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Tha Revinuuer Man's page

16 posts. Alias of zylphryx.


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Yer extensions're up. Time t'pay the revenuuer man.

Ah completely fergot about y'all until I had t'serve up a notice to a l'il kobbie ...


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Dear Mr. Cleaver,

It would appear that you have plans to either pay us in counterfeit gp or that you are seeking to obtain false papers either to defraud the Federated Revenuuer Service or to attempt to escape the country. We can assure you none of these options will work.

We can smell imitation and plated "gp" from across the room (it has a slightly spicy and sour scent to it). There are storage areas in the bowels of the FRS that are filled to the brim with such coins (making the subbasements of the FRS smell like tacos that are starting to go bad).

False papers will accomplish naught save you getting a second tax notice for your new identity. Yes, you can be taxed twice, Mr. Cleaver or whatever your name will soon be.

And if you are looking at the death certificate option, Mr. Cleaver, please note that we have already placed a lien upon your physical being so if you fake your death, you will be come the property of the FRS. I'm sure we could find something for a creature of your ... stature ... to do. Perhaps aid in training our attack dogs? We do run through training dummies rather quickly.

Why not pay the due amount of 22,000gp now, Mr. Cleaver instead of complicating matters or allowing the taxes, penalties, fees, and interest to increase any further?

in case the spam post is removed, there was an ad for fake currency, passports, identification, death certificates, etc. immediately following the first post from The Revenuuer Man.


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Dear Mr. Cleaver,

It has come to our attention that you have not paid taxes on the assets "acquired" through the ambushing of low level adventurers. While you may simply view this as a case of "finders keepers" as you listed on your return, we can assure you this is an erroneous assumption on your part and will require immediate payment of 15,000gp in back taxes, penalties, fees, and interest.

Failure to pay may result in liens placed upon the holdings of you and your family, such as they are, mandatory deductions from future "acquisitions", government sanctioned cerebral realignment to ensure adherence to the tax code in the future, and possible forced internal organ reassignment.

We look forward to hearing from you and are quite glad that we found you in the quagmire of a filing system that is the Federated Revenuuer Service, the only folks who can truly claim "finders keepers".


Dear Mr. Aberzombie,

What is the preferred caliber to use when fighting off the zombie horde?


Big Mammy Grillz wrote:
Best watch that thar scalee chicken over by yer feets thar mister revenooer ...

Y'all hav scalee chickins? You all got a license fer them things?

<scalee chicken comes up and pecks at his feet>

What in tarnation?

<He hits the scalee chicken with his pen ... the scalee chicken immediately becomes entangled in red tape>

Dang it, my toe dun turnta stone ... kinda like a big ol' bunyon ... good thing everthin' having ta do with the guvinmint gets slowed to a crawl.

<starts hobbling off, muttering>

I swar these backwoods types git harder t'deal with ever' yar.


Now, now, no reasin ta be unneighborlike 'bout it. Y'all need an extinshun? All y'all gotta do is fill out these hyar forms and such.

<pulls out a stack of forms the size of a stack of 6 New York City phone books>

Y'all be sure ta use black 'r blue inkpens whin ya fillem out. Iffin you use red inkpens, y'all're gonna havta fillem out t'gin.

Doncha fergit 'bout them forms ... them fees an peenaltees'll rack up sumthin fierce.


Y'all got a license fer them thar stone hippehs? Th' guvmint dun made them a tax-evil item durin ther last meetin' seshun.

<breaks out an old tabulating machine and hits multiple keys in a flurry of fingers>

That'll be 'bout $17.64 fer eacha them thar stoney hippehs. The 'conomy bein' whatis, I kin take cash 'r trade. Y'all got any of them that squeezins sittin' 'bout?


Ah this hyars th' best tima th' yar. Git outcher wallets boys, the revinuuer man's back fer ol' uncle Sammy.


Well now Mammy, yew knows ah'm pertectid frum thet thar shotgun by mah Federal Shield. It done blocks all sorto prejictales. Ah'm thinkin' yew'll be wantin' ta deal with me 'stead of thet thar IRS man.

Ah'll be beck in a bit ta gitcher paymint.


Howdy do, all yew folks. Ah'm beck ta gitcher taxis. Best yew pays up afore yer trailer gits took fer tax paymint.

<where're them dang hippehs? Ah done planted Phish tickits all ov'r th' goddarned place>


dang hippeh wrote:

*pulls sawed-off shotgun out of vintage messenger bag*

I'm tired of all of you shooting at me! It's payback time, beyotches!

*accidently shoots himself in the face*

<muttering to himself>

Dang. Looks like ah'll be needin' ta find me sum mor hippehs to drive these hyar backwooders frum this hyar land.

<starts planting Phish tickets throughout the woods>


My, my, my, wut we got hair? A l'il bit'o shine thar? Thet thar shud be enuf to bring all y'all in.


dang hippeh wrote:
Revenuer man! It's so good to see you! I'm glad you told me this was such a fun place to hang out.

Wut?! I dinnt say such a thang, yew dang hippeh! Git offa meh!

<quietly to the dang hippeh>
Yew ain't suppost to know me, ya dang hippeh. An were are yer friens? Thought yew all travelt in packs 'r sum such. Ah need this place covert in dang hippehs.

By th' by, here's yer pa-chew-lee awl I promist yew. Dang hippeh juice.
</queitly to the dang hippeh>


Larry Lichman wrote:

Thet's whut it sez ahraht. Dadgum hippehs 'n' their revenuer kin need tuh stay outta muh nayberhud.

Ah may hafta start leevin' muh rottwiler chained outside tuh keep the riff raff away.

I ain't no kin kin ta no hippeh, ya durty carpitbagger. Fer all I know, ya braut them hippehs in har yerself. Don give me no raisin ta pull yer sary butt in fer sum trumpt up charge or t'other.


Now now Mama, yew know we doan tik no hippehs fer paymint. Ain't git no valyew to em, dang hippehs. Yew jist slip meh somo thet theer brew frum yonder holler an we'll fergit them taxis yew owe.

But I cain't do nuthin' bout yer hippehs. They ain't raisin no revnew, soes I cain't touch em ... wouldna wanta touch em no how.


Well well well, whatch'all doin' hyar? You gotcher licenz what fer shootin' them dang hipeez?