Like Dung for Dough

by Stinky Philly…

I should have packed it in and moved to a desert island a long time ago when I still had the chance. When I was young. Instead, just like Billy Clyde Tuggle, I remained right here in the snake pit while society ate away at me like a bunch of cannibals. Or vultures. Or hyenas. Take your pick.

I remember my friend TJ Max telling me once about this place out in West Texas. You know what West Texas is, right? It’s the Sahara Desert, with cowboys.

According to TJ, this place out in the middle of nowhere became a commune of sorts, only instead of hippies it was a bunch of Farmer Johns who’d had enough and just wanted out—ordinary people who’d had their fill of iPhones and iMacs and Big Macs and everything else modern society had to offer. These people just wanted OUT.  Good luck with that.

So they gave up everything, including money—especially money—and headed out to a place that might as well have been on Mars: West Texas. You know what happens when you want something no one else wants? That’s right. All of a sudden, they want it too.

So what wound up happening was, even though these people had given up on money altogether, still the government wanted its cut. Even on Mars, the government wants its cut.

So how did these people manage to get by without money? They lived on the barter system, of course. Old school. And while these poor people really did think they had the system beat, no one ever really beats the government. The government keeps on picking at your bones, even after your dead.

Did you know that even if you operate on the barter system, still your subject to federal income taxes? No joke. The IRS actually has a Bartering Tax Center.

It’s actually gone after people, too. Like Peter Max. (No relation.)

Who is Peter Max, you might ask? Some Wall Street power broker? Some Silicon Valley tech giant? Not exactly. Peter Max was an artist, off all things. Back in 1997 the IRS went after Max for allegedly trading his paintings for services, and not paying the required taxes. An artist? Seriously?

If you ask me, the IRS would have taxed the Pilgrims for trading eggs with the Indians. Seems the government wants a piece of everything, even dung, which brings us to our little story.

So it seems in the case of these castaway farmers in faraway West Texas, the government wanted its piece and it was ready to take every last mule, plow, even the overalls right off these poor people’s backs to get it, that is until one of the farmers came up with the perfect plan. It was pure genius, all from a man who had more toes on his feet than IQ points.

The man’s name was Bitters, Buford Bitters, and his business was manure. Buford traded in manure, which is to say that he traded in shit, and lots of it. Tons of it, to be exact. So when the government came a callin’, and demanded its cut, Buford was more than happy to oblige. Literally.

So the story goes, on the morning of April 15, 2012, Buford Bitters set forth, his 1946 Dodge WC pickup truck loaded to the brim with manure, and headed out for the IRS office in El Paso, Texas. When he got there, he dumped the whole load right at the front door of the IRS.  Imagine that, a huge pile of manure, just sitting there, steaming in the morning sun. As far as Buford was concerned, he was paid in full.

The IRS never bothered Buford again, or his neighbors. It seems if there’s one thing the government doesn’t like—just like everyone else—it’s to be buried knee deep in shit.


About the Author
Philip Loyd loves fat chicks and cheap beer, though not necessarily in that order. His first novel, You Lucky Bastard, is represented by New York Literary Agent Jan Kardys. Loyd lives in Dumbass, Texas.  Find out more about Loyd at

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