A few months ago I mentioned that Jon and I were meeting with a lawyer about what we should do with the severed head we’d stored in our trunk. He said he legally couldn’t tell us what to do with it, but that whatever we decided would be fine, it’s his job to keep our secret. Dude is worth EVERY PENNY.

We met with our lawyer for several reasons, disposal of dead bodies one among many. If there’s one thing we’ve learned throughout this process it’s that things involving the legal system take time, are still taking time. There are still things I can’t talk about yet, but I can point out that Jon and I have formed a company, Armstrong Media, LLC, which is now featured along with the copyright notice at the bottom of this page. We did this for complicated reasons, but the only one that made any sense to me was that forming this company would prevent the IRS from breaking into our house and forcibly removing limbs of my body.

By doing this we can have taxes and Social Security and Medicare taken out on a regular basis instead of at one time in one very hurtful and potentially deadly lump sum. This is a mechanism to counteract our fondness for procrastination which reared its ugly head yesterday as we sat in our accountant’s office going over last year’s income and the taxes now due. You mean I owe how much? And I have how long until I have to pay it? When they come to cut off my leg please tell them to wrap the wound in a bandage because our insurance won’t cover that type of injury. Or any injury whatsoever.

Our accountant is a lovely man who keeps referring to me as Laura Armstrong. He would catch himself and apologize, but there was no need because I’m used to that by now. I’ve been called Melissa and Sarah and Hannah my whole life, and there is no reasonable explanation for this. Last week I was checking my referrer logs when I found a guy who had written a huge post about how he had found this site and why he liked my posts about Mormonism, and he called me Sarah B. Armstrong at least five separate times. “To find out more about her,” he said, “click on the picture at the top of the page where it says, ‘My name is Sarah B. Armstrong. This is my website.'” Frankly, one of my very favorite writers on the Internet is Sarah B., so in my own little fucked-up dream world I get to be her for at least one whole blog post.

After meeting with the accountant we headed to the bank where we opened a business account with the help of a lovely woman who turned out to be the mother of a two-year-old. Except her two-year-old appears to be a Magazine Cover Baby, one that remains in a permanent state of bliss, so when she asked me if I’d tell her my website address I had severe reservations. Our baby is the one you see on the inside of the magazine in an editorial called “50 Reasons You Shouldn’t Have Any More Children,” so I didn’t know if she’d be appalled by the fact that on various occasions I have threatened to donate the kid to charity. Tax write-off!

Interestingly, toward the end of the 1,000 line account application form we had to answer a litany of questions about the nature of our business as required by the Patriot Act. Really weird questions, like is any Senior Principal of our company the leader of a foreign political party? And, will we be accepting payments shipped from outside the country? Like on a boat? And will we be issuing stored-value gift cards? Huh? The questions went on and on, and finally I threw up my hands and said I DON’T KNOW, BUT I DID LEAVE MY BAGGAGE UNATTENDED.

I did ask what the problem was with stored-value gift cards. How exactly does that represent terrorist activity? Because if it does every member of my family should be arrested on my birthday. Jon pointed out that gift cards make it easy to buy things without a paper trail, and that would make sense if you could use gift cards to buy ammunition. I imagine Billy Joe opening presents on Christmas morning: “WANDA LOUISE! You done got me a gift card to the gun store!” Which makes me wonder, can you buy bullets with your $25 gift certificate at Wal-Mart? And if you can do you have any idea how awesome it is to be American?