March Madness – 2015 Edition



Here is that time again, where I am sorting through paper bags full of client receipt and tax papers to do tax returns.  You thought this was about basketball?!  Oh noooo, it’s about the insane life a tax professional and the madness we see every year right up the grand finale – April 15th.  Now I know most of my readers probably have simple 1040EZ’s and big refunds coming, but some on my clients have complex returns.  This year we get the Shared Responsibility penalty if you don’t have insurance.  Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Suuuure….

How many of you are happy to prepare a tax return?  Raise your digital hands.  I thought so, not a one of you.  This year we have a new person, a conservative, running for President of the United States.  His name is Mark Everson and he is the former Commissioner of the IRS.  Boo, Hiss, Bah!  Except he wants to rid tax returns for 150 million people.  Say whaaaat?!!   I kid you not.  Maybe it is time to look at this guy seriously.  Decreasing the power of the IRS and Congress could be a good thing. Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

Some have asked me,”won’t that hurt your ability to make income?”  The answer is that most Americans truly don’t need a return.  Give them a bigger paycheck and let them pay a little each time they buy something they want.  Called a consumption tax, you control your tax liability, not Congress.  The problem is that they don’t want to give up the power to tax and play guardians over our lives.  March Madness is alive and well in DC, where every month is March.  Most of my clients are complex, so they still need to have accounting done before I give them a heart attack.  Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

We will stay a little stressed now for the next 4 weeks, drumming up receipts from the trash can and making a dash of madness to our respective preparers, and when we are done, we will forget the pain of tax season and those who may have made an attempt to ease those pains.  We will curl up on our couch, open a bag of chips and brew and watch 68 teams running back and forth in a sweating frenzy, the real reason for the season – March Madness.  Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

As for us CPA’s we will extend our most difficult returns so that we can have through October 15th to continue the madness.   Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of …, well, at least some of us are happy it’s March.

Now, please show your support of your CPA by leaving me a message of feigned sympathy.


Weather Chaos

For the last three weeks we have had crappy weather, which in turn lasts until Monday, so that the crappiest day of all the week is crappified by the power of ten.  If you have 3 crappy weather systems spun by polar vortices you get crap to the power of ten, tripled.  Whatever.  I haven’t used high level math since college.  The point is, enough crap already!  If I were the weather chipmunk, squirrel, or any variety of rather large rodent, even I’d take a bite out of the mayor’s ear for pulling me out of my comfy earthen bunker, interrupting the “Dancing with Rodents” season finale.

I get it, I get it – we are in a cycle of weather chaos created by global weather changing chaos.  People in Alaska are actually at the beach surfing with the Kodiaks, a bear weighing half a ton, not a couple you just met from Arkansas, while I’m here in Oklahoma writing a crappy blog that 3 people subscribe to – all family members.  I want to be outside, running around in my shorts, planting a garden and mowing my lawn like a man.  But the forecasters keep giving me more crap with winter storms Quantum, Rectal and Squantum – all just days apart.  My skin is so dry and my Eczema is so intense, I have dried skin flakes all around my face.  See!


People in Boston are literally building ten story snow condo’s and charging rent. Recent photographs show the Nantucket looking like a giant Slurpee machine. All this explains the odd accent of Bostonians, their lips are frozen! Pipes are bursting in DC, while our politicians are on lobbyist junkets to Costa Rica, creating a government budget chaos.  But never fear, politicians are cold-blooded creatures and they will survive, they don’t know the difference, nor the meaning of the word “budget”.

This winter has interrupted my tax season more than ever, with several Monday’s being missed, forcing me to work Sundays.  Crap to the power of ten, tripled.  They say that all this cold may find us with a baby boom.  How?  Why is anyone going to get naked in this cold?  My wife has ten layers of quilts on the bed, thermal underwear and an artic burka on.  Even if I could move under the crushing weight of the quilts to make a move, de-clothing my wife would result in cardiac arrest.

The ice age is upon us and yet according to Scientific American, we can expect a rapid warming.  And that’s bad?!  If so, then warming, cooling, nor change is the appropriate word for our weather, just chaos.  We have only a few more letters left to name winter storms, then we start all over.  I keep hoping a scene out of the blockbuster movie inspired by Algorisms, “Global Crappy Chaos“, has DC frozen over in a matter of hours so that all the activities of the IRS, including email destruction, comes to halt finally fulfilling the preamble to the constitution – “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”  Hey, if you are going to have crappy weather, let’s have something positive come from it.

My point is this, life will give you plenty of crap, and weather will simply pile more of it on.  So all we can do is pull our big person thermal underwear up and deal with it the best way we can.  All I can do is provide cold crappy humor, and that should be a warming thought.

You are welcome.

Now chime in, what crappy weather story do you have to share?



My Obituary


I’ve never had really deep thoughts about an obituary until today.  A 29 year-old lady at my office told me I was sweet for opening the door and answering her QuickBooks questions. My reply was that I was sweet because I didn’t want my obituary to read:

“Mauled by female workers for not being sweet.”

I am outnumbered 14-1 in this accounting practice.  I need not say anything further on the subject matter. This prompted me to have really deep thoughts on other potential obits such as,

“Mauled by 50 Shaders who hated his blog posts.”

“Mauled by Female Coders.”

“Overexposed to love by 20 grandchildren.”

“Drowned in the slobbery of his Golden Retriever.”

“Massive brain trauma trying to figure out how quickly clients foul up a set of QuickBooks.”

“Died on an Oklahoma freeway going 25 MPH, on a clear sunny day.”

“Died on an Oklahoma freeway, by a drunk, texting Okie, driving a flaming 1976 Ford Pinto, during a polar vortex 12″ ice layer, driving 85 MPH.”

“Died on an Oklahoma freeway accidentally running into a Lazy Boy recliner, Mathis Brothers Sofa, or a Sleep number mattress.”

“Caught pneumonia running into front yard when polar vortex suddenly appeared overnight.”

“Suffocated under his wife’s quilts.”

“Murdered when wife reads above obit.”

“Murdered by wife when she reads 29 year-old says he’s sweet.”

“Murdered by wife when she learned he was sweet.”

“Died at desk preparing his 60,000,000 Form 1040.”

“Died in his sleep, wife suspected in murder when recording reveals he uttered his first fiancées name.”

“Found blown to bits after toilet seat left lifted.”

These are quite gruesome to say the least.  But there is a recurring theme here, that I want investigated should I actually die.

“Man killed  from blog posts.  Female assailants too many to narrow down.  Authorities press charges against wife.”

I suppose I should clean up my act and get away from Oklahoma as fast as I can.

Naaaaawwww….. that wouldn’t be any fun.

Female Code – February 2015 (Nude Tax Preparation)

Football Season - Again???

My #$%^& DRESS!

I am currently working for a local CPA firm until our move to Kauai is complete.  Yes, I know, I know… I’ve been writing about this for over a year.  A house is in the escrow process, but until then, I wanted to stay busy and make a little money.  Little did I know I’d be in the presence of an almost ALL female firm.  And they love to talk and yes, gang up on me, their token male employee (that’s my nickname). I prefer certified professional man candy. They talk about men as though we were the problems for all of society and human history, and how they can’t wait for their husbands to go on business trips, or military assignments to Mars.  I do my best to not listen, to ignore them, but they are awful loud.

Today one female presented me with material.  The woman accidentally spilled grease on a dress that she was wearing for an after-work social gathering, most likely dominated by other alpha females, who pretend to listen to your conversation, ready to catapult themselves and their day into the conversation – which would obviously be about her dress.  Personally, I think she planned this.

This lady… I mean woman…. well, a female…. wondered if she should go home to get a different dress or immediately pass go, collect $200 and then return to Park Place for shopping.  To her aid came her female gang members (comrades) with solutions on how to rid the dress of the grease stain, that looked like a decorative St. Valentine’s day heart.  Ahhhh…

Get ready for this men… I kid you not….

  1. Female # 1 – put salt on it.  So she did, wait no, it was pepper.  So the heart turned to a speckled blob, quite unattractive.
  2. Female #2 – put baking powder on it.  She asked if female #2 if she had any on her.  Well no, but there was some in the car.  So she went to the car.  Who keeps baking powder in their car?  I was afraid to ask any further.  This didn’t work either, the stain was  now the shape and size of Texas and she was scratching her leg from the unexpected discovery she was violently allergic to the mixture of baking powder and pepper.  I was laughing… very, very, silently under my breath.  Even token men can be mauled.  Never, ever, laugh at a women about her dress, and never, ever, answer the question of do they look fat.
  3. Female #3 – Battery Acid.  Well yes, you will find that in a car, but really…  She nixed this one, which is good, because the chemical reaction between battery acid and baking powder is an explosion.  I was silently cheering this option on.  What does a man do for entertainment these days?
  4. Female #4 – Splatter Paint Colors.  Go all avant-garde with a Pablo Picantesauce impressionistic work of art.
  5. Female #5 – More grease.  Yes, splash her with grease so that the dress just matches all around.  They might all get up at once and starting lobbing their French fries all over her.

This final solution was the one she thought of choosing, but to do so she would have to strip, close the door and prepare taxes in the nude.

This is when the enterprising man in me – came into the picture and the rescue.  I mentioned I would trip the fire alarm and send her rushing into the streets, where I’d have a little desk, ten-key calculator, and laptop ready to continue preparing tax returns.  By the end of the day, we’d have 1,000 new clients and she would be heftily tipped.

She didn’t think I was a bit funny or clever, and suggested I run out of the building naked.  And this clearly why women are from Venus – a planet uninhabitable, humorless, cloudy, gassy, overly heated, and unable to penetrate with logic or reason.  I could have saved this gang of women their entire lunch hour by telling her to go home and get a different dress, but heck, then they wouldn’t have anything to do in the lunch room, except batter the token men in their lives.

Further proof that the DNA Code of women is nothing more than a mutated microbe that arrived from Venus, came out of the sludge, completely nude.. ready to file your 1040EZ.

And we men, in our infinite wisdom and simplicity, are spell bound by them, well… their nude bodies.

Silly and absurd?  You betcha!

Blog Blah Syndrome

It is hard to be a writer and an accountant. I would love to leave accounting and taxation forever and be a well known author sitting on a beach and dreaming of my next book. I’ve written three – a trilogy and still waiting for success to arrive. Book 4 is still in edit mode and book 5 about 50% complete. But it’s tax season and I’m stuck in the blahs of blahland Oklahoma, where the winds come sweeping down the plains at 110 mph, making a 50 degree day a negative 60 wind chill. Soon our tornado sirens will be blaring and we will be scrambling to take cover. Blah.

Why did the government create tax season to end on April 15th, why not December 24th? Why don’t they stagger it so we don’t have to be chained to a desk and computer 7 days a week? Whose bright idea was it to create the income tax? I can hear it now, “It will create lots and lots of jobs for lawyers, accountants, printers, suppliers and who knows what else. Yes, yes bring on the income tax system.” And ever since they have tried to simplify it (wink, wink). Yeah right! Tax season even interrupts my blogging. Blah – Blah.

Needless to say I have not written anything humorous as of late because it’s tax season.  Are you laughing right now? I didn’t think so, but don’t blame me. As a matter of fact, buy my books and you can claim you were responsible for there being one less accountant in this world. I dare you! Blah, Blah, Blah.

Then there’s the yard work of spring ahead – pulling weeds, mowing, trimming, and scooping up my Golden Retriever’s fresh and warm poop. Blah, Bluhck, Blah.  Yes, that’s the actual sound I make!

I’ve been doing this now for 29 years. 29 years hearing clients wanting to deduct dogs as dependents, bass boats as entertainment, new bras as support expense, and wondering why my fee doesn’t go down with their refund size. But it gets better!  There are those that call me up and say they did their own return and now the IRS is questioning it. Oh now they want my help!  Afraid not folks, this bean counter and bean planner is shipping out to HAWAII.

Yes, I am moving later this year to live out the remainder of my life where my soul has been crying for ever since I first visited paradise in 1986. They say it will ruin my life READ HERE, but I don’t care, bring on the ruin.  I must cure this blah syndrome I’ve been infected by.  I need to run semi-nude on a warm sandy beach and let the remnants of my hair blow in the trade winds.  I need to make mad passionate Mai Tai’s and little stick animals from driftwood, learn to hula and lose a tire gut.  If you want to hate this humble blogger, well tough Golden Retriever Doo Doo!  I’ll be going on a 2-week due diligence trip shortly after tax season to decide which town to live in.  Then it’s time to sell everything I own except shorts, shirts and slippers (we called them thongs when I was kid) and buy a one-way ticket.

So over the next few weeks, if you get sick of my Hawaii posts, buy my books and you can lay claim that you were responsible to there being one less obnoxious blogger bragging about moving to Hawaii in this world.  It’s okay to hate me now.  Hater!



My Phone Misdial Mistress

My Misdial Mistress

Mabel – My Misdial Mistress

Sorry folks, I’ve been busy and my brain has been fried.  I read a humor blog today regarding phone actresses and it reminded me of the time I made a simple dialing error.  I am a CPA.  I use tax software.  At one time I used CCH’s ProSystemFX.  Stay with me, I promise its going to be good.  If I needed support I would dial 800-739-9998.  One day I needed support, but I had no idea how much support I was about to get when I misdialed 800-739-9999.  Normally there is a delay and you have to press a bunch of buttons to get to your right party.  Not that day!  I was delivered to excellent service almost immediately.  I was half asleep, as all accountants are during tax season, but boy did I wake up fast when I heard,

“Ooh baby, you’ve called 800 (I won’t repeat what was said), what’s your desire.”

My first thought was, what the hell did I just dial? Then I saw how one little extra 9 made the difference.  But hey, this was my first interaction with a phone actress, so I decided to play along.

“I’m an accountant and I need some dirty code talk.”

“What!”  She seemed rather surprised.

“This is 800-739-9998, extension 9, dirty code talk, isn’t it?”

“Listen buddy this 800-739-9999. I only do (expletives, expletives, expletives)”

“You mean this isn’t Mabel at extension 9? I need dirty code talk and I need it baaaaaaad!” I said desperately and then pulled the phone away a I roared with laughter and almost lost control of my bladder.

“I’ll be Mabel or whoever you wish if you just give me your credit card information,” she said in a sensual and alluring tone.

“Well maybe, but I want a sample.  Pretend you are Mabel and you want some down and dirty depreciation,” I said with a tone of impatience.

“You are one sick @#%$%*^ puppy mister,” she said shocked.

I am sure she has no idea what depreciation is and had no appreciation for my depreciation humor.

“Okay maybe that was a little too forward.  It’s hard for most to take the full section 179 all at once. So Mabel, tell me how I can increase the size of my miscellaneous itemized deductions?” 

“I don’t do this SICK STUFF you perverted $@##@&*!”


Well dang!  That was the most fun I have ever had during ANY tax season.  Now I never really knew the phone actresses real name, so Mabel had to do.  I will recall her fondly for the rest of my life because she taught me something that day.

THE TAX CODE IS PERVERTED – Don’t you agree?

I think I’m ready for a new career as a phone actor.

Apocalypse Monthly – April 2013 Edition (The Password)

Apocalypse Monthly  Signs of the End of the Times

Apocalypse Monthly
Signs of the End of the Times

I am old enough to remember the world before the socially impersonal personal computer.  It was a sane world where the only password  needed was the one that gained you access to the guy’s doubly secret tree house (Soon to be the Man Club).  I think “Hate Girls” was the password that we used.  Once in, we looked at Playboy centerfolds that one of the members stole from their dad’s car.  Whoa, that’s not a girl, what is that?  We were doomed from that moment on, because everywhere we went we looked for bunnies in the real world.  They just don’t exist.  But I digress.

Fast forward 40 years and now you have so many applications, excuse me, we have so many apps, that we can’t remember the passwords to them.  You can’t use “Hate Girls” because it’s not very secure and Siri would file a hate crime charge against you.  Even PC’s have become PC.  Oh no, we have to add all kinds of things to our passwords, like three levels of our past history, such as our dog’s name, or the name of the first gross girl you kissed.


Wendy Wobble Wips was her name – how the heck  could anyone forget her! I still have nightmares about that girl.  It’s  a miracle I’m married with children. Kissing her reminded me of being in a car wash. She became a full lip and facial masseuse.  But I digress again.

Then you start to run out of passwords, because you can’t use the same combo or near combo as the past 1,000,000 you just used.  So you look around the room or out the window for clues to your next password that no one can possibly hack.  Here’s a few from today’s password changes:

  1. BellyButtonLint2013
  2. DustBunny4321BlastOff
  3. WindyWendyWhipsWundabaWafflesWithWobbleWips!Q12TuvvWTH
  4. 1DeadDriedSpider
  5. SquirrelsPlayingWithNuts007
  6. SuxNextMensPurseCapris2

And this was just the password crap I had to go through to log into QuickBooks.  What the hell is so Quick about that?  Then my bank wants me to provide a picture that only I will know is my own.  So I provided the photo of Wendy above.  At least my brain will be shocked and possibly knocked back into password retrieval.

I was a consultant during Y2K, I ran test of people’s computers to determine if rolling over to “00” would reset history and kill current time and data. I was somewhat scared of being thrown back into the age of disco. I recall the doomsday press releases: nuclear annihilation, overrunning sewers, yada, yada.  Nothing happen.  I think someone farted and a few people died, but certainly no apocalypse.  Then the Mayan fart came along and yet again, nothing happened.  But I tell you, we are on an unsustainable app password course that will have dire consequences.  Well at least for this month, then I’ll have to reset the passwords to my other 150 applications, excuse me, apps.

Finally, I am reminded of the movie Network, where the guy rants and raves to tell people to run to their windows and scream to the world, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” I imagine we are all carrying our computers, tablets and iSmarty phones and hurl them to their silicone deaths, with Siri screaming to the bitter concrete apocalyptic end, when we see the dawn of a new day and NewDayDawn04142013 becomes our password. For tomorrow it becomes WTF-IOWE-IRS-04152013.

What’s the most annoying app security you’ve witnessed?  Come on, share something here.  I won’t SPAM you – much.