Let me just start by saying I hope this letter reaches you in good health. Now, where do I begin?
Lauryn Hill. Wesley Snipes. Chris Tucker. MC Hammer. Fat Joe. Young Buck. What do they all have in common? Well, besides momentous influence on pop culture and Black people in general? Me — The Tax Man — that’s what. And unless you are unemployed or sell drugs, thusly avoiding taxes and governmental tariffs and what not, get ready because it’s almost MY time to shine.
I bet you’re already looking for that W-2 in the mail, huh?
See, everybody likes getting their annual refunds, but nobody likes The Tax Man. And it’s all good, because like they say, me and death are unavoidable. No matter what you do, or where you spend your hard-hustled cabbage, eventually you will meet me. You can try to avoid me if you want, but I’m sure you have a cousin or uncle who tried to hide, and look what happened to him. I dug in his wallet and bank accounts until I got mine, nah’ mean? You think your money is yours? Ha! No dice. I’ll bite a chunk out of your paycheck quicker than you can catch the bus to the check cashing spot, believe that.
Not that anyone cares, but lately I find myself glossing over the little people. The tax bracketly-challenged folks whose measly change isn’t worth the auditor’s time. I got my sights set on much bigger targets. Dope dealers? Nope. Politicians? No dice. Small business owners? Nah, bruh. I’ve zeroed in on Black celebrities. “Why?” you may ask…because they make it so easy. I see the videos online. I watch TMZ. Not to sound like a bigot, but you people floss and flaunt and spend endlessly in front of a live audience yet won’t even hire the right man or woman to manage your finances! I see you all year, blowing money on cars, clothes, and hoes without thinking about your good ol’ Uncle Sam. Well I have news for you, nephew: it’s on and cracking.
I have nothing but time, so while you celebrities get rich and famous and hide behind paperwork, fancy cars, and your endless surplus of sunglasses and jewelry, I chill and wait. Like a spider monkey hidden in the money tree branches of the urban jungle. Then, when you think it’s all good because you won a Grammy or an Emmy or an Oscar, I’ll be right there. And ask around; I don’t accept any excuses for not giving me my chips. I don’t care how famous you are, either! Listen here, pay me now or pay your lawyers later — it’s easy. And you think your career will be the same after I splatter your name across the media’s windshield like a bug on a cross-country drive? No way. Look at what I did to Fat Joe! You’ll be lucky if the weed man you’ve been dealing with since you were poor or your “personal jeweler” extends any credit to you by the time I’m done pillaging your pocketbook and reputation.
If I were you, what I’d do is find someone reputable to handle all that bread you make. Hiring a relative or loved one is good but notice the trap others have fallen into. I didn’t even have to set or bait it, I just sat back and let the chips fall where they may. Pun totally intended. When Lauryn went to prison for tax evasion, did you notice she was alone? Chris Tucker can crack all the jokes he wants, but nobody is in trouble with me but him! What I’m saying is that I don’t care who you have on your payroll. My only concern is that I get broke off, too. Think of it as child support for the government…