Dear Mr. Bafflegab,
I’m takin’ pen in hand to write to you today sir, ‘cause I figure that, being as how yer in charge of the country’s finance department, yer ‘bout the only person in the whole gov’mint what kin help me right now. Y’see Mr. Bafflegab, sir, I just ain't got the ready cash to pay the latest tax increases that you gov’mint folks has told us are comin’ pretty soon. Now I know as good as the next man why I got to pay my fair share of taxes, and I sure did want to do right by y’all there in Ottywah, but things just haven't been so awful good around here lately. Let me s’plain.
I got a pretty good job, y’know? I’m makin’ about $50 large a year, which don’t seem bad, do it? The trouble ain't with the income part, sir, it’s with the outgo part. First off the gov’mint latches onto about 35% of what I make before I even see it; ‘Income tax and unemployment insurance’ they calls it. The tax part was brought in as a temporary measure to pay our ‘war debt’ some years back.
And don’t forget the ‘sales taxes’ on pretty near everythin’, which was also supposed to be a temporary thing. Between the federal and the provincial sales taxes I lose about another 15% of what I make. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me when we can expect to see the end of these ‘temporary’ taxes. Right now I’m being “temporaried” out of about 50% of my hard-earned income.
Then there is the property taxes and ‘user fees’ that we got to pay fer usin’ them things which was built by, and is supposed to be maintained by, our tax dollars. Things like the local swimming pool, parking spaces on our tax-built streets, gov’mint parks and the gov’mint operated ferries and bridges. Heck they even make us pay a toll to use some of our own tax-built roads nowadays. These things add up to another 5% or so.
On top of all these things I got to kick out about $6000 per year for each of my three kids who are goin’ to university this year. This bites out another 36% of what I make.
The last 9% is just frittered away on luxuries like food and clothes but them things is in the control of my missus and she just won't let me cut her down on them. As a married man yerself, I’m sure you know how the little woman can get her dander up at times over them things she calls ‘necessaries’.
All this don’t make no mention of the monster taxes on gasoline and heating fuel, or beer, liquor or cigarettes, to mention just a few. The last three is particular costly fer us because, even though we don’t drink or smoke, we understand that you and many of yer fellow gov’mint folks do; and we got to pay, not only yer salaries, but also give y’all enough of an expense account that you can pay fer such like; (Somethin’ to do with the high level of entertainin’ you dignitaries just hav’ta do, I'm told, in order to be as much of a pompous ass as the dignitaries of other countries).
I am sure that when you gov’mint folks give yerselfs a paycheque three times the average income of those who actually pay that cheque, it’s only because you really need it in order to lead the country and everyone in it to prosperity; (I sure hope you get us there pretty soon.) I promise you sir, I am not one of those who listens to them who says that yer all a bunch of ego’s who will keep on vacuuming up our earnings with more and more taxes until we put a stop to it.
To get back to what I'm writing to you for; do you suppose that you gov’mint folks could just ferget about that next tax increase? I'm sure that you are all smart enough to know that we, out here in the real world, just don’t have any more money to give ya. And ya just can’t put out more than ya take in, now can ya? Well, I guess maybe askin’ a gov’mint fella that is kinda foolish. Y’all have certainly been doin’ it fer years, now ain't ya. Ha, ha!
Perhaps you could just write me a letter an’ tell me how I can do the same thing. That would mean that I might be able to get enough cash to pay those pesky, ever increasing, taxes that you folks keep dropping on us. Then we’d all live prosperous like, get me?
Lookin’ forward to hearing back from you the next time yer back in yer office puttin’ in those hard dozen or so days you actually work per year.
Yer empty-pocket friend,