This is alleged to be the actual text of a letter received by the Revenue Commissioner in Ireland from an Irish farmer in reply to an income tax demand.....
 
Dear Sirs,

Your letter arrived this morning in an open envelope and it would have given the son and myself pleasure had it not revived in us a melancholy reflection of what has gone before.
You say you thought the account could have been settled long ago and you could not understand why it hadn't.  Well, here is the reason.
In 1987 I purchased a hay shed on credit.  In 1988 I bought a combine harvester, a manure spreader, two horses, a double barrel shifter, two cows and ten razor backed pigs, also on credit.
In 1989 the bloody hay shed burnt to the ground leaving not a damn thing.  I got no insurance either as the bloody premium had lapsed.  One of the horses went lame and I loaned the other one to my brother who starved the poor bugger to death.  In 1990 my father died and my brother was put away when he tried to marry one of his sheep named Hilda.  A shearer got my daughter pregnant and I had to pay him a grand to stop him becoming one of my relatives.  In 1991 my son got the mumps which spread to his balls and he had to be castrated to save his life.  Later in the year I went fishing on the Shannon and the bloody boat overturned, drowning two of my sons, neither being the fucking eunuch, who was by now wearing his sisters make up and dresses.  Not long after, he emigrated to America with the new parish priest.  They are now married and trying for children. In 1992 my wife ran off with a milk churn rep from Drumlish and left me with new born twins as a souvenir and I had to get a housekeeper, so I married her to keep down expenses.  I had a hell of a job getting her pregnant (to qualify for more children's allowance).  I went to see the doctor.  He advised me to create some excitement at the crucial moment. So that night, I brought my shotgun to bed and when the time was right, I shot both barrels through the window, the wife shit the bed, I ruptured myself, and the next morning I found I had blown both doors off the barn, shot my best dairy cow and killed the shearer who was in the hay loft with my daughter trying to get more money out of me, which he did because I had to pay for his funeral expenses. The next year, 1993, someone cut the balls off my prize bull, poisoned the water and set fire to the house.  I was fucked and took to the drink and did not stop until all I had left was a pocket watch and a weak bladder.  Winding the watch and running for a piss kept me busy for a time. This year, I took heart again and bought (on the hire purchase) a bulldozer, tractor and trailer and a new bull.  Then the Shannon got flooded and washed the bloody lot away, my second wife got VD from a land inspector and my last surviving son died from wiping his arse on a poisoned rabbit. I have also had the dogs put down for worrying the sheep.

It surprises me very that you say you will cause trouble if I don't pay up.  If you think of anything I've missed I should like to know about it.  Trying to get money out of me will be like trying to poke butter up a cat's arse with a red hot needle.  I'm praying for a cloud of pig shit to pass your way and I hope it will fall on you and the bastards who sent me this final demand.
 
Yours faithfully.......
 
Name and Address withheld for no known obvious reason

Ed. Shit, and I thought the Pope had problems!