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Here’s something I wrote in 2009 when I was a little frustrated with the US fiscal policy. Never sent it, I don’t think it’s appropriate for what I titled it, but I had a fun time writing it.

To: Time Magazine

Subject: Man of the Year

Joe Taxpayer – Man of the Year

I’ve been a good man for a long time but my actions this year deserve recognition.

Man of the year is an honor of a man that is good characteristically and that has really shown extraordinary character over the last year.

The foundation for my merit of this award.

I never had much growing up except an excellent family. I learned early if you want something you work for it – it won’t be handed to you. (Everyone that reads this is now thinking “yeah I learned that to.” Well I’m telling you right now “some of YOU are wrong” if I’m wrong I wouldn’t have to write this, but here I am)I started my adult life with pretty much nothing but over the last decade I have accumulated a couple things. I have a family and a house to live in. Things weren’t easy. I’ve worked 2 full time jobs, I’ve worked jobs I didn’t like. Bottom line things weren’t easy for me, but here I am with a life to be proud of.

Here we are in 2K9. I’ve put in time and effort and it has finally paid off. I had the opportunity and the means to prevent a crisis. The time has come for me to reap my rewards for working hard and being responsible. I saved Wall Street from going broke through tarp and paid for a lot of rich people (compared to me) to keep the houses they can’t afford. I’ve also thrown out money like grass seed (through the economic recovery bill) to anyone who lives above their means and wants to keep their lifestyle.

A man is someone who can help others when they need it. A man always has more than enough. I’ve always spent less than I make, and I pay taxes. When situations arise, I’m prepared. Late last year when a few big banks finally realized that earning $100 and spending $1000000 wasn’t quite adding up, where would they turn?  Not to their friends that were all in the same boat (hedge funds, risk capitalists, etc.) in a real crisis, you turn to people of real virtue, real men that can take real control. Me. Joe Taxpayer.

When they came to the door, I had 2 choices. 1 I can be a man and help. Or 2 - Tell them to get fucked. I would be just fine either way. My mortgage would get paid. My credit union wouldn’t go bankrupt. And my power wouldn’t get shut off.  It takes a real man to show compassion to strangers in need. This is a test I consider defining. I estimate that 99% of men would have chosen the second option. Everyone knows that I Joe Taxpayer made the compassionate choice. This is a huge action by itself but when you take into account that I didn’t just hand out enough money for them to grab a meal at McDonalds and continue to beg somewhere else. Even though things were tight for me and I have some huge expenses in the near future that I don’t quite know how to afford (Medicare, SSI) I went ahead and gave it all to them “don’t just buy a cheeseburger, while you’re spending my money, go ahead and buy yourself a Lexus too”

I gave them 5% of GDP and said “pay me back whenever you get a chance. If you can’t afford it – fogetaboutit – it’s a gift.” Now I think only 1% of men would have helped in the first place but to pay out that kind of money – that’s man of the year worthy right there.

You may be wanting to give me the award right now, but wait that is only the first of 3 accomplishments and actions I’ve performed.

I was feeling quite tapped at this point, but I knew it was just beginning. When beggars smell compassion and free, they come running. This second feat was a real test of my compassion.  These next people are the guys who I grew up with. They are the ones that had all the same opportunities I did (actually more because they had more money to begin with, and still do) and still fucked up.  When all the people that bought 5 times the house they could afford showed up on my doorstep I have to admit I was a little more than slightly annoyed. (I distinctly remember my blood temperature rising to 700 degrees at this moment and wanting to rip their dicks off and shove them in their mouths and then whisper in their ear “I told you so” before beating the living shit out of these worthless slimiest pieces of shit that exists. (Parasites.) But not me. Nooooo. I say okay let me give you free money, wipe out your debt, whatever it takes for you to continue the lifestyle you’ve arbitrarily decided to live even though there is no way you could ever really afford it. You just go ahead and tell me what you need from me so that there are no little speed bumps on the road of life you think you are entitled to drive.

At this point I was kind of wondering when I was going to get a break. I mean I’ve worked hard, lived within my means. In general I’ve been a pretty responsible guy. But a real man can act in the face of strife in a way that is becoming of a hero. I put my pride aside stepped into the box and took a fastball in the face for the guy that had just kicked the pitcher in the nuts. I am Man of the Year. Period.

At this point everyone that reads this probably wants to kneel and start worshiping me, but hold on just a little longer please.

Now everyone knows everyone else is in trouble. (By everyone I mean everyone that is in trouble and believes it’s my job to bail them out.) So I see it coming and save them the trouble – I finance the economic recovery package for another cool $750 BILLION – yeah B – think about it. (That adds up to about 10% GDP on top of the 30% given to you every year, aka gov’t expenditures. But I won’t bore you with the numbers because you’re too fucking blunt to understand them anyways) this way I can save all the other pieces of shit that can’t help themselves.  I don’t even care what they’re reason is. Just send a request and I’ll cut you a check.

So here I am with expenses I couldn’t afford in the first place (Medicare SSI) and proceed to overextend my back laying myself down so that anyone who doesn’t want to touch the cold hard asphalt that is reality has a place to stand while waiting in line for the next handout.

Character is built though trials and tested in apocalypses. Over the last year the world just happened to end (for a bunch of overpaid spoiled pieces of shit) the sad thing is despite all of the fortune we’ve experienced over the last 100 years there was only one man that stepped up and did something. Me Joe Taxpayer. Man of the year – fuck that – man of the century – fuck that, you can call me daddy, superman, king fucking kong. I am… Joe Taxpayer.  You can call me whatever the fuck I tell you to. You don’t even have to give me this little award you’ve made up. The thing is you don’t matter and never will. You see… I own you. You’re my fucking bitch. I’m just doing you one more fucking favor by nominating myself for your little award you hand out. You see I OWN you. Do you understand that? It means your life belongs to me. So you can hate me or praise me, you might be a little happier if you choose to honor and praise me, but try to remember. Either way – it doesn’t fucking matter I OWN U

For once pleeease take my advice and honor me with the man of the year award – it’s in your interest. By now you should realize my advice is good. But. Because you’re you, you won’t.  so, I’m gonna tell you – I’m done, I’m tired, I’m tapped. Don’t come back for more you’ll leave worse than you came…… for once.


Joe Taxpayer, Yo Daddy, King Ding a Ling, (I haven’t decided what name I want you to pray to yet)

P.S. Some of you may be thinking I’m taking credit from Obama. I’m not. I did this. He didn’t. All he did was spend my money like a prostitute on crack. (Another essay, another time)



Yeah, it’s at the end.

It’s a rough draft written from the view of an uneducated, far-right fiscally minded, antigovernment, anti-everything, loud mouthed, hypocritical, know-nothing, tell you how it should be, schmuck.

I write for MY entertainment – not yours. My work always starts out slow and lazy. Then it usually brushes over the meat of the piece with no wit or connection with the audience. After that, it becomes windy and wandering when I should actually be concise and direct.

I know my vocabulary sucks (ha ha sucks) I know my writing doesn’t voice my agenda. I know I add a lot of shit that no one cares about – not even me.  I know I change voice at times and change back making it unclear who my audience is and making the story hard to follow generally.

I know there are a hundred other issues with this piece that I’m unaware of. (Not to mention the underlying psychiatric issues the writer possesses that are the root problem in the first place)

It’s in rough draft form. 1. There are a hundred revisions I’m thinking of making before I even finish the piece. 2. I know what I was wanting to get from this and therefore it’s successful. 3. A Man doesn’t make revisions. He does things and moves forward. Sometimes it rough and sometimes it shines.  I live here and now. If you don’t like the way it is – fuck you – I’m moving on to something else. You can debate it with someone else.

I know that anyone would be embarrassed to send something like this to time magazine, shoot, everyone I’ve ever met would be embarrassed to read this, let alone even write something like this, even for their personal pleasure only.  The thing is – fuck you Time Magazine. This is for Esquire anyways. Ha.