FAIL! Next time try bath salts sweetheart”

While these are merely some of the more interesting tidbits arising from my inner drag queen’s ire with yet another branch of our alphabet soup government I do have to say that the effect was immediate and rather startling.

Despite the long pauses where I sit in confused silence paging through the guide, chewing on a pen lid and trying to shut the yappy bitch up for two seconds so I can think clearly, it has become apparent that taxes really are kinda fun if you have a handy internal drag queen to help you out (though unfortunately despite the ability to pay careful attention to the detail of her Halloween mask of a face the bitch can’t add to save her life)

And let’s face it….finding out after you triple checked your data that the government owes you enough to buy the bitch in your head a shiny new dress helps too 🙂


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