The extraordinary advantages of US corporations
forever enchanted Turkey Hill store manager,
and Marywood University graduate, Norman Waleski.
Compensated $12.00 per hour,
Stormin’ Norman got tired of proliferating taxes,
for example, F.I.T., State, School, Sewer,
and dead-head Scranton “Commuter” taxation.
He’s broke most the time, chiseled money from mom,
ate Campbell’s Chunky Beef Soup once a day,
and choked upon Sheldon Adelson’s philanthropic
appetite for preemptive attacks upon every head
not topped-off with a yarmulke.
One September morn, Norman despondently wrote
monthly check for Pennsylvania Power & Light, $90.00.
Aghast, forced to cut back on cell phone and A/C use,
he cunningly planned to become a U.S. Corporation!
He’d reside, work, semi-prosper in Taylor boondocks,
and simultaneously fool the I.R.S.,
establish completely BOGUS Cayman residence
on North Church Street, alongside “Da Shack”
restaurant’s 20-cubic yard dumpster, and pretend
to sleep (every evening) upon a firm Sealey Posturepedic
mattress which did not exist.
Careful to watch what he says, watch what he does
on his W-2,
Norman effectively explained to Turkey Hill
Human Resources Department manager,
“O well, I car pool everyday to Cayman Islands,”
and the manager considered Cayman
“just another upscale housing development…,
or else Waleski’s on crack.”
Fait accompli, Stormin’ Norman established
make believe Cayman Island residence,
and suddenly fell under the same special
US Corporate tax treatment, like GE
and spy specialists, Booz Allen,
including whopping tax deductions and credits.
While local fork lift drivers and bartenders paid
the usual taxes, Norman pulled “wool over” I.R.S.
and deflected almighty dollar’s “Eye of Providence.”
(“Mission Accomplished,” he privately said)
Somewhat financially secure in Weimar Homeland,
he turned A/C on-high, renewed NFL Sunday Ticket –
Norman victoriously snickered as poorer neighbors
paid taxes and had public water services turned-off.
Beneath empty cardboard boxes,
alongside Cayman Island “Da Shack” dumpster,
one shall NEVER find Stormin’ Norman Waleski.
Can you see him behind Turkey Hill store counter?
He’ll scan cigarettes and Hershey Kisses,
enthusiastically sell “Scratch-Off” lottery tickets,
while the Quaker State advertises, “Keep on Scratching!”
On daily basis, Norman Inc. encourages
Turkey Hill patrons to “hang-in, ride out The Recovery,
get 2nd and 3rd jobs…, and with some ingenuity,
you too can fall under the same US corporate tax laws,
napalm creditors and Banker jihadists, mace feral taxes away.”
Meanwhile, back in Judea,
Herod “The Decider”at helm, Anno Domini time,
a mean tax collector haltingly looked at updated ledger.
“What’s this…, Jesus of Cayman Islands?” he exclaimed,
“That bandit owes us over 2,000 years of Empire taxes
and foreign aid!”
(NOTE: For those American workers undergoing hard times, Stormin’ Norman Waleski asked me to include his contact email address, Cayman49ersHereWeCome.com, to this poem. Beside the unoccupied “Da Shack” dumpster, he has thirty spaces available for rent, just $10.00 each, per month. Norman offers free tin-roof covers for the first ten (10) beaten taxpayers who inquire. Wow, please feel free to contact Norman, he’s deranged, bilingual, and come Black Friday 2014, U2 too can have a US tax haven!)
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