#Correcting Tax Codes

[georgeshutcheson]

The BR Tax Code: A Simplified Guide to Understanding its Implications

New Post has been published on https://www.fastaccountant.co.uk/br-tax-code/

The BR Tax Code: A Simplified Guide to Understanding its Implications

Hi everyone! Today, we’re going to unpack a topic that might seem tricky but is quite important for all taxpayers: the BR tax code. We’ll explore what it is, how it can affect your take home pay, and what to do if you find this tax code applies to you.

Tax Codes in General

Before we delve into the intricacies of the br tax code, let’s get a handle on tax codes in general. A tax code is the mechanism the tax authority uses to work out how much tax should be deducted from your income or pension. Here in the UK, HMRC (Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs) dishes out tax codes, and there’s quite a variety to get to grips with. The BR tax code is one such example, with its own unique characteristics and implications.

Unravelling the BR Tax Code

So, what exactly does the BR tax code mean? BR stands for Basic Rate, which means that all the income under this code is taxed at the basic rate – 20% as of my last update. This tax code typically comes into play when you have more than one source of income. In this situation it is usually applied to your secondary income source (your second job or a pension, for instance).

It can also be applied when a person starts a new job without a P45 from a previous employer. This might occur for a number of reason including first employment or having been out of the work force for a number of years. Where this happens, the br tax code will only be temporary as HMRC will amend it to a standard one in a matter of time.

If you see ‘BR’ on your payslip, it indicates that you are taxed at the basic rate from the first pound earned, without any personal allowance deducted. This is because your personal allowance has already been accounted for in your primary income source.

The BR Tax Code and Your Tax Liability

Now, you might be wondering how the BR tax code affects your tax liability. As mentioned, a BR tax code means that you’re taxed at the basic rate on all your earnings from that income source.

Let’s take an example to help illustrate this. Suppose you have a full-time job where you earn £30,000 per year, and a part-time job where you earn an additional £10,000 per year. Your personal allowance (let’s say it’s £12,570) is used up in your main job, and so the entire £10,000 from your part-time job is taxed at the basic rate of 20%. So, you would pay £2,000 in taxes on your part-time job earnings.

What to Do If You’re on a BR Tax Code

Alright, so you’ve spotted ‘BR’ on your payslip. What now? The first step is to verify whether it’s correct. Tax codes aren’t infallible, and sometimes you might find you’re on the wrong one. You can check this by using the tax checking service provided by HMRC or by directly reaching out to them.

If you’ve confirmed that your tax code is incorrect, don’t hesitate to contact HMRC. They can help adjust your tax code and inform your employer or pension provider to modify your tax deductions accordingly.

Conclusion

Understanding your tax code, especially if it’s the BR tax code, is crucial. It ensures that you’re not paying too much (or too little) tax. So, always double-check your tax code, understand what it implies, and don’t hesitate to take action if you think it’s not right.

Frequently Asked Questions

What does a ‘BR’ tax code mean? A ‘BR’ tax code means that you are taxed at the basic rate on all your earnings from that income source, without any personal allowance deducted.

Will a ‘BR’ tax code make me pay more tax? A ‘BR’ tax code can result in paying more tax if it’s applied incorrectly. However, if it’s correct and it’s applied to your secondary income, it means you’re just paying the basic rate tax on that income, as you should.

What should I do if I think my ‘BR’ tax code is wrong? If you believe your tax code is incorrect, get in touch with HMRC. They can help you understand why you’ve been given a particular tax code and change it if it’s incorrect.

[fvckwithmefamo]

Emergency Tax Code: What to Do When You're on It

Today we’re chatting about something we all hope we never have to deal with, but need to know about just the same: the emergency tax code. This is one area of the UK tax system that can often lead to confusion and, potentially, overpayment on tax, so we’ll cover everything you need to know about it. Understanding Tax Codes So, let’s start with the basics: tax codes. These little alphanumeric…

[joelsrose]

Harry Castillo was not a romantic man.

That kind of sentiment—tenderness, devotion, flowers in a vase and hands held in the dark—belonged to other people. Slower people. People with time to waste and hearts they hadn’t yet learned to bury. He didn’t believe in that sort of thing. Didn’t need it, didn’t want it.

Between back-to-back calls with global investors, restructuring a crumbling real estate portfolio in Madrid, and casually acquiring a hospitality group in Tokyo, he barely had time to breathe—let alone fall in love.

Romance, in Harry’s world, was a liability dressed in silk.

So when Simone—his brand manager-slash-strategic advisor-slash-occasional babysitter��slid into the leather booth across from him at Cipriani, her sleek iPad in hand and a pinched look between her brows, he already knew he wasn’t going to like what came next. She didn’t even bother with small talk. Just sighed and said, “Harry, they’re not buying it.”

He didn’t look up from his drink.

“They?”

“The Milan board. The family fund. The press. Take your pick.”

Harry finally raised his eyes, sharp and unreadable. “What aren’t they buying?”

Simone tapped the screen in front of her, flipping to a slide that showed his name in bold serif font, followed by the kind of clinical press buzzwords he hated—aggressive strategist, relentless closer, emotionally distant, unrelatable.

“Your image,” she said flatly. “They want values. Integrity. A personal narrative that feels... grounded.”

He snorted. “It’s private equity, Simone. I’m not auditioning for a Hallmark Christmas special.”

She didn’t laugh.

“This isn’t about Christmas. It’s about optics. You’re not just closing billion-euro deals anymore—you’re entering legacy circles. Old money. Philanthropists. They don’t want a stone-faced bachelor with a rotating door of models and no ties to anything but his profit margins.”

“So what,” Harry said, voice dry and razor-sharp, “I’m supposed to find God? Adopt a dog? Get a fiancée?”

Simone didn’t blink.

“Actually... yes. Something like that.”

He let the silence stretch between them like piano wire. Then, softly, like the thought bored him:

“You want me to find someone.”

“I want you to appear human,” she corrected. “Just for a little while. Just long enough to close Milan, ease the press cycle, and make people believe you’re not emotionally bankrupt.”

Harry swirled the amber in his glass, watching the light catch against the crystal like it might offer him an answer.

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugged one perfect shoulder. “Then you lose Milan. And probably Paris. And your seat on the Legacy Sustainability Board.”

He sighed, jaw clenching. The drink went untouched.

“Find someone,” he muttered. “Right. I’ll get right on that.”

୨♡୧

Simone sat across from him in his office, framed by the soft glow of the skyline bleeding in through glass walls that cost more than most people made in a year.

The space around them was sleek, minimal, intimidating—black marble floors polished to a mirror finish, matte leather furnishings that looked untouched, and shelves lined not with books, but with art pieces that whispered taste and capital in equal measure.

The air smelled faintly of oud and espresso, and outside the windows, Manhattan glittered like it belonged to him.

She was halfway through her third slide.

The woman on the screen was some up-and-coming socialite-slash-entrepreneur, smile manicured, hair glossy, bio packed with the kind of buzzwords you’d expect from someone who was born in the right zip code and never had to beg for relevance.

“Simone,” Harry said, glancing at the screen with the kind of disinterest usually reserved for corporate tax reports.

He checked his watch—Vacheron Constantin, silver, discreet, and brutally expensive. “This is ridiculous. I have a restructuring call with Zurich in fifteen, and I’m supposed to be in Tribeca for a closing by one. I don’t have time to audition fake girlfriends like it’s a casting call for a CW reboot.”

Simone didn’t flinch. She never did. She just raised an eyebrow and flicked to the next slide.

Harry sighed, leaned forward, elbows resting against the smoked-glass table, his voice dropping into something drier. “You said Milan wants legacy. Values. Family-oriented investment partnerships. These girls all look twenty years old and built for poolside brand deals. You think any of them screams stable, long-term commitment? They look like they still call their dads when they get parking tickets.”

Simone sighed, her perfectly lined eyes still fixed on the glowing tablet in her lap. “You’re right,” she said finally, flipping the screen closed with a dramatic little snap, her tone dry as gin.

“Fine. I’ll find uglier girls.” She stood with practiced grace, smoothing down her blazer, already mentally re-sorting her list of “acceptable human women to stand next to Harry Castillo and not look like paid PR.”

Harry chuckled, low and amused, the sound curling at the edges of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. It wasn’t a laugh so much as an exhale laced with private amusement—the kind of sound that made people either fall in love with him or want to throw a drink in his face. Sometimes both.

As Simone turned to leave, she paused just before the door, fingers already tapping a reminder into her phone. “Oh—and don’t forget, you’ve got that charity art thing tonight.”

“What charity art thing?” he muttered, brow furrowing.

“The showcase. Big names. Private collectors. Bougie rich-people art and overpriced wine. You’re on the guest list and three donors specifically asked if you’d be attending.”

Harry groaned, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Fuck. Do I have to go to that?”

“Yes,” Simone said without turning around. “Because unfortunately, your reputation still depends on pretending you have taste and a soul.”

He sighed like it physically hurt him to care.

Harry Castillo was the kind of man who made Forbes lists before forty and never answered calls he didn’t initiate.

He wore bespoke suits like they were second skin and had a revolving door of romantic rumors without ever confirming a single one.

He was charm where it counted, cold when it didn’t, and entirely too busy turning collapsing portfolios into gold to bother with anything as trivial as attending art galas. But still—there was something about his presence that people craved, something that made rooms tilt just slightly when he walked into them.

He would go. He always did. He’d shake hands, sip something expensive, and pretend not to notice the cameras.

୨♡୧

You weren’t really meant to be here. Not in this world of glass flutes and gallery lighting, not among the crowd of socialites and billionaires pretending to care about postmodern sculpture just to have an excuse to sip overpriced champagne and discuss offshore accounts in hushed, knowing tones.

But your best friend Maddie ran the gallery—well, technically she managed it under some art foundation umbrella with a name that sounded more like a hedge fund than anything creative—and one of the servers had called in sick at the last minute.

So she called you, voice breathless and desperate, promising that you wouldn’t even have to smile, just walk around and hand out hors d’oeuvres and avoid eye contact with the guests unless absolutely necessary.

You were twenty-seven, broke, and running dangerously low on both rent and pride. You had exactly $114 in your checking account, your credit card had been declined at a bodega two nights ago, and the black flats you were wearing had a barely-there hole in the toe that you were praying no one noticed. Your dress wasn’t technically yours—it was a loan from Maddie’s closet, too tight at the bust and too loose at the hips, but it looked sleek enough under the gallery lights to pass.

The space was already buzzing by the time you arrived—wine glasses clinking, conversations murmured in that slow, affected tone of the elite, the kind where everyone sounded bored but somehow still competitive. The art on the walls looked like the kind of thing that could’ve been made with a blindfold and trauma, but people stared at it like it held the meaning of life.

You moved through the crowd with a silver tray balanced on one palm, offering truffle canapés and duck tartlets to people whose fake teeth probably cost more than your first car. A man in a velvet blazer took two and didn’t even look at you. A woman with a surgically perfect jawline asked if they were gluten-free and then scoffed before you could answer.

You didn’t belong here, not really—but you were good at pretending.

୨♡୧

After nearly an hour of weaving between white walls and sharper elbows, balancing a silver tray of wine and overpriced cheese, your feet ached in that dull, pulsing way that made you question every life decision that had led to this moment.

The gallery was crowded now, humming with the low, indulgent buzz of wealth disguised as sophistication—people discussing brushstrokes like they understood suffering, sipping champagne that probably cost more than your monthly rent, laughing politely at things that weren’t funny.

You turned on your heel, tray steady in your hand, and collided with someone—hard.

Nothing fell, thankfully, but the jolt sent a sharp sting through your wrist. You looked up quickly, already ready to mutter an apology, only to find that the man who’d bumped you hadn’t even paused. He was tall—taller than you expected—with broad shoulders framed by a suit so precisely tailored it had to be custom.

His jaw was sharp, his beard perfectly groomed, and set in a way that suggested he rarely, if ever, apologized for anything. Hair dark and curled at the nape, neatly swept back with just the right amount of effort, and his expression—flat, unreadable—didn’t shift as his eyes landed on you.

He didn’t say a word.

You blinked at him. “You could say excuse me, rich boy.”

He turned back to you, brows lifting slightly like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “Excuse me?”

“There we go,” you said, giving him a tight, sarcastic smile as you adjusted the tray on your hand. “Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Like you were some abstract painting he couldn’t quite make sense of. His gaze flicked down—not in the sleazy way you were used to from finance types at events like this, but in that calculating, assessing way that said he was categorizing you, fitting you into some quiet box in his mind.

He tilted his head. “Do you speak to all the guests that way?”

“Only the ones who think they’re too important to say sorry,” you replied, already stepping past him, voice airy. “Enjoy the cheese. It’s the only thing here worth what it costs.”

You didn’t look back. But if you had, you might’ve caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Not yet.

Harry Castillo didn’t usually get spoken to like that.

And suddenly, he wanted to know exactly who the hell you were.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A Democratic media strategy to save journalism and the nation

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/12/the-view-from-somewhere/#abolish-rogan

As unbearably cringe as the hunt for a "leftist Joe Rogan" is, it is (to use a shopworn phrase), "directionally correct." Democrats suck at getting their message out, and that exacts a high electoral cost.

The right has an extremely well-funded media ecosystem of high-paid bullshitters backed by algorithm-gaming SEO dickheads. This system isn't necessarily supposed to turn a profit or even break even: the point of Prageru isn't to score ad revenue, it's to ensure that anyone who googles "what the fuck causes inflation" gets 25 minutes of relatable, upbeat, cheerfully sociopathic Austrian economics jammed into their eyeballs. Far right news isn't a for-profit concern, it's a loss-leader for oligarch-friendly policies. It's a steal: a million bucks' worth of news buys America's ultra-rich a billion dollars' worth of tax-cuts and the right to maim their workers and poison their customers for profit.

Meanwhile, the Democrats have historically relied on the "traditional media" to carry their messages, on the ground that reality has a well-known leftist bias, so any news outlet that hews to "journalistic ethics" will publish the truth, and the truth will weigh in favor of Democratic positions: trans people are humans, racism is real, abortion isn't murder, housing is a market failure, the planet is on fire, etc, etc, etc.

This is a stupid policy, and it has failed. The "respectable" news media hews to a self-imposed code of "balance" and "neutrality" that is easily gamed: "some people say that Hatians don't eat pet dogs, some people do, let's report both sides!" This is called "the view from nowhere" and it gets Democrats precisely nowhere:

http://archive.pressthink.org/2008/03/14/pincus_neutrality.html

Balance and neutrality are bullshit, an excuse that has been so thoroughly weaponized by billionaires and their lickspittles that anyone who takes it seriously demonstrates comprehensively that they, themselves, are deeply unserious:

https://www.techdirt.com/2024/12/10/la-times-billionaire-owner-hilariously-thinks-he-can-solve-media-bias-with-ai/

Press neutrality – the view from nowhere – isn't some eternal verity. In terms of the history of the press, it's an idea that's about ten seconds old. The glory days of the news were dominated by papers with names like The Smallville Democrat and The Ruling Class Republican. Most of the world boggles at the idea that a news outlet wouldn't declare its political posture. Britons know that the Telegraph is the Torygraph; that the Guardian is in the tank for Labour (and specifically, committed to enabling Blairite/Starmerite purges of the left); the Mirror is a leftist tabloid; and the Mail is so far right that its editorial board considers Attila the Hun "woke."

Writing for The American Prospect – an excellent leftist news outlet – Ryan Cooper proposes a solution to the Democratic media gap that's way better than the hunt for the elusive "leftist Joe Rogan": sponsoring explicitly Democrat news outlets:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-12-12-democrats-lost-propaganda-war/

The country is a bleak landscape of news deserts where voters literally didn't hear about what Trump was saying he would do, and, if they heard about it, they didn't hear from anyone who could explain what it meant. The average normie voter doesn't know what a "tariff" is, and chances are they think it's a tax that other countries inexplicably pay for the privilege of selling very cheap things to Americans.

Ironically, this news desert is also a crowded field of hungry, unemployed, talented journalists. What if Dems funded free newsgathering and publication in news deserts that told the truth? What if these news outlets, by dint of being an explicitly partisan, party-subsidized project, refused to adopt all the anti-reader practices of other websites, like disgusting surveillance, intrusive advertising, AI slop, email-soliciting pop-ups, and all the other crap that makes the news worse and worse every day?

Cooper recounts how this was actually tried on a small scale, to modest good effect, when the Center for American Progress subsidized Thinkprogress, an explicitly leftist news outlet. This was going great until 2019, when corporate Dems and their megadonors killed it because Thinkprogress had the temerity to report on their corrupt dealings:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/thinkprogress-a-top-progressive-news-site-is-shutting-down/

And, Cooper points out, this isn't what happens with far-right subsidy news. Right wing influencers, personalities and writers can stray pretty far from the party line without getting shut down.

I love the idea of a disenshittified, explicitly political leftist Democratic news media. Imagine a newsroom whose purpose is to get its message repeated as widely as possible. It wouldn't have a paywall – it would be Creative Commons Attribution-only, allowing for commercial republication by anyone who wants to reprint it, so long as they link back to it. It wouldn't wring its hands over AI ingestion or whether a slop site that rewrote its articles got to the top of Google News. That's fine! If the point is to get people to understand your point of view – and not to attract clicks or eyeballs – other people repackaging your content and finding ways to spread it is a feature, not a bug.

Back in the Napster Wars, entertainment industry shills – like Hillary Rosen, who oversaw a campaign to sue tens of thousands of children before becoming a major Democratic Party power-broker – used to tell us that "you can't compete with free." That's not entirely true, but it's not entirely false, either. If your news is a loss-leader for a democratic society that addresses human flourishing and a habitable planet, then you can make that news free-as-in-speech and free-as-in-beer, and avoid all the suckitude that makes reading "real" news so fucking garbage.

For the past five years, I've been publishing a newsletter – this thing you're reading now – that has no analytics, ads, tracking, pop-ups, or other trash. As a writer, it's profoundly satisfying and liberating, because all I have to care about is whether people engage with my ideas. I literally have no idea how many people read this, but I know everything people say about it.

That's how the news worked back in the good old days that everyone says we need to return to. Writers and editors measured the success of a story based on how the public reacted to it, not based on clicks or metrics that told you how far someone scrolled before they gave up on it. The supposed benefits of "data-driven" editorial policy have not materialized – the "data-driven" part is the search for an equilibrium between how surveillant and obnoxious a website can be and your decision to stop reading it forever.

Outlets like Propublica have done well by adopting much of this program, albeit without any explicit leftist agenda (the fact that they seem leftist reflects nothing more than their commitment to reporting the truth, e.g., Clarence Thomas is a lavishly corrupt puppet of billionaires who've showered him with riches).

The fact that they've been as successful as they are on a national beat – and partnering with the scant few regional papers to do some local coverage – just proves the point. The Democratic Party doesn't need its own Joe Rogan – they need a nationwide network of local outlets, sponsored by the party, committed to never enshittifying, bringing relevant, timely news to a nation in desperate need of it.

[godhandler]

Ex-boyfriend Gojo who shows up at your house 5 years later. He looks a bit different now. 

|Souls are laid to rest after the death of the body. As for Gojo Satoru, his soul rests with you. In other words, your terrible ex-boyfriend is having way too much fun haunting you|

|satoru gojo x reader, fluff, lil bitty angst, gojo being gojo, 700 words, desi-coded reader|

previous series masterlist next

Satoru flashes his 24-carat grin ear to ear when you come to. “All this 'cause you don’t take iron supplements. How many times have I told you again?” He shakes his head. “Your voodoo spicy diarrhoea jar won’t fix everything, you know.”

The human body has two directors of the nervous system. While mostly the wondrous brain lords over man, there come times that the castle of the body comes under attack by such impossibility (like a rampage by demonic forces or worse, the ghost of your terrible ex come alive) that the coward brain hides and the spinal cord, which does not have the complexity to understand emotional duress, takes control. 

“Don’t insult Chawanprash.”  Satoru might be a translucent mist after his untimely death floating in front of you and breaking all existing laws of physics. But your spinal cord does not care for such trivialities. “I’m not even anaemic anymore.” 

“Is that why a silly surprise sent you lying on the floor?” 

Ghost boy correct, says your spinal cord. Get up body, cook dinner. 

“I have to get up and cook dinner.” Your voice is too hollow for Satoru. It’s the shock sending you to robotic autopilot, he hopes, you’ve been out for a couple hours after all. It’s 2 am now. “Merry Christmas, Satoru.”

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

My love. Satoru called you that. He used to call you that. It’s been 5 years. The floor is cold. It’s Christmas. The sofa you grab to pull yourself up is soft, the walls you lean on your path to the kitchen hard. Satoru is here. Satoru called you his love. The stove is hot.  My love. Satoru’s love. 5 years ago he called the wedding off. Oven is steamy inside, a fully baked cinnamon cake sweet. Your mouth is full of cake. Warm and sweet. You created the recipe for Satoru. Satoru is a ghost now. He called you- My love. Satoru is dead. 

“Satoru is dead.” Disbelieving words slip through your mouth. You stare straight ahead at the kitchen wall, refusing to look at the ghost floating behind your shoulder. 

He doesn’t reply. 

“How are you dead? Satoru?” 

Nothing. 

“Is it that terrorist in Shibuya? I guessed it was something curse related. But I still don’t understand. How could you die?”

Nothing but a slight swish as the ghost moves. 

“How could you die?” 

Another swish– “I wish I could taste the cake, it looks incredible. Say, we could sprinkle powdered sugar on it too. And honey. Cookie crumbs, red bean paste, chocolate syrup.” 

Ah. Infinity is nothing compared to the emotional barrier Satoru surrounds himself with. Even to you. Even after death.

Not a big deal. It’s just that you’ve known him since you were in kindergarten together as babies, grew up playing together, still kept in touch even after he went away to study jujutsu and you to business college, supported him through the pit he fell into after Geto’s defection, officially dated for four years and engaged for one until he called it quits. 

But hey, it’s not like your story ended there. It wasn't all so tragic. Break ups happen everyday.

Life goes on. He had his life and you had yours. The work report was due on Saturday. Your elderly neighbour needed help moving their fridge. Satoru blocked you on everything a week later. Your cousin had a baby shower. Taxes have to be filed soon. Your mom broke her hip, needed to be driven to the hospital. Whispers said that he’s found a woman to marry, that she’s the one, some said it’s all idle gossip, they’re just close friends and nothing more. You got a promotion at work. The washing machine had to be fixed. Mom needed help getting around so you moved in with her temporarily. Taxes again. Your cousin had another baby shower, a little girl this time. Life goes on. 

It’s fine. 

You sit with your mug of mulled wine and cinnamon cake at the dinner table. You’ve kept the same apartment all these years, it’s a familiar memory as Satoru pulls a chair to sit beside you. His hand goes right through the cake to his despair. You laugh. He giggles.

It’s fine. 

[softerseasons]

Juno, out of curiosity, what does an accountant DO? What does it mean to be one? Because I know there's math involved. I've heard it's very boring. But I don't know anything else and I'm curious because you're very good at putting things to words.

Okay first of all, I cannot express just how excited I got when I first saw this message. There is nothing I love more than talking about things I know about, and usually when my career is mentioned I don't get questions so much as immediate "Oh, bless you" and "I could never"s. Which- totally fair! For some people, accounting would be boring as all hell! But for a multitude of reasons, I adore it.

There are multiple types of accounting. The type most people tend to be more familiar with is that done by CPAs- CPAs, or Certified Public Accountants, are those that have done the lengthy and expensive process to be certified to handle other peoples' tax documents and submit taxes in their name, amongst other things. Yawn, taxes, right? Well, the thing with that is that there's a lot of little loopholes that tax accountants have to remain familiar with, because saving their clients a little more here or getting a little more back there can really add up, and can do a lot for people who, say, have enough money to afford to hire someone to do their taxes but not necessarily enough to be going hog wild with. Public accountants can work for large firms or by themselves, and also do things like preparing financial statements for businesses, auditing businesses to ensure all of their financial transactions are true and accurately reported to shareholders and clients, and consulting on how finances can be managed to maximize profit (money in - money out = profit, in very simple terms).

The type of accounting I do is private accounting! That basically just means that I work for a company in their in-house accounting/finance department. Private accounting tends to get split up into several different areas. My company has Payroll, Accounts Receivable, and Accounts Payable.

Payroll handles everyone's paychecks, PTO, ensuring the correct amount of taxes are withheld from individuals per their desires, and so on. Accounts Receivable handles money flow into the company- so when our company sells the product/service, our Accounts Receivable people are the ones who review the work, create the invoices, send the invoices to the clients, remind clients about overdue invoices, receive incoming payments via ACH (Automatic Clearing House- direct bank-to-bank deposits), Wire (Usually used for international transactions), or Check, and prepare statements that show how much revenue we are expected to gain in a period of time, or have gained in a period of time. This requires a lot of interfacing with clients and project managers.

My department is Accounts Payable. Accounts Payable does basically the other side of the coin from what Accounts Receivable does. We work mostly with vendors and our purchasing/receiving departments. We receive invoices from people and companies that have sold us products/services we need in order to make our own products/perform our services, enter them into our ERP (Enterprise Resource Planning, a system that integrates the departments in a company together- there are many different ERPs, and most people simply refer to their ERP as "the system" when talking internally to other employees of the same company that they work at, because saying the name of the system is redundant) using a set of codes that automatically places the costs into appropriate groups to be referenced for later financial reports, and run the payment processing to ensure that the vendors are being paid.

To break that down because I know that was a lot of words, here's some things I do in my day-to-day at work:

- Reconciliations, making sure two different statements match up: the most common one is Credit Card reconciliations, ensuring that there are appropriately coded entries in the system that match the payments made on our credit line in our bank.

- Invoice entry: this is basic data entry, for the most part. This can have two different forms, though

- Purchase Order Invoice entry: Invoices that are matched both to the service/product provided from the vendor and the purchase order created by our Purchasing/Receiving department. We ensure that the item, the quantity, and the price all match between our records, the purchase order, and the invoice, before we enter this.

- Hard Coded Invoice entry: Invoices that we enter manually due to there being no Purchase Order for them. This is often recurring services, like cleaning or repairs, that may happen too often or have prices vary too much for Purchase Orders to be practical.

- Cleaning up old purchase orders: sometimes Purchase Orders are put in the system and then never fulfilled. Because this shows on financial statements as being a long-standing open commitment, it looks bad, so we have to periodically research these and find out if the vendor simply didn't send us the invoice, if the order was cancelled, or if something else is going on.

- Forensics! This is my personal favorite part of the job, where someone has massively borked something that is affecting my work, and so I go dig into it, sometimes going back as four or five years in records to find the origin point of the first mistake, and untangling the threads of what happened following that mistake to get us to where we are today. There's an entire field called Forensic Accounting that is basically just doing This but for other companies (it's a subset of auditing, and often is done via the IRS) and that's my dream position to be totally honest. I loooove the dopamine hit i get with solving the mystery and getting praised for doing so faster than anyone else has even begun to realize the problem to start with.

- Balancing Credits/Debits: This is more of a Main Accountant role thing, but the long and short of it is that every business has Assets, Liabilities, and Equity. Liabilities and Equity are what we put into the company/what we owe, and assets are what we have received/what we are owed. Anything that increases Assets or lowers Liabilities or Equity is a Debit. Anything that decreases Assets or raises Liabilities or Equity is a Credit. Every monetary change we process has to include an equal Debit and Credit. This is its own whole lecture, so if you wanna know more about double-entry accounting, let me know, but it's yawnsville for most people.

- Actually cutting checks or initiating bank payments to vendors for amounts we owe them.

- Vendor communication: I'm on the phones and email a lot with vendors who are wondering where their payment is, or why something was short-paid, or if I can change some of their info in our system, and so on and so on. Every job is customer service, unfortunately. I don't love it, but I do a lot less of it in private accounting than I would have to do in public accounting.

- Spreadsheets: I make so many spreadsheets I am a goddamn Excel wizard. I love spreadsheets. This isn't necessarily accounting-specific though, most people in Finance jobs love spreadsheets, or at least use them to make their lives easier. I make them just for fun, because I'm a giant fucking nerd who finds that kind of thing enjoyable lol. So if you ever need a spreadsheet made for anything, hit me up.

As for math, that's a pretty common misconception. While there is math, it is very rarely more complicated than "I paid $3 of the $8 I owe, now I owe $5" for me. There are some formulas you learn in school (Business Administration with a focus in Accounting is what I studied), but they're also pretty standard and rarely include more than like... basic algebra. Which. Thanks @ god because I flunked so hard out of pre-calc in college. I could not have done accounting if it really were all that math heavy.

Aaaand yeah! That's all I've got off the top of my head- if you have any more questions about it, do let me know, I'm happy to ramble on for hours, but I'm cutting it here so I don't start meandering on without direction lol.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

No one could have seen this coming. Absolutely no one — unless, of course, they had a pulse, a calendar, or a vague understanding of international trade. But for the 74 million Americans who dragged themselves to the polls in 2024 to rehire Donald Trump as President, this was exactly what you ordered — delivered fresh, hot, and right to your crumbling 401(k).

The Dow just plunged 890 points, like a bungee jumper who forgot the cord. The S&P 500, which had already been bleeding for two weeks straight, has now fallen 7.45% since late February — tumbling from 6,147.43 to 5,614.36 like someone chucked their retirement fund off a third-story balcony. The Nasdaq? It's been in a full-blown correction for days now, down over 10% from its recent peak — the kind of nosedive that makes Silicon Valley cry into their kombucha.

And Tesla? Oh, poor Elon Musk. Tesla’s stock got hammered like a frat boy on spring break, collapsing 15% in a single day — its worst performance since September 2020. Musk’s fans thought his bromance with Trump would unlock some economic cheat code — but instead, their electric dreams are getting dragged to hell like a toaster in a bathtub.

But no one could have predicted this, right?

Except... literally everyone who saw Trump’s economic chaos coming from space. Wall Street didn’t get “caught off guard” — they just assumed they could outrun the blast radius. The smart money bet they could milk Trump’s instability long enough to cash out before the market imploded. They thought tariffs were just noise — a showy distraction to keep Trump’s voter base entertained while they quietly skimmed profits off the top.

But now the roulette wheel has stopped spinning, and all those bets are coming due. Trump’s trade war is finally hammering the economy like a sledgehammer in a china shop. Tariffs on China? Up to 20%. Mexico and Canada? They’re on the chopping block next. The Atlanta Fed’s GDP tracker says the economy might already be shrinking, but Trump’s White House is still playing dress-up, calling this mess a “transition.”

Kevin Hassett — still staggering around in public pretending to be an economist — insists everything will calm down by April, as if the stock market works on the same timeline as your dentist appointments. Meanwhile, Trump’s Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent insists this is just a “detox,” like the economy is some booze-soaked college dropout who needs to sweat it out in a basement.

But don’t worry, Trump’s Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick swears there’s “no recession coming.” That’s adorable — like a man shouting “This ship is unsinkable!” as the water reaches his chin.

Even Trump couldn’t resist throwing out his signature nonsense. “We’re bringing wealth back to America,” he assured Fox News viewers — a statement that probably sounded comforting right up until the moment they checked their portfolios and realized their “wealth” is now buried somewhere next to Jimmy Hoffa.

Meanwhile, Bitcoin is crashing faster than a drunk cyclist — down from $106,000 to $80,000 in just weeks. Turns out even imaginary money isn’t safe when Trump starts swinging his tariff hammer.

But no one could have predicted this. Nope. Not the voters in MAGA hats who believed Trump’s economic “genius” was going to fix America with import taxes and cheap slogans. Not the Wall Street gamblers who thought they could skate through the chaos. Not the investors who thought Elon Musk’s proximity to Trump would protect them.

They all knew. They just thought someone else would take the hit. Now they're sitting in front of their financial wreckage, stunned — like kids who set off fireworks indoors and can’t believe the couch is on fire.

So here’s to the voters who believed in Trump’s master plan — the ones who swore tariffs would turn America into an economic powerhouse and thought a man with six bankruptcies and a golden toilet was some kind of financial wizard. You cheered while Trump slapped tariffs on everything that moved, convinced this chaos was just part of his “genius strategy.” Now you’re staring at your portfolio like a blackjack player who hit on 19 and can’t believe they lost. You wanted this, you begged for this, you voted for this.

And if you’re one of those Wall Street analysts pretending this economic collapse came out of nowhere? Please — you knew. The only people truly shocked by this are the ones who never had a functioning frontal lobe to begin with.

(Fear and Loathing : Closer to the Edge)

[animentality]

I don’t like shitting on what other ppl like so I won’t. But I agree that Durgetash fandom feels chill and mature about what it wants and that’s why I love it. Actually I think it’s The Dark Urge fandom in general. Haven’t seen much bullshit with Durge x other ships. Paradoxically the most problematic Origin leads to the most interesting and/or wholesome fan content.

It's not a paradox, it's a proven fact that fandoms for fucked up content like Hannibal will always be less toxic than fandoms for shit like Steven Universe and My Little Pony.

Because fucking mature adults are the typical fans of fucked up stuff. We all know what we are watching and we have jobs and pay taxes and have spouses and children, and we fucking know, it's not that serious.

You can ship a war criminal and a serial killer, whatever.

But Astarion x Tav and Gale x Tav and all the other origin fans are like teens, maybe even kids whose parents buy them any game they ask for, even if it's rated mature.

And they don't have the life experience to be chill. They stake their entire identities and moral code upon a fictional landscape that has no bearing on who you are as a person, except on superficial levels.

They also don't know better. You do NOT engage with pricks online. You don't start or end discourse. You ignore it because you're here to have fun, and if you're an adult, you know it's not that serious.

So durgetash fans are more chill, because I suspect many already know our ship is toxic and we do not care.

It's also a very small fandom.

Small fandoms tend to be more chill than big ones. You all know each other, even if somewhat distantly, and you're just so happy to see any other fans like you that you never want to start beef.

Plus none of us have clout.

The BG3 fandom is big enough for clout seekers.

People who say the "correct" opinion to gain followers for themselves.

But us durgetash fans are such a freak minority, that we are all incorrect.

And that's why we're having a good time.

Nothing quite like being wrong with friends.

[hypertranslatetournament]

Contestant 20

We do not understand , - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --- I arrived at Ubiw No one else The situation. Work I have no problem with you I didn't talk I don't believe me What are you? Talk to the country I read a fake but See With love but a little We see all that We know we are playing When you ask you Blindly does not work I have no problem with you I didn't talk I don't believe me What are you? News I read a fake but I have no problem with you I didn't talk I don't believe me What are you? Talk to the ground I read a fake but See Love, shy but dark We see all that We know how to play the game The situation. Work I have no problem with you I didn't talk I don't believe me What are you? Talk to the country I read a fake but I have no problem with you I didn't talk I don't believe me What are you? Talk to the country I read a fake but I have no problem with you I didn't talk I don't believe me What are you? Talk to the ground I read a fake but

Contestant 9

The problem is to see the knowledge of our organization. But we did our job. The child first thinks that he is a very high quality, high quality and emotional support. Our government has protected placement, death and our government. How are you? I work trolle <3 heavy trolls. I have a child and a wild. Find the difference and questions: you need a family. Each group is your work or laughter. It is very important to think about your beautiful words. Rome: Rome, simple content, file. Black, sand, can be taxes. Different, the most important thing is. Eagerness with interest and culture. Most of them don't have a lot of people. Most of the Chinese. Traffic code. The difference is the same relationship. The group reached the first and first-hand side. Similar interface often. Prefer, you are pregnant. The problem with the house should have an effect on it. Yes, such a question is difficult. When I saw a miracle in this case. That someone is your goal. I want to see it! You know many people. I'm not like explaining all the information. Two companies need new instruments and products. For example, people contain terrorists. But you can change and get. I see it. The plant was born and sometimes visible. You must hear research usually for your friends. If the law applies to family members, it must be good clothes. If you don't sleep. She was convinced without being honest and seeing her mother. From now on, popular noise is the best and the most animal. This option is a powerful gift of two large companies. But I saw a new Agria sauce. We are here. "Create a screen Es. Problems without the tenenites, talk, the queen, references, los PMedin Car. De Lo is in parapapoo, year the year. Finally, Under has a Rio. My spark, the tudos encountered its violence. Siribe Cambos Kampbs Kampbs. For the mayor's mayor from Geente Vienne to derecha. Oleolo Olso it may be laser rheain. If Farpario arrives at the Atpario is the Roogo Y Joe. Sí, PUD SERUM ROJO YGRO. The Vandel Vander is required. Cosas Gunaz Gradeds are the Cosas Posts who go quickly. If the docies is wear Welbel Dialel Del Dielbel Dielbel Diamia. Includes infection and understanding. Industrialization and industrialization area. However, there is anger and risk and danger in the way of the world. Other cars, people or accidents. This problem may be correct. People who are good for health and energy, which is excellent. People work well with participants. General research should include many parts of the study. The purpose of the desire to believe in plastic, but I know that blue growth is bad. God knows the truth! Good good to change. But now you can send you! Only! So adults ... history, reason! The city is in a city that describes people trying to play players and players. Do not use magical beauty. But I don't know. So far, but if you use this question dark and sad. Yes, red blood cells start, black cells start. But for all websites, Internet and all loans. One month or work

(Each contestant submission was translated 45 times!)

[olderthannetfic]

The entire "following grammar rules is XX-ism" and "telling someone not to write with a dialect" or whatever in official settings, school, government paperwork, etc, has always been a weird argument.

I live in a country where you're encouraged to speak in your local dialect no matter how official the situation is. This includes politicians and professors. This means every dialect no matter how heavy and obscure it is is just as valid as any other. It was even encouraged to speak your dialect during presentations because it would be more authentic.

While it does allow for a lot of individuality it's also incredibly hard to understand in a lot of situations, especially when going somewhere with a different local dialect. And that's the spoken language.

The area I live has a very strong dialect which often is used in informal writing, between friends as an example, if you're not familiar with it you won't be able to understand anything because of the phonetic writing, which has almost nothing in common with how the words get written when you follow the correct grammar and spelling for the language. In school our teacher gave us a few examples once, where an article had been "translated" into different dialects to show how it would look if the rules for spoken language was applied to written. I still have a headache thinking about it.

I think the people using these arguments have just never been in a situation where they had to engage with a dialect or written form they didn't understand, especially official documents, otherwise they'd understand WHY having rules are in place. It's great for individuality and and informal settings, but you'll turn right the Hell around when someone with an incomprehensible written-dialect starts doing your taxes, or writing your contracts.

--

I think a lot of people who hotly defend their own dialect and linguistic diversity in general are in favor of having certain main standards for things like academic papers.

Attempting to eradicate "AAVE is grammar mistakes hur hur"-style racism/classism and encouraging people to code switch for certain formal environments can and do coexist just fine.

In my experience, the people who most defend the idea that standards are -ism are not the people coming from some non-prestige dialect community. It's all theoretical.

[georgeshutcheson]

The 0T Tax Code: A Comprehensive Guide for Taxpayers

New Post has been published on https://www.fastaccountant.co.uk/0t-tax-code/

The 0T Tax Code: A Comprehensive Guide for Taxpayers

In this blog post, we’re focusing on a specific facet of the UK tax code system: the 0t tax code. We’ll break down what it means, when it applies, and what you can do if it is applied to your payslip and you don’t think it is correct.

Understanding Tax Codes

Tax codes – they’re essential in the world of UK payroll tax administration. But what are they? Simply put, a tax code is a way for HMRC (Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs) to tell your employer or pension provider how much tax to deduct from your earnings. They’re kind of like little recipes for tax deductions! There’s a wide variety of tax codes in the UK tax system, each with its own implications, and among them is the 0t tax code.

Decoding the 0T Tax Code

The 0t tax code is an interesting one. Unlike some other tax codes, it does not give you any tax-free personal allowance. Essentially, this means that all your income will be taxed from the first pound earned. But why might you be put on a 0T tax code? One common scenario is if you’ve started a new job and your employer doesn’t have the details they need to assign you a proper tax code. It might also happen if all your personal allowance is being used up elsewhere, like by income from another job or a pension.

Impact of the 0T Tax Code on Your Tax Deductions

Let’s talk about how the 0T tax code affects your tax deductions. Without any personal allowance to reduce your taxable income, you’ll start paying tax right away on all earnings. For example, let’s say you have a second job earning £10,000 a year, and your personal allowance is being used entirely by your main job. If your second job is on a 0t tax code, you’d be taxed on the full £10,000, resulting in a total tax payment of £2,000, assuming a basic rate of 20%.

How to React If You’re Assigned a 0T Tax Code

So, you’ve looked at your payslip and discovered you’re on a 0T tax code. What’s next? First, check if this is accurate. Sometimes HMRC assigns a 0t tax code temporarily until they get more information about your income. But mistakes can happen. If you think your tax code is incorrect, reach out to HMRC. They can change your tax code and ensure your employer or pension provider is deducting the right amount of tax.

Conclusion

There you have it, a quick but comprehensive guide to the 0T tax code. Remember, understanding your tax code is vital for navigating the UK tax system and ensuring you’re not over- or under-paying tax. So, keep an eye on your tax code, get to know what it means, and don’t hesitate to ask for help if you’re unsure.

Frequently Asked Questions

What does a ‘0T’ tax code mean? The ‘0T’ tax code means you get no personal allowance with this income, so tax is taken from the first pound you earn.

Why might I be put on a ‘0T’ tax code? You might be put on a ‘0T’ tax code if you’ve started a new job and your employer doesn’t have the details they need to assign you a proper tax code. It might also happen if all your personal allowance is being used up by income from another job or a pension.

What should I do if I think my ‘0T’ tax code is wrong? If you think your tax code is incorrect, contact HMRC. They can help you understand why you’ve been given that code and change it if it’s not right.

[fvckwithmefamo]

The 0T Tax Code: A Comprehensive Guide for Taxpayers

In this blog post, we’re focusing on a specific facet of the UK tax code system: the 0t tax code. We’ll break down what it means, when it applies, and what you can do if it is applied to your payslip and you don’t think it is correct. Understanding Tax Codes Tax codes – they’re essential in the world of UK payroll tax administration. But what are they? Simply put, a tax code is a way for HMRC…

[sjerzgirl]

I have said in the past that the wealthy, and by extension, the GOP, want a servant class. Strip us of our retirement funds, our education, our ability to support ourselves, and we'll take whatever work is handed to us. Right? They think. They can kiss my fat white ass!! I'm NO ONE's servant!! My job at IRS was to make sure returns were processed correctly and then to make sure errors were fixed, regardless of the outcome to the taxpayer. If the preparer or taxpayer made the mistake, then get them to correct it before there was a penalty. If someone was running a tax fraud scam, code the return properly so it would be analyzed by agents. (Code and Edit). If someone else is using their social security number, make sure the taxpayer isn't hit with more taxes and penalties for that person's income (underreporter program). If a payment or assessment was applied to the wrong tax year or tax quarter, get it changed to the correct one so the taxpayer would get the appropriate credit and not receive penalties. Or if a married couple used the preprinted label, but reversed their names on the return causing a mismatch with SSA. (Unpostables). But, bake you cookies and then REBAKE them if you don't approve??? I DON'T EVEN BAKE COOKIES FOR MYSELF!!! Screw you!!! I didn't hire on to not be allowed to think or analyze. Go jump into the Grand Canyon!!

[trucecaboose]

Even After Everything.

Chapter 1

Chapter Two: Midnight Confessions and Southern Charm

It was a quiet Thursday evening in Grandville, Michigan, the kind of night where the sky looked like melted indigo and the air held the first whispers of spring. Sutton curled up on her couch in her favorite oversized hoodie—Her brother Olivers from his high school football days—and a pair of worn leggings that had seen better years. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few strands falling into her eyes as she balanced a container of leftover lasagna on her knee.

AJ was already tucked into his crib, having worn himself out after a thrilling half-hour of running-and falling-in circles around the living room in his Batman onesie. Now, the house was blanketed in stillness, the baby monitor glowing on the side table like a nightlight for Sutton herself.

She flicked through her texts before opening her Tumblr DMs. Her heart did that now-familiar flutter when she saw the notification.

Rowan: Okay I have to ask—was the girl who played commander Lexa in “The 100” grown in a lab? Because that woman’s face… it’s a weapon.

Sutton barked a laugh, quickly typing back.

Sutton: Not just her face. That voice?? That way she talked?? That girl speaks and my taxes pay themselves.

Rowan: I’d marry her AND Clarke. At the same time. With matching rings. I’d change my last name to theirs. Start our own clan..

Sutton: Rowan Kom Lezkru sounds powerful. I’d join that clan.

Rowan: LMAO… I’d let you.

Their banter flowed like water now, a rhythm they’d settled into without even realizing it. Every night for the past couple months, they talked—about everything and nothing. It started with books and shows, but soon expanded into daily annoyances, childhood stories, career woes, and occasionally, quiet admissions of fears they didn’t say out loud to anyone else.

Sutton found herself looking forward to it more than she wanted to admit. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Getting attached to someone she’d never even heard speak aloud. But Rowan had a way of making her feel… seen. Like the version of herself that still existed beyond diapers and early shifts and exhaustion.

She reached for her water bottle and read Rowan’s next message.

Rowan: So today I had this patient who insisted on calling me “Nurse Ellie” the entire time, and no matter how many times I corrected him, he just smiled like, “Sure, Ellie.”

Sutton: At least it’s cute. One of my patients today called me “Satan Wixx.”

Rowan: …please tell me you wore red scrubs.

Sutton: Worse. Purple ones. He said it was the color of evil.

Rowan: He’s not wrong. Purple is sus.

Sutton: This feels like slander against Prince.

Rowan: Never. I’d never disrespect the purple rain king.

Sutton smiled, leaning her head back against the couch cushions. The apartment smelled faintly of lavender from the diffuser she’d turned on earlier, and she allowed herself to close her eyes for a second, letting the comfort of Rowan’s words settle over her like a weighted blanket.

Then, another message popped through.

Rowan: Hey, random question. What’s your go-to comfort movie?

Sutton sat up, grinning. That was an easy one.

Sutton: “Bend It Like Beckham.” Hands down.

Rowan: Oh my God, yes. The queer undertones. The late ‘90s vibes. The soundtrack? Flawless.

Sutton: I wanted to be Jess. Or date Jess. Or just… be in that movie forever.

Rowan: You totally give off Jess energy, honestly. Like, tough but soft? Loyal? And secretly hot in a hoodie?

Sutton stared at the message, cheeks warming. She didn’t know how Rowan did that—slipping compliments into casual conversation like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she wasn’t turning Sutton’s insides to soup with just a few words.

She took a deep breath and replied.

Sutton: Okay, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me this month. Your turn. What’s yours?

Rowan: “Fried Green Tomatoes.”

Sutton: Another queer-coded classic. Your taste is impeccable.

Rowan: I cried when I first saw it. Idgie and Ruth had me in a chokehold.

Sutton: They still do.

Rowan: You know, if we ever meet, we should have a movie night with all the best sapphic cinema. I’ll bring popcorn and wine.

The words hit Sutton like a gentle jolt. If we ever meet.

She bit her bottom lip, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t the first time the idea had crept into her mind, but it was the first time it had been said—typed—out loud. Real.

Would they ever meet?

And if they did… what would Rowan think of her? Of AJ?

Would she think Sutton was a liar for not saying anything sooner?

She hadn’t meant to keep AJ a secret. It just felt safer, somehow, to preserve this one part of her life where she was just Sutton. Not “Mom” or “the girl who kept a rape baby.” Just a 26-year-old nurse who liked fanfiction and PB&J sammiches while having 2 a.m. conversations with a beautiful stranger.

Still, she needed to say something. Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she wanted to stay in this warm little bubble of what-if.

Sutton: You really think we’d vibe in real life?

Rowan: I think we already do. You make me laugh. You make me feel… safe, somehow. Like I don’t have to be anyone but myself. I like that.

Sutton swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed.

Sutton: I feel that way with you too.

There was a pause.

Then…

Rowan: Then maybe we should think about meeting.

Sutton’s stomach flipped. She read the words again, then again, heart thudding like a slow drumbeat.

Sutton: You serious?

Rowan: Yeah. I mean… we talk every night. I already feel like I know you. I’d love to actually meet you. Even if it’s just for a weekend.

Sutton: I think I’d like that.

There it was. The line crossed. The shift from fantasy to possibility.

Sutton leaned her head back again, this time letting herself smile fully. It wasn’t a commitment, not yet. But it was something.

Something real.

Just as she was about to say more, the monitor crackled. AJ let out a little whimper, half-asleep, before settling again with a soft sigh. Sutton got up quietly, crossing the room and peeking into his nursery. Her heart softened at the sight of him—his soft curls stuck to his forehead, one chubby hand clutching his blanket.

“I love you so much, baby boy,” she whispered. “Always.”

She returned to the couch and typed one last message for the night.

Sutton: Let’s keep talking about it. I’ll figure things out. But yeah… I’d really like to meet you too, Rowan.

The reply came a second later.

Rowan: You just made my whole week, Sutton Wixx.

And somewhere, deep inside, Sutton felt something shift. Not just flutter. Not just hope.

Something like the very beginning of a new chapter.

[nicklloydnow]

“Here’s the point: Government’s job is not to dictate your values but to protect them. In a free country, you choose values and then use your own money as a tool to achieve them. But a value-rigged tax policy reverses this cause and effect — it uses your money against you, bribing you with tax breaks that let you keep some of your earnings in exchange for abandoning your preferred values.

Clearly, we have slid a long way downhill from this nation’s founding, when political leaders respected individuals’ ability to make rational decisions for themselves about how to pursue their own health, wealth and happiness. Today, it is commonly accepted that Uncle Sam has a right to reach not only into your wallet but into your soul, through tax policies that substitute some version of the “public interest” for your own rational desires.

Of course, tax policy is only one form of “social engineering” — spending and direct regulation are other coercive methods of substituting collective values for private choice. But when it comes to micro-managing our lives, there are two reasons why tax incentives remain one of politicians’ favorites.

First, people find comfort in the illusion of self-direction that goes along with tax incentives — they would rather be lured by a tasty carrot than beaten with a stick. Second, tax law is an easy mechanism through which politicians can dispense favors to supporters, as Clinton, Obama and McCain have each pledged to do. Every year numerous pages are added to the long list of politically correct values.

In place of the limitless variety that emerges when individuals plan their own lives in a free society, tax laws strive to impose a dreary sameness — as if every individual should get married, have children, buy a home and save for retirement on a government-approved schedule — and as if every company should look to bureaucrats for the one true path to selecting real estate, equipment, fuels, employees and financing. Such artificial homogeneity has no place in the tax policy of a government dedicated to protecting individual rights.

If government were restricted to its proper functions — police, courts and a strong military to defend individual rights against physical force and fraud — our 66,000-page coercive tax code would be a thing of the past. What’s more, a great burden would be lifted, not just from the economy, but from our lives.

Imagine reasserting ourselves as rational, sovereign individuals, whose rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness include the right to choose values without asking society’s permission — and without chasing our own money, like lab rats sniffing cheese, down the twisting corridors of a labyrinthine tax code.” - Yaron Brook, ‘Life and Taxes’ (17 April 2008)

[driaderg]

Fact or crap with the switch 2! Let’s correct some misinformation! (Prices are in USD because I’m unfortunately American.)

The base console is $450 USD

Fact Considering the power level of the console and how much was jammed in there, I think it’s reasonable.

The games cost $80 digital, $90 physical

Crap Some games will cost $80, but physical copies won’t cost any extra. I believe this misconception game from European listings where they’re required to list tax.

You won’t own any physical games because it’s all download codes

Crap Oh boy is this one said way too much. The game key cards (as Nintendo calls them) will not be for every physical game. They will be primarily used for games that won’t fit on a cartridge or are otherwise digital only. Nintendo knows how to optimize their file sizes so they most likely won’t have any first party games on them.

You have to pay for upgrades to switch 1 games

Fact This was said in the direct

The upgrades will be mandatory to play on Switch 2

Crap There has been no official mention of this, which makes it easy to assume that you won’t have to upgrade to play Kirby, Zelda, Mario Party, etc.

Nintendo is charging money for a tutorial.

Fact The Nintendo Switch 2 Welcome Tour thing is $5, which imo is $5 too much. I’m just saying, back on 3DS this would have come pre downloaded.

The connector could be prone to snapping

Crap We’re still talking about this? Idk just watch GetMadz’s video on the topic

If I got anything wrong or if there’s anything I should add, please let me know :)