I just had to complete a W-9, which is one of those most annoying forms that all the businesses that you do business with want a copy of and that you make so many copies of to send out that eventually the original copy can’t be copied legibly anymore. Hence, having to do a new one. Either that or the year and form changes requiring a new one.
In the normal world, one not controlled by the IRS, the signing person on this form would be the owner of the business that the W-9 was requested of, say the president or some other legally bound officer. I am not this person. I simply account for the business that is transacted daily.
We have a wonderful young lady who works here who called me and told me about the current state of the current copy of our W-9 form being illegible and unfit for copying. She asked what to do about the problem. Due to the current absence of all officers and other legally bound persons, I told her to complete the form and bring it to me and I would sign it. I figured since I can sign the checks, why not sign the form.
I took out my pen and began to sign and was momentarily stopped by laughter. Not ordinary laughter. Oh no. This was stupid laughter. The kind that will make you snort Coke out your nose, pee your pants, and fall out of your chair. The kind that only sheer stupidity, like anything done by the IRS, would cause.
I stopped to read what the IRS had put on the form to the left of where I was supposed to sign my name. There in all the legalese it could muster on the day the form was created the IRS in its infinite wisdom placed the words: Signature of U.S. Person. Not the owner. Not a corporate officer. Not even a manager. Just some signature of some U.S. Person.
The form does define U.S. Person and according to them that phrase would include any of the following but not limited to any of the following; one of the homeless people that live in the woods behind the business; any one of the night time cleaners; the guy who takes care of the Port-O-John; the exterminator; the fuel delivery person; the yard man; one of the topless dancers from next door at the gentleman’s club; the fry cook at the bowling alley located behind the gentleman’s club; the editor of the local fish wrapper; the alcoholic found sleeping in his car with the motor running in the parking lot of the gentleman’s club next door; and/or the policeman who came to arrest the alcoholic found sleeping in his car with the motor running in the parking lot of the gentleman’s club next door.
It would not however include Mabel or Maybelle, my dog, my cat, the rabbit in my yard, the chickens in Jody’s Trump Towers, Clay’s horse, EB Heron, or my friends from Egypt, France, Italy, Mexico, and possibly the ones in Australia, but then again, it might, as I haven’t seen their papers.
I heard a few years back that the IRS was undertaking a campaign to become the friendlier IRS. Does that mean they are trying to be politically correct? Or have they simply lost their ever loving minds? And why would they let just any ole U.S. Person sign a form that they themselves designed, created, and use to hold us hostage when it comes to taxes?
Who cares? I am a certified, paper and passport carrying U.S. Person, so I signed it.
I just hope they don’t look too closely at the form because I signed it Sarah Palin. She’s supposed to be a U.S. Person too.
From the life and mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
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