Death and Taxes, and Bitches

There’s a saying, that the only two things you can be sure of in life are death and taxes.  I’m paying my taxes today, and it hurts like a bitch.  If taxes hurt like a bitch, I can only imagine that death hurts like a great multitude of bitches, and am not eager for it.

By the way, how does a bitch hurt, exactly?  Is it a headache from nagging, like “Damn, that’s one naggy bitch!”  Or is it a sharp pain, like when you stub your toe, and you go, “Oww, bitch!”  Or perhaps it’s like when a female dog (aka: a bitch) poops on the street, and you accidentally step in it, and there’s that disgusting, squishy feeling, and you try not to put your foot the rest of the way down, but it’s too late, and you go, “Oh son of a bitch.”

But then it gets complicated, because the bitch being referred to is not necessarily the female dog or its excrement, but yourself, for not being aware enough to avoid said female dog’s excrement.  Then you get into a shame spiral, for neither being aware enough of your surroundings to avoid stepping in the excrement, or agile enough to stop your foot in mid-stride, upon seeing the excrement at the last moment before stepping in it.

So in summation, paying taxes is painful both financially, and also, in its many bitch-pain variations, from a naggy headache feeling, to sharp pain of stubbing one’s toe, to the disgust stepping in dog excrement, and the shame spiral that evolves from that.

That only reinforces the idea that death must be exponentially worse that the bitch-pain life we have of paying naggy, painful, poop-shoed taxes.

But, there’s also the saying, “Life’s a bitch and then you die.”

Crap.

Okay, so now, we have to add further to the complexity of the bitch-tax dialectic.  If life is a bitch and then you die, the implication is that death is a relief from the naggy, toe-stubbing, poop-stepping, tax-paying horror show that is life.  But I though death was supposed to be worse than life?!?

Perhaps this is because of the heretofore unknown bitch-tax trialectic.  That’s right.  Trialectic.  This damn thing is too big for a dialectic to handle.  Here’s where it gets crazy, so fasten your seatbelts.  The third prong of the bitch-tax multiplicity comes into play when you realize that the reason life is worse than death is that you spend life being tax’s bitch!  Wham!  There it is! TRIALECTIC!

So now, we have a mind-boggling conflation of a multitude of meanings of the tax-bitch connection.

While you are pondering these weighty, life altering changes in the meanings of everything you hold dear in this world, be careful.

Be careful not to stub your toe, step in dog poop, get into a verbal altercation with a naggy person, or forget to pay your taxes.  Because if all of those things happen at once, you really will wish you were dead.

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