- Messages
- 11,633
- Name
- Doug
- Edit My Images
- Yes
Copy of a letter from a farmer in Melbourne in reply to an Income Tax demand
Dear Sir,
Your letter arrived this morning in an open envelope with a penny stamp on it. My son and I would have gained much pleasure from it had it not revived in us a melancholy reflection of what has gone before. You say you thought the account could have been settled long ago and could not understand why not. Well, here is the reason.
In 1954,1 bought a saw-mill on credit. In 1955 I bought a team of horses, two ponies, a timber wagon, a double-barrelled shot-gun and two razor back pigs, all on credit. In 1956, the bloody mill burned to the ground leaving not a damned thing. One of my ponies died and I loaned the other to a stupid b*****d who starved the poor b****r to death. I then joined the Church.
In 1957 my father died and my brother was hanged for raping a pensioner. A tramp seduced my daughter and I had to pay the b*****d £50 to prevent him becoming a relative. In 1958, my boy caught Mumps which spread to his balls and the poor lad had to be castrated to save his life. Later I went fishing and the rotten boat overturned drowning two of my lads, neither being the one who was castrated. In 1959, my wife ran away with a sheep herder and left me the twins as a souvenir. I employed a housekeeper and later married her to keep expenses down. I had a hell of a job making her pregnant. I saw my doctor who advised me to create some excitement at the crucial moment. That night I took the shot-gun to bed with me. At the time I thought was right I leaned of bed and fired the gun through the window; result – the wife s*** the bed, I ruptured myself and shot the best cow I ever owned.
In 1960, some joker cut the nuts off my best bull. I was buggered completely, so I took to drink. I carried on drinking till all I had left was a pocket watch and a weak bladder. Winding the watch and running for a p*** kept me busy for quite a time. After a time I took heart and bought on credit a manure spreader, a reaper, a binder and a car. The floods came and washed the bloody lot away. I was not insured. My wife got V.D. from a salesman, and another son (still not the one who was castrated) wiped his arse on a poisoned rabbit skin and died from the infection.
You can imagine my surprise on reading that you will cause me trouble if I do not pay up. If you can think of any trouble I have missed out, then I would very much like to hear about it. Trying to get money out of me is like trying to poke butter up a porcupine’s arse with a red hot needle. I am praying for a shower of skunk s*** to pass your way and hope that the centre of it is over the bunch of bastards in your office who sent me this final demand.
Yours for more credit
Lucky Barry Arkwright
Dear Sir,
Your letter arrived this morning in an open envelope with a penny stamp on it. My son and I would have gained much pleasure from it had it not revived in us a melancholy reflection of what has gone before. You say you thought the account could have been settled long ago and could not understand why not. Well, here is the reason.
In 1954,1 bought a saw-mill on credit. In 1955 I bought a team of horses, two ponies, a timber wagon, a double-barrelled shot-gun and two razor back pigs, all on credit. In 1956, the bloody mill burned to the ground leaving not a damned thing. One of my ponies died and I loaned the other to a stupid b*****d who starved the poor b****r to death. I then joined the Church.
In 1957 my father died and my brother was hanged for raping a pensioner. A tramp seduced my daughter and I had to pay the b*****d £50 to prevent him becoming a relative. In 1958, my boy caught Mumps which spread to his balls and the poor lad had to be castrated to save his life. Later I went fishing and the rotten boat overturned drowning two of my lads, neither being the one who was castrated. In 1959, my wife ran away with a sheep herder and left me the twins as a souvenir. I employed a housekeeper and later married her to keep expenses down. I had a hell of a job making her pregnant. I saw my doctor who advised me to create some excitement at the crucial moment. That night I took the shot-gun to bed with me. At the time I thought was right I leaned of bed and fired the gun through the window; result – the wife s*** the bed, I ruptured myself and shot the best cow I ever owned.
In 1960, some joker cut the nuts off my best bull. I was buggered completely, so I took to drink. I carried on drinking till all I had left was a pocket watch and a weak bladder. Winding the watch and running for a p*** kept me busy for quite a time. After a time I took heart and bought on credit a manure spreader, a reaper, a binder and a car. The floods came and washed the bloody lot away. I was not insured. My wife got V.D. from a salesman, and another son (still not the one who was castrated) wiped his arse on a poisoned rabbit skin and died from the infection.
You can imagine my surprise on reading that you will cause me trouble if I do not pay up. If you can think of any trouble I have missed out, then I would very much like to hear about it. Trying to get money out of me is like trying to poke butter up a porcupine’s arse with a red hot needle. I am praying for a shower of skunk s*** to pass your way and hope that the centre of it is over the bunch of bastards in your office who sent me this final demand.
Yours for more credit
Lucky Barry Arkwright
