Time’s up, its Tax Day

Ugh.  Here it is again.  I feel just like a kid again, sitting at the dinner table while the one, awful, revolting vegetable stares back at me, getting colder and colder while Mom glares at me and reminds me again that I don’t have permission to leave the table until I’ve finished my vegetables.  Even if it takes all night.  I would have preferred to go to bed hungry, but its too late for that, the rest of dinner was fine.  Which must have been doubly infuriating for her as I was the ONE of her five kids that would otherwise eat anything and everything.  THEY all got to leave the table, vegetables eaten or not, but not me, no, because as the eldest I had to set an example for the rest.

So I’d sit there until I couldn’t stand it any more, usually because either there was something good on TV, which I couldn’t see but could hear just fine, or I had to go to the bathroom.  Eventually it came to a point where I would have to steel myself and, gagging, with tears in my eyes, choke down at least some of the cold, horrible mess so that I could get on with life.  The one time I got away with not eating it was that awful eggplant, which I promptly up chucked back on to the plate.  Once Mom saw that she gave up and let me go.  She was not happy about it, let me tell you.

But today, knowing that Uncle Sam is nowhere near as merciful as Mom (and she was merciless, let me tell you!), I must pony up.  So I’ll do what I usually do and file an extension until my friend and former Navy shipmate is no longer swamped (he’s a tax preparer).  So I’ll haul my paperwork over to his place, he’ll work on my taxes while I make him one of my world famous alcoholic cream pies.  Then we’ll hoist a few and tell sea stories.

So after I’ve choked out that bit of paperwork I have something special planned for today.  Its off to the range for me.  I have bought a new rifle and it seems apposite to fire a few rounds downrange, just to show the bastids.  Just to remind me who’s in charge here.  You may call me dreamer, given how deep the government has sunk its hooks in me, in all of us.  Yes, I too am a dreamer.  I dream of America free from the mental and spiritual chains against which I have often railed in these electronic pages.

But unlike the permanently delusional lunatics on the Left, my dream has a basis in reality.  The only way to insure that the American Dream stays real, and becomes even more real is to exercise a citizen’s rights and duties, early and often.  A few days ago I wrote the following:

So it occurs to me that that some members of the Republican Club of the Foothills might be interested in exercising their 2nd Amendment rights at the Angels Shooting Ranges on April 17, which just happens to be Income Tax Day this year. I propose to be out there at about 12.00 noon or shortly after, just to discharge a little frustration at being so viciously bled, and have a good time sending hot lead downrange. I will bring a lunch and stay till 2.00 pm. So bring your shootin’ irons, get some much needed practice and have a fun time. Besides, if the info on the website is correct, old codgers get a discount on Tuesdays. Not, mind you, that I admit to being an old codger.

Date and time: April 17, 2018, 12 Noon-ish to 2.00 PM.

Address: 12651 N. Little Tujunga Canyon Road., Lake View Terrace, CA 91342

Hope to see you there.  We’ll show the bastids.