A well-respected American poet once said, "It is the patriotic duty of every red-blooded American to cheat like hell on their taxes." Of course this same poet has recently been seen dancing on the tables at a local discotheque, ladies panties on his head, screaming, "Repeal the 16th amendment!" and "Cheese is good for you!" Okay, so he's not that well-respected. Okay, he's not a poet either. Okay, okay, it was me, but I'm an American, dammit.

For 15 years I've been doing my taxes the same way, start at the bottom with the figure I'm willing to pay and lie and cheat and finagle my way back to the top. Mind you, I'm not suggesting that you should NOT PAY taxes, just, anything over a quarter of total income is wrong. Give those clowns more money and they'll just spend it on something stupid like a B1 bomber or junkets to the south of France. You ever seen your congressman's office? Guaranteed it's nicer than yours. Fireplace with solid gold andirons. Bearskin toilet seat covers. Silver tea service. Your average congressman wastes more money than Pamela Anderson has breasts. Screw 'em. Give 'em a wedgie.

This year was different. I moved overseas. Everything changed. But hey, I'm a bright guy, I'm good at research, I can figure this shit out, right? Uhg.

Two months ago I start. All my paperwork is in order, all I need is the IRS info. The IRS is online, right? How hard can it be? I sit down at the computer...

Two hours later I have a migraine headache.

But I'm not that easily beaten, I'm stubborn, I'm a WINNER, for christakes. The next afternoon I'm back, raring to go, let me at 'em. Four hours, a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of wine and six aspirin later I've got the grandaddy of all headaches. Veins are actually pulsing across my temples like tapeworms on methamphetamine.

But I don't quit, dammit, I'm a survivor, I attack it the next day, and the next, and the next.

At this point I've consumed six cartons of smokes and eight gallons of wine. I've eaten a king-size bottle of aspirin. My head hurts so bad I'm afraid I'm having a stroke.

The IRS doesn't just post the info up on a web page. No, that would be too straightforward. They shrink the info into little packets and make you download them like it was a freaking video game. Each form, each publication takes five minutes to download. Each file, each publication has five or six versions each shrunken into some special format that my computer refuses to read. A week later I have 40 of these unreadable files cluttering my computer desktop.

At this point I have a permanent headache. I've eaten pounds of medication. I've eaten so much aspirin I'm crapping pure painkiller. You could collect my doodie and rub it on your tennis elbow like Ben-Gay. If you put all the aspirin I've eaten together in one pile you could build an analgesic elephant.

Okay, I've got the info, just can't read it. I have a great idea. Why not visit the American embassy? They have an IRS office, surely they'll have the forms I need. Wrong, they are fresh out. The forms are on order though. Three days later I call back, "Forms in yet?" "No sir, any day now." Three days later I call back, "Forms in yet?" "No sir, any day now." Three days later I call back, "Forms in yet?" "No sir, they should be here in a month." A MONTH! That's April 15th. Jesus H Chee-rist! Thanks ever so much, you've been SO helpful, hope you pass a kidney stone the size of an analgesic elephant and die!

At this point, I haven't slept in four days. I'm experiencing regular blackouts. I'm bald.

Back to the computer. Gotta figure out how to read this crud. Evidently I need software called STUFFitINyerEAR or something. This of course takes several hours to locate and download. Of course I get the wrong version. And another wrong version. And another. Sigh. Finally I get something that might work. The computer crashes.

A month has gone by, I'm getting desperate. The liquor store is making twice daily deliveries. Phillip Morris factories are on overtime. Aspirin is no longer available in Japan. My eyes are bugging out of my head. I'm losing weight. And I think I'm going blind.

Three hellish days of banging my head against extensions and system folders and config-fricking-sysess later I get the computer to boot up. Now the printer doesn't work. Two days and a gallon of scotch later, everything is running. Hah! Knew I could do it. I set about unzipping the files. Two days later I'm done, of course all the files are in HTML and, of course, they won't open in anything that reads HTML, so I have to go through and edit out every other bullshit <bit> and <table> and <hahaha> just to have any chance of being able to read it. I set the printer, insert a whole ream of paper and head for the nearest opium den.

At this point, I'm totally hairless and blind as a baseball bat . My eyes have sunk so far into my head I look like a Halloween skeleton. People give me candy when I knock on the door. I've developed a rash on my feet that resembles leprosy. There is no feeling in my fingers, and, I swear to god, I was taking a shower and my dick fell off.

Now I gotta read the forms and make some sense out of them. Easy, right? I'm a bright guy, right? No Prob. Wrong. These fucking forms are written by an insane chimpanzee on acid. Steven-fucking-Hawkins couldn't make sense of these forms. The guy who WROTE these forms has no idea what they mean. The second paragraph contradicts the first, the third paragraph contradicts the second, the fourth paragraph is written in Arabic. Ahrgg! I consult experts. I call my accountant in the States. He's a professional tax-preparer, he'll know what to do. I discuss my problems with economists, brilliant guys, guys with PHDs in money, they'll be able to help. Two days later I hear back from them. Three totally different answers. Back to the forms.

It is April 15th. At this point I can no longer stand on my own. I weigh 75 pounds. My skin is grey and my fingernails have fallen out. My wife has left me, the dog no longer comes when I call and the goldfish have slit their tiny wrists. What's left of my brain is throbbing so badly you can actually see it pulsing through my skull. There's a ringing in my ears. I pee blood.

Happy ending: I don't owe any taxes. As an American living overseas I get huge exemptions on income, housing and education. In fact, I'll be getting a fat refund. It'll make a nice down payment on my medical bills.