Читать книгу The Tax Man - The True Story of the Hardest Man in Britain - Brian Cockerill - Страница 5

Tax = Make heavy demands on someone’s powers or resources

Man = An adult human male

Tax Man = Brian Cockerill

Drug = Chemical substance taken for the effect it produces

Dealer = A person or business that buys and sells goods

Drug dealer = A person about to receive a visit from the Tax Man

BRITAIN’S AUTHORITIES HAVE behaved like gangsters for centuries, yet their crimes are always swept under the carpet. The UK is drowning in a sea of illegal drugs, more so than at any time known to man, including me … the Tax Man! Most crime stems from its birthplace of the murky world of drugs: smackheads and crackheads waiting near post offices to mug old ladies for a few pounds from their handbags, and intent on turning over other vulnerable members of the community for whatever else they can get. All this just so they can get their £5 fix!

I can’t do anything about every single junkie that blights their community in the UK, as I’m only one man. However, blitzing the source of the street urchins’ drug supply means the drug dealer gets it!

Forget about these academics, community groups and government organisations – they do nothing to help eradicate drug users, or to help the parents. There are thousands of organisations throughout the world whose sole aim is to cut down drug use, all in receipt of big money.

Let’s face it, drugs are here to stay – legal and illegal. The tax revenue from legal drugs has brought billions of pounds into the coffers of the bloodsucking British government. Look at the ways we’re all taxed from the cradle to the grave and then tell me if that isn’t the truth about this mob of Westminster gangsters. They’re leeches that cream off our hard-earned cash.

What’s the difference between the government and a gangster? A gangster gives you a choice, whereas the government don’t! Look at it this way: a gangster will tax business for protection money. The nightclub boss pays a few grand a week for the services of the local muscle. Any trouble that flares is quelled and the troublemakers are hunted down, one by one. Now, if the nightclub boss phones the police, they might turn up, but there’s no guarantee they’ll get the matter resolved. And, when you consider how much the club boss has forked out to the local council in taxes, he gets fuck all for his money!

You’ve got no choice but to pay your taxes. Rather than look at what is taxed, look at what isn’t taxed: children’s clothes and books. At least when you face a vampire, you know you’ll be sucked dry of your blood. With government taxation, it doesn’t stop there: they chase you for death duties when you’re dead and gone!

Pensioners going into care homes have their life savings eaten away by mandatory charges levied against them by the government, and perhaps have had to sell their home, leaving nothing for them to pass on to their families. They’ve been taxed of the hard-earned dosh that they have worked a lifetime to accrue. Who’s the thief that took it away from them? And we allow it to happen!

Just to watch TV you need a licence. Those caught watching the telly without one are paraded before the court, fined up to £1,000 and then shamed and ridiculed by seeing their names appear in the local paper. Should you fail to pay the fine, you’re imprisoned, or legalised gangsters in the form of bailiffs come to clear your house out. Bailiffs have legal authority to enter your home and take away possessions to be sold off. The proceeds of the sale will be used to repay the money owed. No different to how a gangster works.

And, if you evade vehicle excise duty, government officials can come along, take your car away and crush it into a cube! They’ve even got Stingray mobile-camera units that detect unlicensed vehicles on the move. You face a fine of up to £1,000 for a private car or motorcycle and up to £23,000 for a heavy goods vehicle.

Should you drive over the speed limit and get caught, you also face taxation and the prospect of being chased by legalised gangsters to recover goods from your home to help pay off any unpaid fine. Park in the wrong place and again you’re taxed. Motor-insurance premium tax is another sneaky way the government punish you.

We’re all trapped by taxation, and legalised thuggery isn’t far behind. Stamp duty on property comes into force at a low ceiling, yet property prices go up relentlessly. Who’s the thief? The government always get the lion’s share of the spoils. They make billions in duty on fuel, fags and booze. New stealth taxes have rocketed like there’s no tomorrow!

With all this going on, how can you have faith in the laws of society? You pay your taxes and in return you expect to have clean streets, but often you don’t even get that. Calls to the emergency services have hit saturation point, so it can often take the police, in particular, hours to respond. All in all, we are given a pathetic service, considering how much we are taxed; yet we just accept it.

I’ve had it with that whole tribal thing where you all piss in the same pot and then get a pittance in return for your hard-earned money. People pay me just to have my name hung above the door of their business premises to ward off trouble. I don’t see them hanging the name of the local chief constable over the door!

Instant justice is a dish best served cold, which is what I do when there’s a drug dealer around. Let’s face it, some of the law are as bent as a butcher’s hook. They let drug dealers go free, so long as they’ve been paid off.

But drug dealers have been moved on faster than a speeding bullet, just because of my intervention. Whole communities have thanked me for my services in exterminating what the police couldn’t.

I remember a police officer, seeing my T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘The Number One Tax Man’, asking me who this ‘Number One Tax Man’ was. The Chancellor of the Exchequer, I told them.