Dragged Through Hell by the Tax Bodger

In a world of relative comfort, we’ve stopped being so afraid of pain. Sure, it would probably hurt a touch and be something of an inconvenience to have your arm cut off but such an event is hardly the end of your life. In fact, with biotechnology advancing the way it is your bionic limb would soon become the talk of the town. Superhero tales have started under less auspicious circumstances.

No, we’re now scared of the prospect of losing assets outside of our own bodies. Think of that comforting nest egg you’d probably have if you didn’t insist on frittering your pennies away on shoes and video games, let alone what you’re paying for rent and food. What if someone tried to take those hypothetical savings away from you? It would be enough to make your blood boil with righteous indignation until it shot out of your ideas. You probably wouldn’t be all that concerned about your investments then.

We have a lot of rights in this lovely free little land of ours. Even we afflicted with lady brains are allowed to vote, own property and spout off about whatever the hell we want. I’m doing it right now, you may have noticed. However, speaking of hell, there are plenty of ways to subject other people to it. Not that I’ve been practicing or anything like that.

This is how we arrive at the story of the tax bodger and the trouble they caused. Anyone can screw up filling in a form. Some just have a particular talent for it to the point where they should never be trusted with a pen. This person turns it into an art form. A shoddy, incomplete document is submitted and then they’re never heard from again. They refuse to pick up the phone or return a single email. And you’ve got deadlines pressing down on you. Hellish.

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