Taxes, Trips & Texts

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It’s tax day.

Which, in my opinion, is the worst day of the year by a mile. Worse than the Sunday scaries. Worse than the first really cold day in November. Worse than seeing someone from high school post that they “just bought a home.”

Tax day is brutal.

Even though you know it’s coming. Even though it happens every single year. Even though, technically, if you owe a lot in taxes that means you made money, which is supposed to be a “good problem” to have… it still absolutely sucks.

But while I was mourning my financial losses this morning, I remembered one of the funniest bits from Workaholics. Anders, Adam, and Blake are talking about taxes and they realize, wait a second… our taxes pay for this public park we’re illegally drinking in. Which means… we own this park. Which means… we kind of own that sick dinosaur statue too. Which means… maybe we should just take it.

@workaholicsoncc

Sounds like everything is up for grabs 🤷‍♂️ #workaholics#ComedyCentral#taxes

And honestly? That is exactly the level of delusion I’m choosing today.

Yes, I just cut the government a brutal check. But also… I own Central Park.

I am, in a way, an equity shareholder of this great nation.

A tiny sliver of every bench, every pothole, every traffic cone, every underfunded municipal operation… that’s partially mine now. Maybe not in a legal sense. But spiritually? Absolutely.

So if anyone sees me trying to walk out of Sheep Meadow with a park bench strapped to my back, just know I’m not stealing. I’m reallocating shareholder assets. That’s the mindset I am choosing.

Anyways, welcome back to Trust Fun.

I know it’s been a couple weeks. Last week, I was out of office because my wonderful, beautiful, brilliant girlfriend and I took a trip across the pond. We did a full seven nights in London, and let me just say right now: London absolutely rocks.

So clean. So beautiful. So historic. So easy to romanticize. It felt like New York City if New York City took a shower, went to therapy, and had better manners.

The biggest news: For the first time in my life, we flew lie-flat business class. And I regret to inform you all that I have changed.

I know people always make the joke after they fly business once. They’re like, “Haha wow, gonna be hard to go back.” And everyone laughs because obviously they’re going back. But me? I’m dead serious. I genuinely do not think I can go back.

I think this is just who I am now. I am a lie-flat guy.

For those who know me well, you know I hate flying. Hate it. Deeply. Passionately. It’s probably my biggest fear. After that? Snakes. I’ve hated flying ever since I was a kid. I’ve gone to therapy for it. I still do it, obviously, because I enjoy being places and I’m not gonna let anxiety fully win, but I always hate it.

But business class? Lie-flat? Tons of space? Little cubby full of nice nicknacks? Champagne when you sit down? Done & done.

So yeah, I’m just gonna say it: for long-haul flights, I think I’m done trying to prove something. I’m done white-knuckling it in economy like some kind of martyr. I’ll pay up when I can. It’s a luxury, obviously, and not one I take lightly, but if I’m doing a six-plus-hour flight overseas and there’s a version of the trip where I’m slightly less panicked and slightly more horizontal? I’m doing it.

Call me spoiled. Call me dramatic. Call me soft.

I don’t care.

I hate flying and now I’ve seen the light. Or I guess… I’ve seen the lie-flat.