Dear IRS,

I just have a couple of questions here, because it’s a lot of money, and I’d just like to clear up a few things before I lop off my right breast and sell it on eBay in order to make the April 16 deadline.

1. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that I don’t exactly quite have the money. I have some money, but not the money. You know, hypothetically. You guys don’t do that whole debtor’s-prison thing anymore, do you? Because, hypothetically, I don’t do so well with the small spaces. Theoretically.
2. If you let me take deductions on things for self-employment, how come you levy a self-employment tax? Seriously. What’s up with that? And…$204? Who came up with that number? You can tell me. Bob Rubin got drunk and threw darts at a calculator, right?
3. I didn’t have to report that foreign income, you know. I could have just spent it on shoes and never told you, but I reported it, because a good relationship is based on trust. But then you had to get all passive-aggressive with the overseas-income schedule. I don’t think it warrants a schedule; one line should do it. But no, you feel you have the right to punish me because you’ve got all this residual anger about the travel deductions from fiscal year 1998. This isn’t about the overseas-income schedule at all, is it? Look, you can’t keep living in the past. That’s over now. You’ve seen the receipts. We’ve got to get on with our lives, and if you can’t get past your issues and move forward, well…I don’t think we’ve got anything to talk about. I thought I’d make my estimated-tax payments to you forever, but if you won’t let me in…God, I hate it when we fight.

Sarah

Dear Refrigerator,

Let the enclosed letter serve as notice that you are hereby in breach of contract to my client, Sarah D. Bunting, pursuant to an agreement made by you on January 6 of this year, at which time you consented to continue running in exchange for a defrosting and disinfection of all your parts. My client has more than fulfilled her requirements to the contract, and we can only construe your recent failure to maintain a working vacuum seal on your door as a violation of the terms of this agreement.

Your employment in Ms. Bunting’s apartment is hereby terminated.

Sincerely yours,
Sheldon Cohen
Counsel for Sarah D. Bunting

Cc:

room-temperature Diet Coke
spoiled sour cream
mushy onion

Dear Coffee,

Sarah just finished you. Just finished you. You can’t wear off yet. Hey — hey, I’m talking to you, young man! You want to live here, you can pull your weight like everyone — oh, don’t you take that tone with me! You get back here and infuse that bloodstream right now! All right, fine, then you can just go without sugar for a week! ONE WEEK, mister!

Yeah, I’ll give you something to cry about,
Sarah’s Brain

Dear Sarah,

Please stop calling my answering machine and hanging up. I’ve…got someone else…in my life now, and it’s making us both very uncomfortable.

When I said I needed space, I meant it. I couldn’t go on with the cheese and the guacamole and the imported beer — I mean, I felt like I didn’t know you anymore, and I really need the time away to think things through, and when I said I didn’t think you cared anymore, well, this isn’t the way to win me back.

Take care of yourself.
Your Waistline

Dear Socks Local 331,

We have reviewed your union’s request for a work-area enhancement, but I regret to inform you that we must deny your application. According to the OSHA footwear code, your current space is more than adequate for the number of socks, and we see no need to expand at this time.

We should point out also that any further picketing or unauthorized “unpaired sick-outs” would constitute a violation of your union’s contract with this corporation.

Please contact me with any concerns.

Yours truly,
Sarah D. Bunting
Chief Operating Officer, Top Right-Hand Drawer Inc.

CITY OF NEW YORK
COUNTY OF NEW YORK
STATE OF NEW YORK
***WORK PERMIT***
Permit No.: 83901255
Issued to: CAT DANDER, LEAF MOLD, COMMON COLD VIRUS
Issued for: SINUS EXCAVATION/RENOVATION
Begin date: 14 MAR 01
End date: []
Auth.: SARAH D BUNTING
Elec.?: NO
Evac.?: YES
Wtr.?: YES
Clerk sig.: ALGONQUIN HOTEL BUSBOY WHO SNEEZED IN PEANUTS, 3/13/01

Dear It’s,

I’ve had this beat since 339 AD, and you can’t pretend all you want that you’ve got the right to it, but I don’t appreciate your poaching my jobs every time I turn my back on an Internet bulletin board. You want the contractions racket? Fine — take it. There’s plenty of language; everyone can get a taste. But don’t come over to the possessive looking for a piece of the action, because I haven’t busted my butt since the beginning of time just to watch some upstart steal my business, and the next time I catch you on the margins of a corporate newsletter, talking me down to that bitch in the communications department, there’s gonna be trouble.

Don’t make me go over your head to Sars, buddy. Two phone calls and you’re hauling indefinite pronouns with that Their bozo out in Staten Island.

Signed,
Its

Dear Sarah,

This isn’t “about” anything but your insistence on making everything about you, babe, but if you want to get into this now, when I’ve got a shitload of work and the President isn’t talking to me and the economy, my best friend in the world, is on its deathbed, well, fine, let’s get into it. Let’s get into why you didn’t keep separate books for six months. Let’s get into your earned-income health-care deduction from 1999. Yeah, you thought I’d forgotten about that, right? Well, I don’t tend to forget the times that you’ve lied to me, so…whatever.

I really don’t want — I can’t do this right now.

The IRS

Dear Sarah,

Hey, girl, what’s up? I’m coming into town on Thursday and would LOVE to see you — you know, I met with November 24 for drinks the other day, and I got to telling her about last year when you and I got together, and how you drank, like, three margaritas and then kept everyone with regular jobs out until three in the morning, and then after I left you just lay in your bed waiting for death, and then you had to go out for smokes and you had to sit down on the sidewalk because you thought you’d barf, and November 24 totally cracked up and said the same thing happened with someone she took out last year. Crazy.

Anyway, let’s set something up for Thursday, and maybe we could talk about ’03? You should have a big splash for that — everyone says to do something small but nobody ever sticks to that, so we should start planning now.

Kisses,
Your Birthday

PS Every time I run into her, your mom is all, “I feel so old!” Could you maybe get her to knock it off with that?

Dear IRS,

Oh, here we go again with the accusations. Will you just drop it already? Jesus Christ! I didn’t lie — self-employment status entitled me to that health-care credit and you know it! You just want to justify your paranoia by fabricating lies about me! Awfully self-righteous for someone who kills thousands of trees per year, aren’t you?

Look, I know how you feel about the economy, but it took too many crazy chances, so if you want to lay a guilt trip on someone for that, try Alan Greenspan, but manipulating me into feeling sorry for you? That’s just low.

And from now on, when you tell me to call you so that we can “talk,” don’t get your toady the Department of the Interior to answer the phone, you pussy.

Sarah

Dear Lassie,

GET HELP! NOBODY’S DOWN THE WELL!

Sarah’s Sex Life

Dear Lamp,

I know, I know, but he’s got nowhere else to go. Yeah, I know that he’s too fat to sleep on that table. I know. Well, I think that’s his way of apologizing. [sigh] No, “meeee?” doesn’t sound like “sorry” to me, either. Have you tried talking to him about this? Because when you put me in the middle like this…no, I understand, but then he feels ganged up on, and the fact that you fell on him when he knocked you over…I know.

All right, I will discuss this with Little Joe, but — yes, I know, but you can’t — you’ll just make it worse if you do that. No, nobody thinks any less of you. Okay. I apologize; I know it’s upsetting. I’ll talk to him today.

Sarah

Dear Sarah,

Honey, listen, you’ve got to face the fact that the foaming crystals won’t work. You’ll have to call a plumber and get him to snake the drain. No, put the coat hanger away. Look at me. Hey — look at me. I’m clogged. It’s probably rust or something. Oh, honey, nobody blames you, really, but it’s time to call in a professional. You did the best you could, but yanking out that hairball didn’t help.

I love you too.

The Bathtub Drain

Dear Sarah,

Do you want an audit? Is that what you want? Because you’ll get one, believe me.

The IRS

Dear IRS,

Well then BRING IT ON, tough guy — and by the way, why don’t you give that “EZ-1040S” to your tramp-ass MOTHER?

Sarah

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