The concentrated campaign of relentless terror began about a month ago when they started dropping fat, oddly sized envelopes into my mailbox with requests for endless information that I didn’t feel like divulging.
Then came the veiled threats like, “Did you know that deliberately ignoring us is a federal offense?”
Now it’s the phone calls that sound like they come from a seasoned mob enforcer, “Hey Duffy family! You know you really need to call us back!”
Click.
It’s like they already know every single nugget about me, but they’re toying with me just to make a very serious point.
Yeah, we know when you last wiped your ass, but we really need that in writing.
Few things in this world are scarier than an enraged government so I did what any idiot in this situation would do.
I called my mom.
” What is WRONG with you? How long do you think you can get away with ripping up jury duty notices and pretending the census bureau doesn’t exist? Why do you think you are exempt? Who do you think you are? GOD?”
I thought about that for a nanosecond before I said “Is God irresponsible, lazy and does he have no sense of civic duty?”
“you are going to jail”
Since I seemingly have no sense of duty to fulfill this obligation I tried to dig deep to find some hidden internal force that would compel me to take action so that the census takers would be able to better understand how and where I live. In the end it took five phone calls a day to make me dig the questionnaire out of the rubbish pile and I can honestly say it’s the most confusing thing I’ve ever seen.
I’ll just get out my orange jumpsuit now.
