Letter to Irish Inland Ravvenou.
This is alleged to be the actual text of a letter received by the
Revenue Commissioners from a Co. Longford farmer in reply to an
income Tax demand.
Your letter arrived this morning in an open envelope and it would
have given the son and myself pleasure 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 you could not
understand why it hadn't. Well, here are the reasons:
In 1987 I purchased a hay shed on credit. In 1988 I bought a
combine harvester, a manure spreader, two horses, a double barrel
shifter, two cows and ten razor back pigs, also on credit.
In 1989 the bloody hay shed burnt to the ground leaving not a damn
thing. I got no insurance either as the bloody premium had lapsed.
One of the horses went lame and I loaned the other one to my
brother who starved the poor bugger to death.
In 1990 my father died and my brother was put away when he tried
to marry one of his sheep named Hilda. A knacker got my daughter
pregnant and I had to pay him a grand to stop him becoming one of
In 1991 my son got the mumps which spread to his balls and he had
to be castrated to save his life. Later in the year I went fishing
on the Shannon and the bloody boat overturned, drowning two of my
sons, neither of them being the eunuch who was by now wearing his
sisters make-up and dresses. Not long after he emigrated to
America with the new parish priest. They are now married and
trying for children.
In 1992 my wife ran away with a pig jobber from Drumlish and left
me with new born twins as a souvenir and I had to get a
housekeeper, so I married her to keep down expenses. I had a hell
of a job getting her pregnant (to qualify for more children's
allowance). I went to see the doctor. He advised me to create some
excitement at the crucial moment so that night I brought my
shotgun to bed and when I thought the moment was right I leaned
out of bed and shot both barrels through the window, the wife shit
the bed, I ruptured myself, and the next morning I found I had
blown both doors off the barn, shot my best dairy cow and killed
the knackerer who was in the hay loft with my daughter trying to
get more money out of me, which he did because I had to pay for
his bloody funeral expenses.
The next year, 1993, someone cut the balls off my prize bull,
poisoned the water, and set fire to the house. I was bolloxed and
took to the drink and did not stop until all I had left was a
pocket watch and a weak bladder. Winding the watch and running for
a piss kept me busy for a time.
This year I took heart again and bought (on the hire purchase) a
bulldozer, tractor and trailer and a new bull. Then the Shannon
flooded and washed the bloody lot away, my second wife got V.D.
from a land inspector and my last surviving son died from wiping
his arse on a poisoned rabbit. I had to put down four dogs who
were worrying the sheep.
It surprises me very much that you say you will cause trouble if
I don't pay up. If you can think of anything I've missed I should
like to know about it. Trying to get money out of me will be like
trying to poke butter up a hedgehog's hole with a red hot needle.
I'm praying for a cloud of cat's shit to pass your way and I hope
it will fall on you and the bastards in your office who sent me
this final demand.
Yours for more credit
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