When You Cannot Fudge Your Taxes

After a visit to my local H and R Block earlier this afternoon, I discovered that I owe the federal government quite a pretty sum of money. After living decadently on a meager salary, and having received a large return last year, this came as an intense shock and generated some feelings of despair. Upon leaving the green glowing establishment, thankfully donning some large and not so discrete dark sunglasses, as tears pooled in my eyes, the filmmaker escorted me to the local home made ice cream creamery, and treated me to a large coffee-Oreo ice cream hot fudge sundae, complete with whipped cream and maraschino cherry garnish. Let them eat fudge, I suppose. I was left with a sucrose-induced coma, but overall, my smile appeared and my tears dissipated.

Sunday afternoon pity party soundtrack: "Dancing with Myself" Billy Idol; "Converging in the Quiet" Crystal Stilts; "Falling Through Your Clothes" the New Pornographers; "Big Engine Nazi Kid Daydream" the Gris Gris; "Sharing a Gibson with Martin Luther King Jr." Lambchop