by Dave Barry
He said: “We want you to spend the night in a recreational vehicle in the Florida City Wal-Mart parking lot.”
I said: “What?”
John explained that Wal-Marts all around the nation had become popular overnight spots for RVers. He wanted me to check this out. That's what editors do: They think up things for reporters to do, and then they go home to sleep in their nice, safe beds, oblivious to the danger that their reporters may be facing as they fight to stay alive in the Wal-Mart parking lot, armed with nothing but their skill and their courage and their bare hands and their corporate credit card and a vehicle the size of a ranch home.
Fortunately, I happen to be the type of rugged individual who is not afraid of risk. I don't mean to brag, but, in the past three years alone, I personally have read two nonfiction books about people climbing Mount Everest. I would consider climbing Mount Everest myself, if there were a way to do it in a recreational vehicle.
And so it was that on Friday afternoon I rented a twenty-nine-foot RV equipped with the bare essentials of survival: air conditioning, a toilet, a shower, a stove, a microwave and, of course, color television. I drove the RV to my house, where my wife and I loaded it with our baby daughter and a whole bunch of diapers. We did this quickly, because our house is located in Coral Gables, where the penalty for being caught with a recreational vehicle in your driveway is death.
When we were ready, I took a last look at my house, started the RV engine, put it into gear, and pressed down on the accelerator. Roughly forty-five seconds later, the RV began to move forward, six tons of raging inertia.
We motored south on U.S. 1 for a piece (one piece equals 24.7 miles), stopping only once to buy gasoline. We arrived at the Florida City Wal-Mart around dusk, with the last, reddish rays of the setting sun magically transforming the parking lot from a vast expanse of gray asphalt into a vast expanse of gray asphalt that was also slightly reddish. We parked in front of the store, where we had an excellent view of its distinctive sign, which says, simply, WAL-MART.
A few other RVers were camped nearby; other than that, there was nobody there except for us, and the night sky, and the traffic on U.S. 1, and the hundreds of people who constantly pull into and out of the Wal-Mart parking lot twenty-four hours a day. As night fell, we began to get hungry. We knew that unless we found food, and found it quickly, we could die of starvation within a matter of weeks. We felt that we had no choice but to go to the Wal-Mart store.
We crossed the parking lot on foot, following a route I had scouted earlier. Once inside the store, we realized that we might never find our way back out, because it is enormous, with a structure that covers 224,000 square feet. (In comparison, the state of Vermont covers only 217,000 square feet.) The Wal-Mart aisles go on forever, and if you wander far enough, you will find virtually everything a consumer could want—clothes, tents, tires, a bank, appliances, a beauty parlor, everything. On one aisle, there was a huge sign that said: SEE OUR SPORTING GOODS DEPARTMENT FOR ALL YOUR FROZEN BAIT NEEDS.
The Wal-Mart also boasts a vast food department, featuring enough cholesterol in the snack section alone to finish off every heart patient on Earth. It took us ten minutes just to decide on what kind of Vienna sausages we needed (spicy barbecue).
Finally, when we had what we hoped would be enough food (about seventy-five pounds) to get us through the night, we made our way back to the RV. We were just starting to feel confident about our chances of survival, when suddenly we made the kind of chilling discovery that turns an expedition into a nightmare: The TV received only one channel. Fortunately, it turned out to be the channel that was showing the NBA finals. I hate to think what we would have been reduced to otherwise. Cannibalism, probably.
After the game, we turned out the lights and fell asleep to the gentle, natural sound of shoppers putting merchandise into their car trunks. Our sleep was uninterrupted, except for the 527 times our daughter woke up demanding to be fed.
At dawn Saturday, I peeked out through the RV window blinds and watched the sun's first rays reflecting off the Wal-Mart store. A man was coming out, carrying a bag, perhaps containing his frozen-bait needs. I decided to go back to the store for coffee. It's dangerous to go into a Wal-Mart when you're not fully alert; you could easily come out with a pontoon boat.
But I escaped with just the coffee, and in a few minutes we had the RV packed up and lurching toward home.
We were tired, but proud. We'd survived a full night on one of the larger parking lots in South Florida.
That kind of experience really helps you find out what you're made of. In my case, Vienna sausage.
War on Smoking Always Has Room for Another Lawyer
Just when you think the War on Smoking cannot possibly get any more entertaining, up pops a new batch of lawyers to save the day.
Before I tell you about the latest legal wrinkle, let's review the key points in the War on Smoking so far:
POINT ONE: Cigarettes are evil, because smokers smoke them and consequently become sick or dead.
POINT TWO: The tobacco companies are evil, because they make and sell cigarettes.
POINT THREE: Therefore, in 1998 there was a big settlement under which the tobacco companies, by way of punishment for making and selling cigarettes, agreed to pay more than $200 billion to forty-six states and numerous concerned lawyers.
POINT FOUR: The tobacco companies are paying for this settlement by making and selling cigarettes as fast as humanly possible.
POINT FIVE: At the time of the settlement, the states loudly declared that they would use the money for programs to eliminate smoking, which is evil.
POINT SIX: Perhaps you believe that the states are actually using the money for this purpose.
POINT SEVEN: You moron.
POINT EIGHT: In fact, so far the states are spending more than 90 percent of the tobacco-settlement money on programs unrelated to smoking, such as building highways.
POINT NINE: This is good, because we need quality highways to handle the sharp increase in the number of Mercedes automobiles purchased by lawyers enriched by the tobacco settlement.
So, to boil these points down to a single sentence: The War on Smoking currently is a program under which states build highways using money obtained through the sale of cigarettes. Is everybody clear on that?
Good! Now let's move on to the entertaining new wrinkle. It seems that a new batch of lawyers, who were not involved in the original tobacco litigation, has been pondering the 1998 settlement, and they have come to the conclusion that it has a very serious legal flaw, namely: They are not getting any of the money.
Ha ha! That was just a joke, and I will instruct the jury to disregard it. The new lawyers are in fact unhappy because they believe the tobacco settlement unfairly leaves out a group of victims who deserve a hefty share of the money. And those victims are: smokers. That's right: Smokers, without whom there would not even BE a tobacco settlement, are not getting a piece of the pie! So the new lawyer batch believes that billions of dollars of the tobacco settlement should go to smokers who receive Medicaid for illnesses that they have suffered as a result of smoking.
I realize this sounds complicated, so let's break down the way the cash would flow if these new lawsuits are successful:
1. SMOKERS would give money to THE TOBACCO COMPANIES in exchange for cigarettes.
2. THE TOBACCO COMPANIES would then give the money to THE STATES (and their lawyers).
3. THE STATES would then give the money to SMOKERS (and their lawyers).
4. THE SMOKERS would then presumably give the money to THE TOBACCO COMPANIES in exchange for more cigarettes.
Perhaps you're thinking: Isn't this inefficient? Why not eliminate the middle steps and simply require tobacco companies to give cigarettes to smokers for free?
The trouble with that idea is that it would defeat the two main purposes of the War on Smoking, which are (1) to provide the states with money; and (2) to provide lawyers with, well, money. And this would be a
n especially cruel time to take the War on Smoking money away from the American lawsuit industry, which already suffered a devastating setback recently when the Y2K computer glitch, tragically, failed to be disastrous.
So we should not be critical of the way our political and legal leaders are waging the War on Smoking. They have proved once again that this great nation, with its “can-do” attitude, can take any problem, no matter how sad and hopeless it seems, and figure out a way to turn it into increased Mercedes sales. Although I do not mean to cynically suggest that the only beneficiaries of the War on Smoking are luxury-car dealerships. Learjets are also selling well.
Fill Out the Census and Win Your Own Bureaucracy
Unless you are hiding in a drain pipe, by now you should have received your census questionnaire from the federal government.
The census is a federal tradition dating back to 1790, when President Washington ordered all citizens to form a line and count off by ones, thus establishing that the U.S. population at that time was “eleventeen.” In modern times, the census is taken by the Census Bureau every ten years, as required by the Constitution. (For the other nine years, Census Bureau employees play pinochle while remaining on Red Alert, in case the Constitution suddenly changes.)
How important is the census to us today? Here's a quote from a letter my household received from Kenneth Prewitt, director of the Census Bureau:
“Huwag ninyong sasagutin ang Inggles na form na inyong tatanggapin sa koreo.”
I did not make this quote up. More than half of Mr. Prewitt's letter to my household is written in various foreign languages. As far as I can tell, in this particular quote Mr. Prewitt is saying: “Anybody who gets sausage and eggs on the census form will end up (something bad) in South Korea.” This is not a threat that the federal government makes lightly.
Why is the census so important? For one thing, it enables the government to locate its citizens so it can administer programs to them. The census also determines our congressional representation, which is very important. For example, in the 1990 census, a homeowner named Ward A. Frondflinger Jr. of Lawrence, Kansas, left his census form out on the dining-room table, and unbeknownst to him, his children filled it out and mailed it in, with the information that his household had 984 million members. Today, the Frondflingers are personally represented by twelve congresspersons and five U.S. senators, and they have their own naval base.
Contrast their situation with that of North Dakota, which, because of poor participation with the 1990 census, wound up reporting that it had a total of only seven residents (the actual number is believed to be much closer to nine). As a result, today North Dakota has zero representatives in Congress and may no longer even be part of the United States. (Somebody should go up there and check.)
So the “bottom line” is that it is in your best interest, as a citizen, to fill out your census form. Here's some information to help you:
Q. What kinds of questions does the census form ask?
A. Most citizens will receive the short form, which asks you only for basic information that the government needs to administer programs to you, such as your name, age, sex, race, weight, and whether or not you wear thong underwear.
Q. What if I get the long form?
A. You had better know something about calculus.
Q. Is my census information confidential?
A. Absolutely. Nobody is allowed to see your personal census information except federal employees and their friends.
Q. What are my choices regarding my race?
A. You may choose from any of the following federally approved races: Black, White, Beige, Blush, Bisque, Asian, Latino, Caucasian, Person of Color, African American, Native American Indian, Spaniard, Original Hawaiian, Asian Minor, Native Alaskan, Person of Density, Indian Indian from India, Caucasian-Asian Hawaiian, Hispano-African-Alaskan Native Indian, Ohioan, Native Hawaiian Tourist, Munchkin, Italian Samoan, Wisenheimer, and Presbyterian. Or, if you prefer, you may invent your own race, and the government will create a large bureaucracy to keep track of you.
Q. Why does the government need this information?
A. That is none of your business.
Q. I have an imaginary friend named Mr. Wookins. Should I include him on my census form?
A. Of course. The federal government spends billions of dollars on imaginary programs; these must be targeted to reach the people who really need them.
Q. Is there a place on the census form where I can tell the government how much I hate these stupid low-flow toilets?
A. The government has provided margins for this express purpose.
Q. What will happen to me if I fail to complete the census form?
A. In the words of Census Director Prewitt, “Matatanggap ninyo ang Tagalog na census form sa loob ng dalawang linggo.”
Q. Can he DO that?
A. Do not tempt him.
Choice Between Death and Taxes Gets Easier and Easier
It's time for my annual Tax Guide, which takes you step-by-step through the federal filing process, from obtaining the proper tax forms all the way to getting that desirable upper prison bunk.
I'll start with an important reminder: This year, April 15 falls on a Saturday, which means that, by law, your tax return is due on March 15, which was several weeks ago. (This must be true, because it is being printed in a newspaper.) If you missed the deadline, the Internal Revenue Service says not to worry. “This is a totally understandable error made by many taxpayers,” states IRS Commissioner Charles O. Rossotti. “They will be audited with meat hooks.”
Here's another important reminder: As a taxpayer, you are required to be fully in compliance with the United States Tax Code, which is currently the size and weight of the Budweiser Clydesdales. The Tax Code was written by Congress, although of course no member of Congress has ever actually read it; Congress has more important things to do, such as adding new regulations to the Tax Code. In fact, nobody has ever read all the way through the Tax Code. The last attempt to do so was made in 1987 by a squad of courageous volunteer Certified Public Accountants, accompanied by Sherpa guides. The last survivor made it as far as Section 2038–1239–0293.423.49.112.6(b)(m), “Guidelines Concerning the Fiduciary Depreciation of the Pituitary Exemption for Certain Elk Parts.” According to the coroner, what was left of his brain “looked like rancid mayonnaise.”
Just for fun, let's look at an actual sentence from the Tax Code that I am not making up, sent in by alert CPA Paul Mangum:
“Notwithstanding paragraph (b)(1) of this section, a partnership, S corporation, or personal service corporation is considered a member of a tiered structure if the partnership, S corporation, or personal service corporation, or related taxpayers have organized or reorganized their ownership structure or operations for the principal purpose of obtaining a significant unintended tax benefit from making or continuing a section 444 election.”
As a trained English major, I have read this sentence several times, and I THINK it's saying that if you deliberately try to obtain a benefit that you do not intend to obtain, then you belong in a “tiered structure.” I have no idea what a “tiered structure” is, but it doesn't sound good. I picture a pyramid-shaped iron cage deep in the bowels of the IRS building, populated by spiders the size of fox terriers.
Some people have suggested that our tax laws should be simplified so that the taxpayers could actually understand them. How could this be done? My friend John Dorschner proposes this system: Every year, on April 15, all members of Congress would be placed in individual prison cells with the necessary tax forms and a copy of the Tax Code. They would remain locked in the cells, without food or water, until they had completed their tax returns and successfully undergone a full IRS audit. Of course this system would probably result in a severe shortage of congresspersons. But there might also be some drawbacks.
For the time being, however, you must follow the current laws in preparing your return. So gather together your tax forms, your fi
nancial records, your calculator, and your three to five quarts of gin and get started! To guide you, here are the answers to some common tax questions:
Q. What are “capital gains”? How can I tell if I have them?
A. This requires a urine test.
Q. Recently, without realizing what was happening, and through no fault of my own, I accidentally married a multimillionaire on nationwide television. What are the tax implications of this?
A. You must file IRS Form 1092–348–498597–EZ, “Declaration of Total Bases Reached on Nuptial Night.” An IRS spokesperson stated that “this kind of thing happens all the time” and noted that “generally all that happens is you lose your house.”
Q. Speaking of television, when a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire wins the top prize, how long is it before he is contacted by the IRS?
A. IRS guidelines call for the first dog to clamp onto his leg while he is still hugging Regis.
Q. I understand that I can now file my taxes electronically. How does that work?
A. It's easy! You simply fill out some forms on your computer, then log on to the Internet. Within seconds, all of your personal financial information is in the hands of a seventeen-year-old hacker known as The Data-Booger.
The IRS urges you to contact your congressperson at home late at night, and stresses that “you can fully deduct the cost of the ladder.”
Don't Forget to Consider Feng Shui—and Other Deck Tips
Today's Do-It-Yourself Project Is: How to Build a Deck.
There's nothing like adding a deck to transform an ordinary home into a home attached to a mass of inexpertly nailed wood. And just imagine the family fun you'll have this summer with a deck!
“Come on, kids!” you'll call to your children. “Let's go out on the deck and have some fun!”
“Shut UP,” they'll gaily reply, because they are engrossed in a Sony PlayStation video game that they've been playing for eleven consecutive weeks.
