Saturday Night Tax

I’m such a happening person that I did my taxes on Saturday night. It was totally awesome, except for the realization that I’m not going to get anywhere near enough money back from the government.

That, and I got ding-dong-dashed at 12:15 am. Mid-tax-preparation, mind you. Note that I don’t have a doorbell.

So, at 12:15, I hear a sudden rap on my door. I’d call it a cop-knock, but that would be a disservice to respectable cop-knocks around the world. I immediately hear some large guy tearing ass down the hallway… and into his room. Simple process of elimination made it quite obvious which room it was.

I was tempted to do the same thing back—at 8:00 am the next morning. (I’d go earlier, but it’s less illegal at 8:00.) Except… I dunno… I’d probably dash for the stairs, and not my room?


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