HowTo:Commit Tax Fraud by Giving Away Your Chocolate Factory
“WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL!”
– Willy Wonker on your predicament
Have you, dear reader, found yourself chained to an aging confectionery monstrosity, its pipes wheezing, its vats bubbling ominously, its accountants sobbing quietly in the walls? Has a government man (always beige! always damp!) slid a letter under your door explaining that thirty percent of your life’s work now belongs to them?
Thirty percent!
That’s not a tax, that’s getting bent over and done up your rear!
*tips hat, snaps cane against the floor*
Fear not. Willy Wonker is here. And I assure you, I have handled this exact situation with the grace of a ballerina and the ethics of a feral raccoon.
Listen here![edit | edit source]
“The taxman taps with tidy shoes,
He counts your dreams, he counts your dues!
But never fear, don’t fret, don’t frown
There’s ways to burn the system down!
He wants a slice, a chunk, a slab!
I’d rather feed him nothing, NADA, ZILCH, KABAM! ”
– Willy Wonker, unprompted
You see, my chocolate factory, once a marvel of modern engineering and morally ambiguous labor practices, well it was no longer sustainable. My slaves- I mean workers, the Oompa-Loompas, (lovely little things, sing beautifully, borrowed from a small African nation, tragically... um, how shall i put it, "nonrenewable"), were… how shall I put this…
*checks clipboard*
A terminally single-species with a sharply declining life expectancy, much like a redditor.
Within months? Gone. All of them. Dead.
No workers. No songs. No maintenance. Just machines chewing themselves to death like bored crocodiles.
So what does one do?
SELL? And give the government a taste? Sir, I'd sooner let them get a taste of my forbidden chocolate straight from my brown balloon knot!
In other words, ABSOLUTELY NOT!
The Child-Based Asset Redistribution Initiative[edit | edit source]
I gave the factory away!
But ah ah ah! Not so fast! Before I did, I orchestrated a "Global Chocolate Purchasing Event Disguised as Hope™". Golden tickets! A lottery! Children begging! Parents buying! Money flooding in faster than a caramel spill in a tsunami simulator!
And legally speaking, (and I checked!), contest revenue is not factory revenue!
It’s simply promotional income.
Marketing.
Whimsy adjacent liquidity if you will!
Teehee!
Cosby Clause included*[edit | edit source]
“The letters dance! The words are small!
You’d need a bug to read it all!
Just sign right here, ignore that clause,
That waives your rights and nature’s laws!
In Paragraph Seventy-Three,
You give your soul to little ol’ me!”
– Willy Wonker, on giving him "soul" ownership
Before the tour, every guest signed my Multilateral Perpetual Indemnification, Arbitration, Soul-Forfeiture, and Cake Damage Waiver, a delightful document stating that:
- Time, space, gravity, and common sense do not apply
- Injuries are considered “educational experiences” and in no way shall reflect on the Willy Wonker Chocolate & Candy Company
- Death is legally defined here as an “early exit from tour” and there are no refunds
- Any surviving relatives agree to binding arbitration on the moon (or Jupiter, if you so wish)
- Bill Cosby can and will touch you at unexpected times (I have given up trying to catch him, he lives in candy rock mountain now and has molested all the Oompas I have sent to fetch him).
All of it perfectly standard.
It is time[edit | edit source]
Then... the fun began!
Children wandered.
Machines whirred.
Consequences occurred.
One stretched.
One bloated.
One digitized.
One… well, squirrels were involved.
All very instructive!
And through it all? Cameras. Rolling.
Broadcast rights sold.
Commercial slots auctioned.
Snack tie-ins licensed.
I made more money in one afternoon than the factory had earned in years!
For profit![edit | edit source]
“You think this tale is dark or mean,
But look how profitable it’s been!
If children fall and profits rise,
Who’s really won the grand prize?
Not you, my boy, with keys in hand...
But me, who skipped to promised land!”
– Willy Wonker, on successfully defrauding the government
At the end, one child remained. Sweet. Earnest. Utterly doomed!
I handed him the keys, the deeds, and the title of "Supreme Executive Chocolatier" effective immediately.
What I didn’t hand him?
- A workforce (they’ll be dead in weeks!)
- Maintenance manuals (classified)
- Cash reserves (already offshore)
- Or the knowledge that the machines require
constant Oompa-Loompa singing to not explode
Oops!
That's not my problem anymore[edit | edit source]
“The pipes will burst, the gears will grind,
The lawsuits stack a mile behind!
The workers fade, the ovens scream...
But that’s no longer my regime!
I’m sipping drinks with little umbrellas,
While he inherits the mess, poor fella!”
– Willy Wonker, on the "tragedy" soon to follow
And as for me...?[edit | edit source]
I'm free!
I departed in my marvelous glass elevator, legally classified as a "Vertical Exit Strategy", and vanished to a sunny nation with no extradition treaty and very forgiving accountants... Aruba!
The factory collapsed.
The workers died.
The child was ruined!
And the government?
They never got a cent.
*removes hat, bows deeply*
Now tell me, good sir...
isn’t it wonderful what a little imagination, a little music, and creative compliance can do?
