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19 March 2001, 00:00

Taxes suck don’t they? Being a staunch liberal, I actually don’t mind taxes as long as they go to good government programs that help the people and promote environmental awareness and responsibility. But mostly, my tax dollars go to maintaining a large, lumbering bureaucracy, which, in spite of itself, manages to do a few good things, a massive amount of banal things and only a smattering of evil things we will never find out about because of the covert nature of the shadow government that carries out these black ops. But, every year, our wise and benevolent government gives me back a teeny, tiny portion of the booty they collect to placate my urges for revolution.

And for the past three years, it has been a tradition for me to buy a hundred bucks worth of lottery tickets. I think the first year I did this I won a whole $14 bucks. WOOWOO. I remember last year I collected $5. But this year, yeah baby, I can feel it. Its my year. The year I win the big burrito, the WHOLE enchilada, the giant taco. I even have extensive plans for the disposition of my loot. After I carefully peel the bills from my torso (because you know how paper sticks to hot, sweaty, nekid bodies when you roll around in massive amounts of currency) I will stack it in little piles – compulsively recounting each pile at least three times, I will let out a large, “WOOWOO”.

After giving sufficiently large amounts to the charities of my choice, and a fairly goodly amount to some political organizations that I think don’t suck, I want to buy a house. I don’t know where yet. One that is highly fortified, with a ten foot stone fence on two acres of land, fifteen minutes from downtown somewhere. I want those gnarly, giant, gothic looking, testicle tearing thorn bushes planed all around the perimeter. A multitude of motion detectors and timed lights, and having big iron work lattices on all the windows and doors to keep the Jeffery Dalhmers, Ted Bundys and Richard Simmonses at a respectable distance away from me. I’d turn my little zoo that I maintain now, into a big ole zoo, adding to the dogs and rats and whatever else.

I’d get some birds or cats or those little wallabys and some of those neato spider monkeys that wear those little diapers. I’d also enroll in the Mac-a-month club and indulge my appetite for computer equipment, and wallow in the fact that I have no earthly reason to have the bigger, badder, beautiful G4s that can launch heat seeking ICBMs from the firewire ports. Plus, cable. I need cable. Maybe I’ll even get HBO…. nahhhh…. I just can’t.

I think I would take a couple weeks off and travel. I’d take a camcorder, a new Mac titanium laptop, some new camera equipment and do a little cyber traveling, documenting my exploits. I’d go to San Francisco and sightsee, get some burgers in Canada, party in the Cincinnati airport – I hear that is THE place for da party.

I’m torn between getting lipo and spending a month in an excercise camp, or going to Tahiti and shlubbing it on the beach. No, no, I’m not torn. WHEWWW. Thought I’d go out of my mind there for a minute.

Can you have people committed? I hear that money can buy you almost anything, and I have a whole list of loose loonies that I would give a hearty recommendation that they would qualify for a free pass to the Happy-Happy Joy-Joy Ranch For the Congentially Cuckoo.

That crocodile hunter guy. I’d have him exterminated from the face of the earth. Every once in a while I watch his lame�oid show, I root for the snakes that he pokes with sticks to bite him in the ass. I can’t believe how sneaky the Aussies were, sneaking under our radar with Paul Hogan, with some diabolical plan that includes televising that obnoxious, fart-lighting, chowderhead to America.

I’d also spread coupons for charm school classes and brain transplants liberally around the neighborhoods.

Hey, its the least I could do.