Sunday, June 12, 2005
Taxing Times Traumatise Terror Tainted Town
Melbournians were shocked this morning, when flicking through their diaries, to discover that there were only 18 sleeps before the 30th June - The end of the financial year.
Normally a stolid and stoic peoples, hardened by bleak winters and unnatural attitudes to sport, we Melbournians suddenly found ourselves in a tizz, a mad panic as we realised that there were only 13 working days left before the lord-high executioner’s axe falls on the cut off date.
Tax Accountants around the City are bracing themselves for the deluge of calls they can expect from the panicked populace, as the good burghers of Melbourne thumb through the yellow pages, and ring around, trying to find a Tax Accountant who has not failed them in the past. (For this is the problem with Tax Accountants you see - Despite their reputation as experts in the field – you still end up paying tax)
Shoe boxes around the city are being withdrawn from cupboards, and being stuffed even fuller with receipts from fat wallets, and pregnant purses. Bank statements are being retrieved from the paper recycling bin, and the bottom of the budgie cage. Businessmen, Tradesman and Contractors are beginning to wonder if the thousands of dollars spent on “Secretarial Services”, and appearing on their corporate credit card statement, really are tax deductible, and if perhaps it might not have been better to pay in cash.
Unemployed Italian men gather in Lygon street, and sit around sipping Machiatos in their Zegna suits, admiring each others shiny Ferraris parked on the street and furtively and desperately discussing the implications of the work for the dole scheme, and various banking techniques, but still, importantly, keeping one eye out for the ladies.
Pregnant Teenagers cross their fingers and hope for twins, already picturing in their mind the placement of the longed for Plasma TV, that could be afforded with a double dose of the baby bonus bonanza, and hoping that the births straddle the midnight bell on June 30th so that benefits due to each child fall in different financial periods.
Tax Terror is what it is my friends. It’s a fear of the unknown. Fear of an unbalanced ledger. Fear that the authorities will demand proof that you really do have a subscription to that boring professional literature that you claim on every year. Fear that the thousands lost in Las Vegas at the Statisticians Conference, might not pass muster as Research and Development expenditure.
They know this, the authorities. They know about this fear, and they exploit it. They use it to control, and manipulate my friends. It is the most insidious kind of terrorism, and it happens under our very noses every year.
I call on you all this year to boycott tax completely. Simply refuse to close off your books, fail to make your superannuation commitments, put your group certificates through the shredder. If not that, then just delay things. Delay things till say 30th July. Let’s arbitrarily decide to end the financial year one month later. That’ll show them whose boss. One month my friends. It’s not much to ask when fighting terror of this nature. Look I’ll settle for one week. Let’s delay things one week. One week please. That’s all I need.
Note: 3000 character limit on comments Normally a stolid and stoic peoples, hardened by bleak winters and unnatural attitudes to sport, we Melbournians suddenly found ourselves in a tizz, a mad panic as we realised that there were only 13 working days left before the lord-high executioner’s axe falls on the cut off date.
Tax Accountants around the City are bracing themselves for the deluge of calls they can expect from the panicked populace, as the good burghers of Melbourne thumb through the yellow pages, and ring around, trying to find a Tax Accountant who has not failed them in the past. (For this is the problem with Tax Accountants you see - Despite their reputation as experts in the field – you still end up paying tax)
Shoe boxes around the city are being withdrawn from cupboards, and being stuffed even fuller with receipts from fat wallets, and pregnant purses. Bank statements are being retrieved from the paper recycling bin, and the bottom of the budgie cage. Businessmen, Tradesman and Contractors are beginning to wonder if the thousands of dollars spent on “Secretarial Services”, and appearing on their corporate credit card statement, really are tax deductible, and if perhaps it might not have been better to pay in cash.
Unemployed Italian men gather in Lygon street, and sit around sipping Machiatos in their Zegna suits, admiring each others shiny Ferraris parked on the street and furtively and desperately discussing the implications of the work for the dole scheme, and various banking techniques, but still, importantly, keeping one eye out for the ladies.
Pregnant Teenagers cross their fingers and hope for twins, already picturing in their mind the placement of the longed for Plasma TV, that could be afforded with a double dose of the baby bonus bonanza, and hoping that the births straddle the midnight bell on June 30th so that benefits due to each child fall in different financial periods.
Tax Terror is what it is my friends. It’s a fear of the unknown. Fear of an unbalanced ledger. Fear that the authorities will demand proof that you really do have a subscription to that boring professional literature that you claim on every year. Fear that the thousands lost in Las Vegas at the Statisticians Conference, might not pass muster as Research and Development expenditure.
They know this, the authorities. They know about this fear, and they exploit it. They use it to control, and manipulate my friends. It is the most insidious kind of terrorism, and it happens under our very noses every year.
I call on you all this year to boycott tax completely. Simply refuse to close off your books, fail to make your superannuation commitments, put your group certificates through the shredder. If not that, then just delay things. Delay things till say 30th July. Let’s arbitrarily decide to end the financial year one month later. That’ll show them whose boss. One month my friends. It’s not much to ask when fighting terror of this nature. Look I’ll settle for one week. Let’s delay things one week. One week please. That’s all I need.
|
