Render unto Caesar

This weekend I had planned to get a double root canal, or revel in my goutiness, or determine once and for all how long your dork has to be exposed to a windchill of minus 50 before it freezes. But the dentist is out of town, my gout has also left the vicinity, and its only minus 4 with no wind - definitely not conducive to knob-freezing.

Therefore, I have no alternative but to devote the entire 48 hours to working on my federal and Quebec income tax returns. Although I am not legally required to do so for another six weeks, I am going to file early in the vain hope of winning the tax lottery - actually showing a small refund which, doubtless, I will never see since it will be absorbed borg-like into my existing accounts with them.

The Canadian Revenue Agency and Revenue Quebec are tapeworms permanently lodged in my intestines, growing ever more corpulent as they suck whatever miniscule enjoyment I find in life completely out of my system. Although I have just last week feed them whole sheafs of post-dated cheques to cover fiscal 2002, they are not satisfied. They are never satisfied.

Every fortnight or so I get another of those dreaded brown envelopes, with more reassessments (always in their favour), demands to pay/file, threats of garnishee, and requests for some obscure receipt from 1996 which has disappeared into the mists of time but.

I guess it's time to feed the machine!