As seen on Sleuthsayers this week! Repeated here for my regular readers...
Apparently, I have been too serious on here lately. There have been complaints. In an effort to address this, I present the following: Money Laundering and Other Taxing Services.
So this really isn't a blog about money laundering in the classical sense (meaning Uncle Vince and those three restaurants in the east side of The Hammer...but I digress.) However, I do somewhat come round to money and bathing, or perhaps authors being taken to the cleaners (sic) in the penultimate paragraph.
In fact, this post is more about the
plight of poor authors doing their fiendish taxes, and how the banking
industry has become a playground for disciples of Satan. (Not Santa.
He remains a relatively good guy, although I've learned not to sit on
his lap.)
I was doing my taxes the other day, and it made me
think about how great things were in the good ole days. Remember how
simple life used to be? Someone would mail you a little carbon slip to
let you know how much money you made. All you had to do - as a
law-abiding citizen - was run your finger along a little line in the tax
guide, and you'd know how much tax you had to pay. You'd write a
cheque for that amount, then go drink yourself blind or shoot yourself
in the head, whichever was most expedient. Things were simple back
then.
Now, figuring out your taxes is a profession in itself. Actually, it's several professions; taxes now have their own accountants and lawyers, the lucky little things. Soon they may have their own psychiatrists.
Which brings me to banking (and other taxing services.) I remember when you'd take your paycheck and give it to the bank for a little while. Then you'd go back a few weeks later to take out cash for certain life essentials like beer and pharmaceuticals. All the money would still be there plus some extra cash you made on your money, called interest. Things have changed radically since then. Interest is passe. Sort of like digital watches...
Now when you put your money in the bank (which of
course you don't...you put it in a cute little automatic teller machine
where it mixes with everyone else's little packets of money in terribly
immoral ways) - (or even worse, you simply transfer it to whatever
account you like with absolutely no regard whatsoever for its feelings
and preferences or - Gawd help me - gender. Which reminds me: did you
see the New York University survey where they now give you a selection
of 35 different gender choices? I personally wanted to identify as a SA
{smart ass} but was told PETA might get involved.)
Back to the point. The point is, that when you go back to draw it out again, you find less than the amount you deposited. Most of your money is there, but so is something else called a Service Charge.
I must admit I'm baffled by this need for a service charge. I mean, exactly what services did these people feel it necessary to perform for my money? Did they give it a bath and take it on field trips? (ahem...note the reference to money 'laundering')
Frankly, I'm
getting fed up. If they are going to take my money out on the town and
show it a good time, the least they can do is teach it how to
reproduce...
Melodie Campbell writes seriously silly stuff and even gets paid for it. She writes about the mob in Hamilton, Ontario, just in case you thought Canadians were all nice guys. (However, we are extremely polite before we kill you.) Check out her books at all the usual suspects:
