 After arguing with the IRS for hours, they finally told me to hit the hay. I've been waiting so long to ask questions about- I said, hit the hay. And I was like, why? What did the hay ever do to you? What did I ever do to you? Does the hay owe you taxes too? Oh, I see how it is. Wow, okay. I see how it is. And now you're trying to make me into your collection goon. I thought you didn't break this guy's thumb like I told you. How do you know I didn't break it? You don't think I hear things? Did I give you a job this morning? Just like you did with my employees. Huh? So why didn't you break his thumb like I told you to? When you don't do what I tell you to do, you make me look bad, Rack. Forcing me to take all their money and give it to you against their will. I feel if, look, I feel if I break the guy's thumb, he gets laid off, right? Yeah, well, I'll figure it out. Let me do the figure, okay, Rack? But instead of giving me a reason why the IRS just told me to hit the hay. From here on, just let me do the figure. You know, these guys think that we're running some kind of charity or something. They're going to get our flight. So all night long, I've been using that hay as a punching bag. I even went out in the field and beat up the scarecrow. The scarecrow. Get it up. Get it up. Man, today I'm tired. Honestly, I was tired even before I started hitting the hay. Dang, government. Always trying to work you to death for no good reason. Never mind the mushy stuff. Just go. But be here all the earlier the next day.