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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Dark · #2317841
The best tomatoes come from good compost
”How’dja find me?”

“Despite your best efforts to get lost in this wild wilderness, sir, the IRS has ways of finding people.”

“Care to enlighten me? Cause I thought I covered my tracks pretty well…”

“Your library card, sir.”

“Dang. It’s always the little things that catch ya, ain’t it? Welp, now that you’ve tracked me down the least you can do is help me stack firewood.”

“The IRS doesn’t stack firewood, sir. We are only here to harass, cajole, and intimidate civilians until they pay what is owed.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t owe squat, then, eh? Now, if you ain’t interested in stacking wood you can help me weed the garden. Good honest work, there.”

“Again, sir, the IRS isn’t interested in honest work. We only want your hard-earned money. And according to our records, you owe us twelve dollars and three cents.”

“How do you reckon I owe that much?”

“Oh, just a few tax errors and miscalculations.”

“Interestin’. Hand me that shovel over yonder, if’n you please, while I mull this over.”

“Does this shovel have dirt on the handle? This is exactly why I joined the IRS instead of becoming a farmer!”

“Just wipe your hands on your pants. Now, I recall every ‘i’ was crossed and ‘t’ dotted on my tax forms. Had them looked over by a professional, don’t’cha know.”

“Oh, they were, sir. It was one-hundred percent our miscalculations. But, you know, we can’t be held liable for our mistakes so we’re lawfully obligated to put the burden on your shoulders.”

“Any way I can contest the charges?”

“Oh, you are funny, sir! It’s usually frowned upon in the IRS to indulge in a sense of humor but, heck, I’m a sucker for a good joke! Oh, wait. You’re serious?

“As a bull with teats.”

“A…what?”

“Nevermind. So. Contesting?”

“Ah, well, you could, sir. It’s well within your rights but I wouldn’t advise it as it would be a waste of time. The IRS always wins. It’s written in the law that we can’t lose.”

“Well, here’s the thing. I ain’t paying. I remember my schoolin’. Y’all were supposed to be a temporary agency to help pay for war expenses. I don’t recognize your authority.”

“I was afraid you’d say something like that, sir. You look the type. Which is why the IRS has started arming its agents. I’m sorry to say, I’ll have to shoot you with this, um, revolver—”

“That’s a nine millimeter pistol.”

“Right. Of course. So, hand over the cash and—”

“Does this hole look big enough?”

“Uh, big enough? For what?”

“Tomatoes.”

“Seems pretty deep for tomatoes. But then, I’m not a farmer I’m just a simple agent that has what it takes to take what you have.”

“You’re also good compost for tomatoes.”

“S-sir?”

“Like I told you, I ain’t paying. Now how much you wanna bet I can get you in this here hole before you get the safety off that pea shooter?”




Worm Food
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