Deep in the heart of taxes

Much has been made in recent weeks about corporations that move overseas to avoid paying American taxes.

More specifically, these companies that got caught dodging taxes by moving overseas.

One media source or another drew the obvious conclusion that “no one likes paying taxes.”

I can relate. I thought I paid more than my fair share of tax during the last year, but evidently the feds and the state thought otherwise. Instead of moving to the Virgin Islands, where there are no federal taxes and the government there functions about as efficiently as it does on the mainland, I just wrote two hefty checks.

Actually I wouldn’t mind paying taxes if I could have a say in where the money goes.

I’d gladly pay my income taxes if I knew they would go toward research that would make it possible to donate unwanted fat the way one can donate blood. Or develop pharmaceuticals that don’t bankrupt the patient and produce more side effects than medical benefits.

I declined to donate to the supposedly non-partisan presidential campaign fund this year, but if there were a fund that would make it a felony to say “reach out” instead of “call,” I’d give to that.

I’d also be generous in my support of any committee that makes it mandatory to know when to use an apostrophe. I’d even consider a donation to any company that hires Americans who can make themselves understood in plain English over the phone.

I’d finance any effort to make it illegal to declaw cats, and dock tails and ears on dogs, force elephants to do stupid tricks in any circus, and keep any wild animal in a cage. I’d support the right to arm bears.

I’d gladly pay taxes to support schools that replaced common core with common sense.

I’d be especially willing to pay taxes if they would go toward re-educating and re-training useless bureaucrats so they could earn an honest living doing something useful, like being full-service gas station attendants, in-store customer service attendants, TV and small appliance repair people, ladies who do alterations, and IRS agents with the fortitude to seek out Al Sharpton and collect what he owes.

But like the parent who caves in to shut the kids up, I just sighed, grumbled a bit, and wrote a couple of checks.

 It’s the American way.