As y’all know, I’ve been tearing my hair off of my scalp because of my new property taxes.
And there’s a part of me that feels so wronged and wants to give the city council a piece of my mind.
But there’s also a part of me that wonders if, perhaps, I would get further being more pleasant and laying out a heartfelt argument.
Perhaps a night serenade, a bolero at the tax officer’s home window as she retires for the night would get me further than any forceful monologue at the town hall meeting. The warm notes that I, the handsome masked desperado holding a bouquet of roses for her, would sing will remind her that she is a house owner too. And that there was a time – before the cold-hearted businessman named Capitalism imprisoned her soul in a loveless marriage – that she was once a beautiful radiant girl that believed in the eternal romance of low and steady property taxes.
See? Even the song I’ll sing Tu Mi Delirio (You, Are My Delirium) shows how delirious I am from this property tax raise (the song obviously doesn’t mean that 😂)
The way I see it, there’s only two ways this could end;
a.) my property taxes get lowered because I’ve warmed madame tax councilor’s heart with my soulful voice and puppy eyed plea
b.) every police officer within a half mile radius converges on my location and beats me like a dusty carpet
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