You and I, we’ve had a great run. I’m not going to waste your time reminding you or ups and our downs. You have tens of millions of lovers, and I’m just one. I get that. I’m off your radar, it’s okay, you are a desirable and astonishingly intriguing organization, and I’m not jealous. The others can get in line behind me.
Government to me, is that last resort … when my damned handler is shitfaced in a beach resort in Jalisco listening to Banda Maguay, when my family can’t be bothered with my shit anymore, when my friends are in my same asylum, and the fellow people of my own state are just as drunk as I am. At those times, I know that I can turn to The Government of the United States of America, and She will protect me from the coyotes that would like nothing more than to gnaw on my bones once the whole majestic man has been consumed for little more than the nutrients in my guts and in my hardened muscles.
And at the beating heart of this glorious United States body, is the Internal Revenue Service. Everyone from the agents on the cutting floor up to the customer support reps, the IRS has fulfilled the inevitable truth of Death and Taxes in a remarkable way. These people keep the whole shebang in well-tuned hum. And what do I do for them? I dutifully sort through the receipts from bottles of tequila and motor oil in the dim hopes that I will someday have enough deductable costs to exceed my Standard Deduction.
All this love and attention from the Department of the Treasury, and what have I, Rick Yukon done for these learned scholars or taxation and wealth? Astonishing little.
While I should have enriched the society and culture which has trained me as a master, I instead squandered these Great American Gifts in a river of hooch a biblical clouds of smoke … both of which at least held me together long enough so that I could write this promise of love and devotion to my IRS.
Dear IRS, I’m so deeply sorry that I’ve been a fucknut. You waited for me to bring you necessary operating funds with my knowledge, with my charisma, with my disarming humility. And what did I bring you? Scraps. Debris. Flotsam. Jetsam. I held the power to reinvent American Industry, to reinvent higher education, to reinvent the Hatian Lanilla. I held the power to do away with these ridiculous rockets and create intergalactic transport by modulating the weak-binding force to pull spin-half fermions out of the vacuum of space and harmonically couple them to form the most massive neutrinos in existence, which would then be fired through our particle accelerators to provide mass-reaction and useful faster-than-light movement to boats filled with tequila, tobacco and VHS tapes of classic 1980s situation comedies … the things that people in the other galaxies need.
And what did I do with this power, and the means to deposit quintillions of Fireballs into United States Department of the Treasury? Yes, I squandered it, as you knew that I would.
But I’m turning over a new leaf, IRS. I’ve removed the bottle of Milagro Silver from my desk, and I’ve placed it back in the bar. I told the exotic dancer that not only no I not want any of her nose candy, but I have in fact, never wanted it, and the only reason I consumed so much of it was to be polite to her. The New and Improved Rick Yukon is here now. I’m on the job!
Obviously, I can’t do all of this work by myself, I have a lot of obligations in various drinking establishments. But I, Rick Yukon, will find the brightest and most hard-working people to reinvent American Industry and higher education. And I will fine tune the Hatian Lanilla. That will be my burden, dear IRS. I’m doing this for you, baby. In the words of Shane, I swore I’d always love you, I always did, I always will.