The inside of the Equestrian Taxation Department customer service was a grey, depressing room. A counter set up with computers sat at the far end, with lines of bored and impatient ponies’ waiting for the Taxation workers to call them forth. Applejack herself was waiting in line, shifting from hoof to hoof when her name was called. Stepping forwards she came face to face with a dull mare, who waited behind the counter. Now, when I say dull, I mean dull. Her eyes were listless and dead, the look of someone who had lived her entire life behind the desk living under a rigid set of rules, simply typing in information and getting files in return. Her slightly pudgy face was a washed out grey, her cheeks running to fat.
“Name.” She droned, really droned; she sounded like bored bees that were simply waiting for something, anything, to put them out of their misery.
“Ahh, Applejack, Ma’am.” She said, nudging her Setson hat nervously.
“Identification Number.” The washed out mare said. Applejack shifted side to side, this pony was reminding her of those affected by Discord back when he broke loose.
“Uh... let’s see here...” Applejack pulled out a strip of grey card board, and squinted at the tiny writing on it, “606-403-VDS.”
The mare on the other side of the counter typed in the numbers as Applejack rattled them off, and waited as the computer whirred and coughed to life. “Taking into account your, income tax,” she droned, “Your provisional tax, Double-You Ay En Kay tax, Bee Ai Tee Cee Haych tax, and the new Government Pleasure Tax, your total owed amount comes to... three million bits and ninety nine cents. Will you be paying by cash or card.”
“Now look here, “said Applejack, “The farm only pulled in twenty five thousand bits in profits this year, not counting the over head. There is no way I owe you three million bits; there has to be a mistake!”
“And ninety nine cents. The total amount is three million bits and ninety nine cents.” droned the Taxation worker.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Applejack, “I’m not paying three million bits!”
Without so much as a change in expression, the Taxation worker reached under her desk and pushed a bright red button. The entrance slammed shut and locked, while large burly stallions pulled Applejack away from the teller and into a different room. “Get your hooves off me!” shouted Applejack, “I’ve got rights, I’ve got right...” the door slammed behind them, leaving the room in a stunned silence.
“Next please.”
***
“Argh, orrf, ooh, ah!”
Two stallions held Applejack down on the ground while the other two pounded into her with their hooves, relentlessly working over the farm pony. One of them reached up and pulled Applejack’s head up by the mane, while the other leant down right into her face, “Now listen here, Applejack” he spat, “Nopony fucks with the tax office!”
***
The front doors of the ETD opened, and one bruised and dishevelled Applejack was thrown out of the building to land on her face, her Stetson landing on her rump as an afterthought. “Right,” she said, dusting herself off, “Time to see what the girls have to say.” She rammed her hat firmly on her head and set off.
***
“I’m sorry,” said Twilight, “But it looks like you’ll have to pay.”
Applejack had gotten help from her most connected of friends, Rarity, who knew business, and Twilight, who knew corrupt senators and their behaviours simply due to her time amongst the sordid mess. Being the Princesses’ student helped a lot, and the report was clear. Big Macintosh had come in with the books and had shook his head.
“We need to sell the farm.” he said.
“What!?” said Applejack, “How can the princess get away with this?”
“It’s not the princess,” said Rarity, “It’s those senators under her, they’ve kept her in the dark and tried to line their own pockets with unauthorized taxes, if we hadn’t brought it to her attention, she’d never of have found out until it was too late.”
“But surely she can veto it,” said Applejack, ‘She’s the princess!”
“Afraid not,” said Twilight, “The taxes are already in the system; she won’t be able to get rid of them until next taxation, and reimbursement will come too late. I’m sorry, but they wound it up in red tape far too well.”
“Big Mac’” said Applejack, “You’re good with numbers, what’ll we do?”
Big Macintosh nodded, “I know a few ticks...”
***
That night, Big Macintosh sat in the orchard’s barn amongst sacks of fertiliser and tubing. Applejack and Rarity watched nervously from the door as he poured a mix of compounds into a set of barrels.
“I hope he’s not doing anything illegal,” said Rarity, “You have enough problems as it is.”
“Don’t worry,” said Applejack, “My brother isn’t as dumb as he looks.”
“Hi girls,” said Pinkie as she trotted into the barn, a paper bag of goodies perched on her head, “Just here to deliver some stuff.” She trotted past nervous Rarity and smiling Applejack and deposited the bag in front of Big Macintosh. “What’s in the bag,” hissed Rarity as Pinkie trotted back.
“I dunno what he wants’ with ‘em.” admitted Pinkie, “He just wanted some fireworks and one of my egg timers.”
“He isn’t...” said Rarity, “He wouldn’t...”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Applejack, taking rarity by the shoulder and steering her back to the farm house, “It’ll be fine, and all our tax problems will be all over tomorrow.”
***
Later the next day, Big Macintosh trotted into the Library, head held high.
“Did’ja fix the tax problem?” asked Pinkie Pie, bouncing up and down.
“Eeyup,” said Big Macintosh, “Just check the news.”
Twilight shrugged and flicked on the television set.
The TV screen fizzed into life, showing a balding news pony. “...and the latest on the bombing of the central tax office,” the televised stallion said, “Reports are... sketchy, but Police say that due to widespread public resentment of the ETD there are too many suspects to perform an investigation at this time.”
Applejack and Twilight cheered.
“But now let’s go tour on the scene pony, Eddy. Eddy?”
“Well, despite being destroyed during the peak of work hours it seems as though no staff were hurt.”
“Extremely good news, Eddy, but how did this miracle happen?”
“Well, it seems as though the entire hard working taxation staff were out back, having a smoko!”
“Well,” said Applejack, “that’s it, back to square one.”
“And I was so sure,” said Twilight, turning off the TV.
“Don’t give up just yet...” nodded Big Macintosh.
***
“Hello?” said Big Macintosh, “I’d like to enquire about my taxation file, to see if it was harmed in the explosion.”
Big Macintosh had one last game to play: check to see if the files were blown up, along with the ETD central office. He had come to one of the outer branches to ask, and was quite nervous. If his file was still intact, he’d have to sell the farm.
“Reference number.” droned the washed out stallion behind the counter.
“Err,” looking to his left and right, he could see similar de-saturated ponies to either side. This place creeped him out. Never the less, Big Macintosh steeled himself and pulled out a grey piece of card board. “It’s, ah, 401-403-VDS.”
“Your file is still intact.” said the worker, “It is registered as being checked out. It really is quite strange, despite the four million files destroyed; yours and three others are the only ones that survived.”
“Yeah, but,” Big Macintosh leaned in closer, “Who has it?”
“It is against our customer policy to give out personnel information... however,” The worker leaned it, and Big Macintosh could swear that some colour came back into his coat, “Just between you and me, your case worker, Humpersville, well, to completely honest around the office here he’s a complete fuck wit. He’s always stealing other staff members coffee cups, he’s always jamming the photo copier, and he keeps sending us... frankly disgusting junk emails; he even uses the disabled facilities, despite the fact he’s not disabled.”
“So what’s the address?”
***
Later that night, Big Macintosh checked the letter box of a house in the canterlot suburbs. In his mouth was an axe, clenched between his teeth. Sneaking along the outside he peeked into a window, and got his first look at Humpersville. He was an old pony, dressed in pyjamas and slippers, his hair was turning gray, which he had tried to hide with a rather fake looking toupee.
“We’ll do well out of you,” he cackled, “The tax department will descend, hah! Tax rebates? Incentives? Non Taxable income? They’re apple farmers! Just a bunch of inbred hicks! Who cares? Hahahaha...”
Big Macintosh narrowed his eyes, and he hurried over to the front door, where he pressed the doorbell with ahoof.
“They’re gone, they’re gone, the tax office will descend, we’re better off without low class scum like that anyway!”
Big Macintosh clenched his teeth, leaving marks in the wooden handle in his mouth.
The door opened, and a Unicorn stepped out. He had a thin face, and his hair was slicked back nicely. He looked Big Macintosh up and down, mouth half open.
Big Macintosh stared back.
The unicorn glanced at the fire axe in Big Macintosh’s mouth, “I take it you’re here to see Humpersville?” he asked, “About a tax problem? Well, look, he’s such a fuck wit. He’s my flat mate and all he does is leave dirty towels and dishes lying around. At first he was all chocolate and roses, but now he leaves lights on all throughout the house, and he doesn’t even turn off the TV when he goes to bed.”
“So where is he?” asked Big Macintosh.
“Oh, he’s just in the kitchen,” said the unicorn, pushing the door wide open, “I’ll take you to him.”
Big Mac smiled, and walked through the door.
They could consider their tax problems over.
Author's Note
Truth be told, I was sober when I wrote this. You see, I made a bit of a bet (can't remember what it was) and I lost it rather badly. As a result, I had to write a story where Big Macintosh blows up the tax office.
It isn't a criticism of our system. It isn't an insult to anyone. It's a story where Big Mac blows up the tax office. That's it.
