The new Flat tax *Satire

Photoshopped image credit: Luke

By Aspie101
* Satire


Some time in the not too distant future.


* As is her Fairydustedness?s practice of late, she likes to bestow names and titles upon herself, which seems to be a habit of Marxist despots wherever they are found. She has taken upon herself recently a combination of names of her heroes (guntroes in Newspeak) of the Globalist Marxist revolution.

Your intrepid eye-witness is on the scene again to give an account of the special Press Conference called by the above-mentioned Comrade Princess (or Big Indecisively Chromosomed Sibling) earlier this week.

The scene is, of course, in the Beehive, and the usual canard of Press Gallery guntalists is assembled. A few look almost human, but of course we must not be fooled by this, as even the devil himself can appear as an angel of light. However, the majority appear exactly as we remember them, namely a very seedy looking bunch from which arises a miasma of deceit, disreputableness and both stale and fresh alcohol fumes, intermingled with a handful of unidentified emissions.

As the time for ?the appearance? draws near, the low rumbling of the numerous genders of guntalist, blended with the high pitched squeaking of those who are not too sure about their gender, grows in volume.

Then a highly excited cry of ?They?s coming, they?s coming? rings out, and those who can still do so, jump up and down with excitement. The more aged confine themselves to clapping as enthusiastically as they can, while trying not to soil their underwear.

Then the presence sweeps into the room. As one, the guntalists fall to the floor and prostrate themselves, bums aloft and faces to the floor.

For your intrepid eyewitness, having to keep to the shadows at the rear to be ready for a quick exit if necessary, this is a sight better forgotten. The array of posteriors pointing skywards is exceptionally unattractive, and the urge to rush out and smartly kick each and every one is strong. But this would be unwise. There are members of the Kindness and Wellbeing Police present, carrying their taser-powered batons. Each is inscribed with the words ?Let Kindness and Wellbeing be our Watchword?.

Her Unicornedness looks over the guntalists, and as a few of them start to show signs of wishing to lower their rear ends, she says in a ringing tone, ?Just two more minutes I think, thank you.?

When the two minutes are up and the whole canard starts to arise, some with great difficulty, one of them inadvertently breaks wind. The culprit is not identified, but by the reverberating bass tone produced, suspicion falls on one Harry Roper, a veteran of the guntalist canard.

?Ah, very apt,? says Her Pixiedustedness, ?as the subject of this Press Conference is related very closely to that which has just occurred. Yes my lovely Guntalists of the Outer Party, I?m here today to introduce a new tax, just when you thought we had run out of things to tax.

“The fertile imagination of the title-hating Sir Michael Sullen, our greatest asset when it comes to parting my subjects from their cash, has produced a new Flat Tax, as we have decided to call it. It will produce massive amounts of wellbeing and kindness, of the sort that Sir Michael is rightly famed for.?

A ripple of excitement runs through the assembled canard.

?Actually?, continues Her Impressiveness, ?Flat tax is an abbreviation of Flatulence Tax. And from what I?ve heard tonight, some of you will be making substantial contributions.?

The guntalists look a little less enthusiastic at this point, particularly Harry Roper.

?As we all know,? continues Her Magnificence, ?my great friend and intellectual equal, Alexandria Mutational Cortex, has predicted with certainty, that the world will end on the 15th of November 2025, at 3.27 pm Eastern Standard Time, if more money is not urgently found. For a start, Al Gore needs a new and larger jet. Therefore, we will be introducing this new tax as soon as possible.?

One of the guntalists bravely calls, ?But how will the tax paid be calculated? Will it be fair??

Her Stardustedness fixes the Guntalist in question with a steely stare. ?Sir Michael Sullen has thought up this tax, and you dare to ask if it will be fair? Say two hundred ?Hail Jacindas? tonight for that sin. Well, it depends on what your definition of fair is.? She flashes her fangs, causing a nearby smoke alarm to go off. When this is silenced, she continues. ?Actually it will be moderately fair. No bray, no pay. Isn?t that fair? We have ordered 4.5 million of these Flatometers.?

She produces a formidable suppository-like object from under her trench coat and waves it about.

Jacinda Ardern & a formidable suppository-like object Photoshopped image credit: Pixy

?This cunning device, when inserted in the correct place, will measure and record all flatulent offerings by volume and gas content. It will then calculate the quantity and composition of the flatulence, and at the end of the day?, she pauses to fix Harry Roper with a grim stare, ?or in some cases hourly, the readings will be transmitted directly to the IRD, and the amount of tax owed will be debited to your IRD account.?

?At what rate will the tax be calculated?? queries one of the canard.

Her Incompetence waves a dismissive hand. ?Mere details?, she cries. ?We?ll be forming a working group to decide the rate. It?s very complicated, as it?s calculated by gas content as well as volume. We expect to do really well from the vegan community and to this end we will be running a campaign to encourage veganism. This is after all, about money, not the environment. No compulsion though? yet.?

?But how does it work?, queries another of the now uncomfortable-looking pack. ?Can we remove the device to, you know, ahh, unload, ahh discharge, or to well, siphon off the contents of, well, you know…?

Her Flatulence gives a brief burst of her concerned face, and says emphatically, ?Of course! Do you think that Sir Michael Sullen, and myself and cabinet are heartless??

A shuffling of guntalistic feet is accompanied by a low rumble which could be taken as either assent or dissent.

?Kindness and Wellbeing goals ensure that the device can be removed without setting off an alarm at IRD for five minutes twice a day, on Mondays and Thursdays, once a day on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and for a total of ten minutes at any time on Saturdays, Sundays and Public Holidays. An exception is on Waitangi Day when it cannot be removed at all, as it?s a day on which we all wish to share as much misery and discomfort as possible.?

?Will there be any relief for, ah, certain groups?? asks another na?ve guntalist.

?Yes of course,? responds Her Mercilessness. ?The Inner Party, will be exempt of course, but I?m afraid that it?s pay to neigh for everyone else. By the way, we saved money by ordering a one size fits all Flatometer. Not adjustable, and possibly a bit uncomfortable at first for many, but you?ll get used to it. Well Gunt-theys, that?s it, I?m off to a photoshoot at a kindergarten now, so if you have any questions, you know what to do. Stick them where the Flatometer can read them.?

She strolls out of the room leaving the guntalists to mill aimlessly about, trying to appear excited about the new tax. All except for Harry Roper, of course. He looks plain terrified.

Your intrepid eye-witness, deep in thought as always, hightails it out of the place before the Kindness and Wellbeing Police ask him for his Guntalist Credentials.