Ah, it’s almost that time of year again, when we all pretend that we truly understand standard depreciation: time to file your taxes. Or, if you’re Adam, mutter “Ohh, mmm, I’ll do them tomorrow” for 365 more consecutive days in a row.
One of these years, I’ll actually visit an accountant, rather than fudging my own tax return together. I’m sure there’s boundless tax rorts which I’m not taking advange of – and I’ve heard of a few cracking ideas. Possibly my favourite tax scam was a mate in Melbourne who bought a new high-end digital camera, holidayed in French Polynesia, took a few snaps while he was over there, then came home and published 5 books of photos through a vanity publishing service. Then promptly claimed the entire thing on his tax return.
How is this not illegal?!
Thousands of people scam the government on an annual basis with companies that “officially” make $1/year, but really just act as a means for them to claim computer purchases and broadband bills. Again, how is this not illegal? Why aren’t we all creating loss-making businesses, left right and centre? Just look at Channel 10′s investments in local TV productions! They must be making a profit at tax time, surely; and are secretly giggling their way to the bank?
Another favourite of mine is a marketing organisation who Adam worked for a long time ago. This particular company in question is actually nearby our current house – their tax-evasion hallmark is to go “bankrupt” every year or two, then simply change the company name, and continue on as if nothing had happened. We’re talking about a company who once went “bankrupt” because the owners of the business had a hard-on for a new $10,000 front door for their house. As I type this, they’ve recently just changed their name again, but continue to plod on with the work they’re doing. Amazing.
Then again, I guess there’s far better crap crimes I can try to prevent myself from committing, like trying in vain not to think about Reese from Malcolm in the Middle sexually, until the actor who played him turned 18. And that one was a bit of a struggle.
Oh, and look – the TV programming equivalent of cargo shorts and lipgloss is back on tonight: Big Brother. At least I’ll have something to watch while I’m writing around the couch in post-operation pain for the next week. That’s right, the big snip is in 24 hours time. Hooray! Kindly cease all attempts to give me a boner, stat!