Did I ever tell you I used to be a hacker for an ultra-right wing organization? "Ultra-right wing" in terms that the John Birch Society is a bunch of pathetic, liberal cowards right wing. As in, "We Don't Pay Taxes And All Of That Money We Save From Doing So Goes Into Stockpiling Weapons" sort of philosophy.

Now, I didn't "hack" in terms of I infiltrated the IRS and deleted all the sensitive data on these guys from their databases, but merely wrote little programs that did things like track their assets through various shell entities and such. Mind you, I never did any thing even remotely illegal, and at all times kept my distance from even trying to understand what they actually did with the applications I created for them.

But it was interesting nonetheless.

The primary contact I worked with was something of a lower-level lemming who, I think, was more interested in the idea of being with a clandestine organization than what the organization was actually doing. I know this because the constant din of his hook and bait questions.

"Hey man, wanna know how you can buy a car and pay no taxes on it?"
"Not really."
"That's ok. I couldn't *really* tell you anyway, but I thought you'd be jealous about how much money you're giving away."
"No problem, Steve. I don't relish the idea of prison."
"Steve? Why'd you call me 'Steve'?"
"Because that's your name."
"Oh, that's right. I gave you an alias. I gotta do that in this business."

"Hey man. Wanna know how to rack up a huge hospital bill and not have to pay for it?"
"Um, no."
"That's ok, because after you do this, you could never get proper medical attention again."

And that went on for hours upon days until I finally said, "Ok, Steve. Tell me why you don't think you need to pay taxes. Show me the proof."
His eyes lit up. He RAN for the bookshelf and started pulling down some federal lawbooks and started opening them to various dog-eared pages.

"You see this? Read this!" he would say.

I would dutifully read it, and typically it was the portion prior to the actual legal codification that defined the terms that would be used later in the laws themselves. For example, the law might refer to a Person, so this portion would explain what was actually meant by a Person. Something along the lines of "...a person is anyone living within the 48 contiguous States, Alaska, Hawaii, the District of Columbia, Costa Rica...." Anyhow, one such description was defining what a state was. In one portion "state" was spelled with a lower-case "s" and in another, it was capitalized.

"Ah HA! See? Why would it be capitalized *here* but not here?"
"Steve, I have no earthly clue, but I'm not going to bet my freedom and my homo-virginity on a grammar question."
"Well, then, about THIS!" he says and opens another book with a flourish to yet another tedious page of glossary-like explanations defining who is subject to taxation.

It read (paraphrasing here): "A person is ... ... or an Indian."

"You SEE? INDIANS! Are YOU an Indian? I'm not!"

The gleem in his eye had a Manson-like quality.

"Steve, it says 'or' there. That's inclusive, not exclusive. It means, basically, anyone living in the U.S., its territories, foreign nationals legally living here, U.S. citizens living abroad AND Indians arguably living on reservation territories, are subject to taxation."
"BULLSHIT! I'm not an Indian and that means I don't have to taxes!"
"Steve--"
"Bob."
"What?"
"Call me Bob. The Steve cover is blown. I can't use that alias now that I've shown you this stuff."
"So, Bob is your real name?"
"No, but you can't call me Steve."
"So, Robert," I start, trying to be coy.
"You can't call me Robert. That's another name for something else."
"Bob. You think that only Indians are taxed?"
"Indians and people like you who are too afraid stand up to the company called the United States of America, which, I might add, is NOT the legal governerming entity to the Commonwealth."

Evidently *that* argument was predicated on capitalization as well.

It did end, though, and it ended well. I got paid in gold.
And just because my name is now Johnny Eagle Feather doesn't mean a damn thing.
Assignment: Creative Anarchy
Join your neighborhood association attempt to overthrow it by introducing historical documents (like the Magna Carta) that would supercede the Association's power to provide garbage collection through its SID. Tell me how it goes in the Comments section.