Due to general threats against my person in the form of ‘pay back’ or that someone who will not be mentioned by name will start his own blog entitled “All about my daughter,” I would like to officially promise that the following anecdotes will never appear in this blog:

Makes my blood run cold just looking at it.

I am not an accountant, and I hate doing taxes.

Nontheless, despite my pledges that THIS is the year I hire a pro, there I am on April 14th: installing TurboTax, rifling through mountains of paper, and drinking heavily.

However, along the way, my pain is your gain. I have picked up some tips, and with April 15 on the horizon, I thought I’d share them with you.

1. 2 cats + 1 dog = 1 dependent deduction

2. If you have ever worked or thought about work while in your home, it is now an office. Take a deduction!

3. If you wear glasses, go ahead and click the box for ‘legally blind.’ If they call you on it later, just say you had a fierce case of hysterical blindness that has happily reversed itself.

This is the chia puppy. Get three for a break on your taxes!

4. 2 ferrets + 6 goldfish + 3 chia pets = 1 dependent deduction

5. The adorable bowler hat, amazing new purse, and 4″ green patent heels you couldn’t resist buying? Uniform, uniform, uniform. Deduct it, baby!

6. A tip from my mother with respect to dry cleaning charges: “Claim it until they tell you to stop.” She actually IS an accountant. Seriously.

7. Cook the books! (I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Like something Martha Stewart might do! She’s been to jail. She’s not worried about it.)

8. Owner of six or more mammals of any race, breed, species, or creed? Mark yourself down as head of household.

9. Be certain to sign all your returns as “Bozo the Clown.” It helps your tax lawyer get you a lighter sentence on grounds of insanity later on.

Happy FIling!

Note to all would-be drunk drivers out there: There’s a new scapegoat in town. Plead insanity.

Or just act insane. Either way.

DUI defendant claims that he’s his own country

EASTON, Pa. – A man accused of driving drunk said Pennsylvania courts have no jurisdiction over him because he’s his own country. After seeing the paperwork that 44-year-old Scott Allan Witmer filed with the court claiming sovereignty, a Northampton County judge said Tuesday he cannot be released from jail until he gets a mental exam.

Witmer, who represented himself, said he believes police lack jurisdiction to pull him over. As he said in court: “I live inside myself, not in Pennsylvania.” He said there is no victim in the crime and asked to go to trial.

Defense attorney James Connell, Witmer’s standby counsel, said a challenge to the traffic stop would need to be filed as a pretrial motion.

I kind of like this idea, not so much from the drunk driving angle, but as a general approach to life. All those times I pulled out the American passport, only to be lambasted about the behavior of George W. Bush? No more. Now I hail from Vanessica, where Malamutes roam free and the crime rate is low. We’re neutral, like Switzerland, and we won’t get on board with the Euro because we’re snobs.

Pay my taxes? I think not.

April 15 is now a day of pagan celebration and merry making because here in Vanessica, we have no taxes. We’re ruled by a kind and extraordinarily attractive leader, who only doles out punishment if you absolutely twist her arm. She’s not passive aggressive, but she is conflict-averse. However, if you set her off? Look out.

If I have more time later tonight, perhaps I’ll work up a little flag for this proud nation? I’m thinking something in yellow and maybe hot pink. With some flowers and maybe a dog paw print. But before you get all carried away, don’t go sending me your tired, your poor, and your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Here in Vanessica, we live inside ourselves, so I would have absolutely nowhere to put them.

I also like to kick back with some bananas and grapes while a little mouse wearing a gold belt brings me tangerines.

I know what you’re thinking.

What could I possibly have in common with God?

I mean, he’s a supreme being; a diety worshipped all over the world. I’m more of a demi-god, worshipped only in certain small villages in Central Africa and within a specific two-block radius of Flint, Michigan.

Well, let me tell you: Beyond our magnificence, munificence, and occasional use of lightening bolts to smote others, God and I share one immutable principle: On Sunday we rest.

Because that’s how we roll.

This one has the nuts. Which I now see that it says. Right on the package. And there's a picture of an almond.

So remember that whole ad campaign about “BE-cause sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t?”

 Well, today I don’t.

Actually, I do. I pretty much always feel like a nut, unless something really, really bad has happened, but then that wears off within a couple hours, and I feel like a nut again.

But not literally.

And not in my candy.

In fact, I still have to sing that little ditty to myself to make sure I buy the right one. The one without nuts (and, if you are like me and can’t remember much of anything to save your life, the song goes “Almond Joy’s got nuts, Mounds don’t” and then BE-cause again and you loop back through and if you don’t watch yourself, the loop could go on into infinity, although at some point you’d probably be placed in a mental institution by the people that used to love you, and they’d move on and get new lives, and you’d just keep on singing.)

Anywho, so long as it doesn’t take over my brain and drive me mad, it’s the little ditty that keeps me in line and ensures that I reach for the Mounds.

If you type "Almond Joy image" into Google, this little bit of horribleness shows up. I don't even know what sort of twisted mind created these monsters. What's that you say? GOD made these monsters!? Shame on you, God. Shame on you.

In China, if you’re driving and sleepy, you can now pull over and the police will give you raw chili peppers to eat. I don’t even know what to say to that, except ‘No, thank you. I’d rather crash and die than eat raw chili peppers.’ Clearly, the Chinese are bezerk. Why are they taking over the world again? Are the rest of us really so pitiful that the panda-hugging, raw pepper eating Chinese are the new world leaders? Sad, people. SAD.

Some lady bought a used couch that had a cat in it. That just gets into my issues about used stuff being all creepy and wondering what people did to it and on it and why it smells like pastrami and my deep hopes that I will stay financially solvent enough that I will never have to get a scratchy plaid couch with or without a rat nest inside from Goodwill ever again.

The Mexicans continue to kill the hell out of each other. I find that slightly amusing. But then there’s the death principle rearing its ugly head again…

Random quote heard immediately after changing the channel to Bravo, “Intimate is good; filthy, sort of bestial porn is bad.”

Oh, NOW you tell me.