Monday, July 09, 2001


Forget About Quiche.
Do "Real Men" File Tax Returns?

-- by Gordon Phillips, Founder and CIO: INFORM AMERICA!

What exactly are the modern attributes of the stereotypical "real man"? If we turn to the media, the answer might be: one who will casually rescue a damsel in dire distress, leap in front of an enemy bullet to keep the world "safe for democracy", all while beating up the bad guys (even when impossibly outnumbered), and then stride off into the sunset to do it all again another day. John Wayne, Audie Murphy, Randolph Scott -- these were the real men of the World War II era. 

Today, our yuppie heroes are the likes of Bruce Willis and Tom Cruise (who may or may not eat quiche, but they sure do use mousse!). And what do these quintessential "stud muffins" have in common besides rippling biceps, strong jaws and "come-hither" eyes? 

They all file tax returns, that's what.

Sure, I have no proof of this, but let's face it -- do you think that any one of them would dare risk his entire luminous career over something as seemingly trifling as signing a piece of paper? What do you think? 

Which leads one to ask the obvious question: What IS so unmanly about filing a tax return? Could even the nerdiest nonfiler ever compete for the affections of a real American girl when pitted against a self-assessing hunk like Sylvester Stallone? 

Serious students of the law know that:

A) There is no law requiring any American to file a tax return to report domestic income, meaning earnings derived from within the 50 union States (see code section 6012(a) and its regulations); 

B) Americans who file tax returns create the presumption of owing the income tax even if they don't; 

C) Not one dime of income tax goes to pay for the services that taxpayers expect from government, but instead pays the interest on the "national debt" to the Federal Reserve -- the for-profit private corporation that rents us our paper money by charging us interest just to use it.

Given the no doubt deep desire of mega multimillionaires such as Willis, Cruise and Stallone to share as little of their glamorously gotten gain as possible with the IRS, and given the proliferation of Internet web sites and the ease with which the truth about the tax laws can be accessed by anyone, anywhere, in total anonymity (even a Hollywood icon), it is inconceivable that these gregarious gadflies could not have been exposed to the truth about filing requirements by now.

I have been told by a top Branson, Missouri performer who is now a client of mine that most of the top country music stars have secretly visited the INFORM AMERICA! web site under pseudonymous e-mail addresses. Hello, Dolly!

Every self-styled real American, including those who would label themselves "conservatives" knows that only in America does the 4th Amendment protect the unalienable right to be secure in one's books and papers, as well as protect private property (and wages) from being stolen by the IRS without due process of law; that the 5th Amendment protects against being forced to testify against one's self; and that you cannot possibly file a tax return without also knowingly flushing these precious rights (rights over which many of our nation's Founders lost their fortunes, their families, and some their very lives) right down the toilet. 

So what exactly does it take for a real American, including the "man's man", to muster the courage to do the right thing? 

Stop by your local gym sometime where hormone-enhanced hulks routinely bench press the equivalent of two IR agents, and ask the first muscle bound he-man you meet, "How much testosterone does it take to stop filing?" A question such as this might elicit either a vapid, uncomprehending stare or a protracted session as the house punching bag. 

My uncle Fred was a dentist -- a bookish sort of man, slight of build and soft-spoken. He often chuckled over how some of his most nervous patients were the very macho types you'd least expect to exhibit fear of the dentist's office; how more than one beefy trucker or construction worker had sat clenching the arms of his dentist's chair, their knuckles white and tears of anticipatory anxiety welling in their eyes. Yet insult these same guys' mothers in a bar and they'd knock your lights out.

Today's John Wayne machismo wannabees greet each other with the standard punch to the arm, sit together (but not too close) through endless TV sports broadcasts, downing one manly brew after another, belching and bonding (but don't call it that), while generally considering themselves God's gifts to women everywhere. Yet bring up the very idea of not filing a tax return in any crowded locker room and the once virile atmosphere begins to thicken with the smell of real fear. 

That's right, the very same guys who will bungee dive for kicks and skydive for relaxation will climb right back into bed at the mere thought of attending an IRS audit. 

"Not file a return? Are you crazy? Forget it!"

The mere idea sends a chill up their spines. Why, their fear of their own government is palpable -- probably because they haven't yet learned how to protect their horse, their house and their pickup from plunder -- that they'll cower in their offices and send their bean counters to an IRS audit in their place. So much for singing "Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?". Sorry, lady -- they're gone.

George Washington once stated that when the government fears the people, there is Liberty; when the people fear the government, there is tyranny. Washington also said that government is like fire: a dangerous master and a fearful servant. 

At around age 45, my uncle the milquetoast dentist stopped filing tax returns. He protected his property and income streams and never filed again. 

You see, he had read the Constitution over and over again, and he understood and revered it deeply. In his heart and mind, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Jefferson, Franklin, Madison and the rest of the boys. He wasn't about to treat their creation like so much bathroom tissue. 

My uncle was a real man -- a real American. And, by the way, he loved quiche.