Perhaps the last chapter in the tale of my former boss. Robert Beale has finally been sentenced. James Walsh, writer at the Star Tribune, couldn't have summed it up better, "At his sentencing, Robert Beale alternated between remorse and existential diatribe. He got 11 years to sort things out."
You gotta read it to believe what he said.
Other RB related postings:
Get Used to Wearing Orange
Crazy talk! Crazy talk! Change the subject!
It Couldn't Have Happened to a Nicer Guy
Showing posts with label Taxes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taxes. Show all posts
Friday, September 12, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Crazy talk! Crazy talk! Change the subject!
"Crazy talk! Crazy talk! Change the subject!" -- Arthur, The Tick
Fans of the short-lived, live-action version of The Tick will remember that line above, delivered frantically by the Tick's sidekick, Arthur.
Someone should have thought to offer that advice to my former boss. Last August I posted about the Nerd Clan's pilgrimage to the Twin Cities and what part the company I worked for played in that. The post was prompted by a Star Tribune article, outlining the CEO and his dash from the law due to tax evasion.
After 14 months as a fugitive, authorities caught up with him on November 1, 2007 in Orlando, FL. I guess Mickey Mouse is a draw for tax evading religious zealots. Anywho, he's back in the Twin Cities, on trial, providing his own defense. But if he wasn't in enough trouble already, check out this article from the Star Tribune on Monday. Apparently, even from his jail cell, he's still having chats with God. It seems that God isn't too fond of the judge assigned to his trial. Allegedly, he told his common law wife, "God ... wants me to take the judge out, that's what he wants me to do," and "Once I take down Ann Montgomery, no judge in the whole court will have anything to do with me."
Good job. Nicely done! If you're going to make secret plans to get rid of a judge, the perfect means of communications is to do it through RECORDED PHONE CALLS FROM JAIL to result in the arrest of your accomplices. Very sneaky!
Yes. I'll watch this trial over the next two weeks with great interest.
Fans of the short-lived, live-action version of The Tick will remember that line above, delivered frantically by the Tick's sidekick, Arthur.
Someone should have thought to offer that advice to my former boss. Last August I posted about the Nerd Clan's pilgrimage to the Twin Cities and what part the company I worked for played in that. The post was prompted by a Star Tribune article, outlining the CEO and his dash from the law due to tax evasion.
After 14 months as a fugitive, authorities caught up with him on November 1, 2007 in Orlando, FL. I guess Mickey Mouse is a draw for tax evading religious zealots. Anywho, he's back in the Twin Cities, on trial, providing his own defense. But if he wasn't in enough trouble already, check out this article from the Star Tribune on Monday. Apparently, even from his jail cell, he's still having chats with God. It seems that God isn't too fond of the judge assigned to his trial. Allegedly, he told his common law wife, "God ... wants me to take the judge out, that's what he wants me to do," and "Once I take down Ann Montgomery, no judge in the whole court will have anything to do with me."
Good job. Nicely done! If you're going to make secret plans to get rid of a judge, the perfect means of communications is to do it through RECORDED PHONE CALLS FROM JAIL to result in the arrest of your accomplices. Very sneaky!
Yes. I'll watch this trial over the next two weeks with great interest.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Positive Post #10
Yes. It's been a long time since I've posted.
Yes. I feel guilty.
Yes. This is a lame-o Positive Post, but here it is.
2007 TAXES ARE DONE!
No more tax prep worries for at least... several... months.
Hey. I tried.
Yes. I feel guilty.
Yes. This is a lame-o Positive Post, but here it is.
2007 TAXES ARE DONE!
No more tax prep worries for at least... several... months.
Hey. I tried.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Whew!
What's that sticky stuff?
It had been a long day at work. A weary commute home. I looked down to see big white sticker under my shoe. The wind has a nasty habit of depositing leaves and every piece of blowing trash in a three block radius in front of our door.
I reached down, removed the offending sticker, and opened the door. I knew was waiting for me on the other side.
The 2-Day FedEx envelope sat on the floor of our entryway. It leaned casually against the wall in a black beret, smoking a thin, brown cigarette... mocking me. I think I would have rather encountered an axe murderer on the other side of that door.
I considered it carefully. Would it bite? I picked it up by the edge.
Phew. What stinks in here?
The heavy envelope made an audible thud as it hit the kitchen counter. I considered putting a match to it, but thought better of it. What horrors would it hold? Could my heart stand it?
I took a deep breath (yeesh - what is that smell?) ripped the envelope like a giant band-aid. The quicker, the better.
Our 2007 taxes.
Suddenly, I could breathe again.
Our tax guy is worth every, freaking cent.
Good news: we got a return.
Eh news: we're handing it all over to Uncle Sam to cover the taxes I will eventually have to pay on my extra business income next year.
Bad news: I tracked in dog shit on my shoe.
All we have to do are sign the forms, mail them on time, and pay the tax guy for his expertise.
My taxes in 2004 and 2005 were something that even Freddie Kruger couldn't have devised in his wildest ravings. I won't post the totals, but let's just say that April 2005 left me gasping for air to the tune of tens of thousands. I still blanche at the thought of it.
And the worst part, was that he was wrong.
For 2006, I got the tax guy of my dreams (let me know if you want a recommendation). He fixed the previous guy's mistakes to the tune of so much of a return, that it prepaid my quarterly taxes for almost half of the next year. Yowch.
It's funny. But even though I know what the end number of the tax return reads, I still involuntarily shrink from it. It's like being bitten by a big dog. He may look friendly now, but you never trust him again.
Yeah. Like I ever trusted the IRS before.
Tonight I toast my tax guy and look forward to next year's simpler... much simpler... tax return.
It had been a long day at work. A weary commute home. I looked down to see big white sticker under my shoe. The wind has a nasty habit of depositing leaves and every piece of blowing trash in a three block radius in front of our door.
I reached down, removed the offending sticker, and opened the door. I knew was waiting for me on the other side.
The 2-Day FedEx envelope sat on the floor of our entryway. It leaned casually against the wall in a black beret, smoking a thin, brown cigarette... mocking me. I think I would have rather encountered an axe murderer on the other side of that door.
I considered it carefully. Would it bite? I picked it up by the edge.
Phew. What stinks in here?
The heavy envelope made an audible thud as it hit the kitchen counter. I considered putting a match to it, but thought better of it. What horrors would it hold? Could my heart stand it?
I took a deep breath (yeesh - what is that smell?) ripped the envelope like a giant band-aid. The quicker, the better.
Our 2007 taxes.
Suddenly, I could breathe again.
Our tax guy is worth every, freaking cent.
Good news: we got a return.
Eh news: we're handing it all over to Uncle Sam to cover the taxes I will eventually have to pay on my extra business income next year.
Bad news: I tracked in dog shit on my shoe.
All we have to do are sign the forms, mail them on time, and pay the tax guy for his expertise.
My taxes in 2004 and 2005 were something that even Freddie Kruger couldn't have devised in his wildest ravings. I won't post the totals, but let's just say that April 2005 left me gasping for air to the tune of tens of thousands. I still blanche at the thought of it.
And the worst part, was that he was wrong.
For 2006, I got the tax guy of my dreams (let me know if you want a recommendation). He fixed the previous guy's mistakes to the tune of so much of a return, that it prepaid my quarterly taxes for almost half of the next year. Yowch.
It's funny. But even though I know what the end number of the tax return reads, I still involuntarily shrink from it. It's like being bitten by a big dog. He may look friendly now, but you never trust him again.
Yeah. Like I ever trusted the IRS before.
Tonight I toast my tax guy and look forward to next year's simpler... much simpler... tax return.
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