Prison
Sentencing Day
Finally, there’s light at the end of the tunnel
The following was written the very day that I was sentenced by a federal judge — over 5 years after the IRS came a-knockin’ on my door — for not paying my taxes.
Just a mere five years, three months, and four days after the initial “visit” from IRS agents, the moment is nigh. I am about to be sentenced for the crime of underreporting my income.
One of my two $600/hour lawyers leans over to whisper,
“Any final questions?” as the Honorable Judge, owner of three graduate degrees from Harvard University, enters to render his decision on my future. I look left and answer.
“Yeah! Will the noose be made of silk or burlap?” Michael shakes his head. Not the answer he expected.
I know this is a beautiful day for a hanging. Based on all the precedent and history of cases like mine, I’m supposed to get probation or at worst, home confinement. But I’ve heard too many ominous warnings about my judge — and listened to him say,
“I take a dim view of pimping,” as he directed his gaze my way.
Three Harvard degrees notwithstanding, His Honor clearly doesn’t know a pimp when he sees one. I never was — nor never will be — a pimp. I ran an adult…
