Love Song for the Internal Revenue Service

Doing your taxes 5 days before their due, overseas and with no clear indication about how much, if any of the money you made there in 2007 is taxable is not a good way to spend three hours. As if the stress and lost time weren't enough, the little computer doohickey tells me I owe Uncle Sam 18 smackers for taking the time and trouble to come all the way over here and demonstrate that his constituents are not all a bunch of lazy, overweight, fast-food sucking, reality-TV-addled assholes to these kind folks and then teach them all God's English besides so none of the aforementioned fuckheads has to bother to learn a second language so they can order at McDonald's during the 5 minutes they have off the tour bus to see "Europe" or whatever the fuck on top of it.
Probably the worst of it is that the amount I have to pay depends pretty much on the exchange rate I use to convert my sweet, sweet Eurocoin into Jesusbucks, and that rate would be much more conducive to me not paying taxes if the Neocon Inbred Dickweed Brigade (NIDB) weren't so busy wet-dreaming about blowing up brown skinned people or telling the aforementioned fuckheads that things like oh, I dunno, "government regulation of financial markets", say, means the terrorists win and you have to give up The Hills (They can have Heidi Montag when they pry her from my cold, dead hands!). The fact that I will be able to buy and sell the whole damn country when the Chinese call in the trillions in debts they've racked up to play "Cowboys and People armed with rocks" in the desert for 7 years is but slight consolation. Jesus H. Christ in a chicken basket, is that country fucked up.