The Black Plague and My Old Friend

Hello my fiscal friends! Sometimes I like to play jokes on friends. Sometimes I don't. I am quite gullible and my mishaps do make me the talk of the message boards. For example, I once tricked my friend Gerard into thinking I had the Bubonic Plague! See, Gerard warned me about petting the squirrels in the park and feeding them the remnants of my parfait, but of course I never paid attention to this. He started hyperventilating and I sighed. I said, "Oh Gerard, first you were cursed by being named Gerard and now you are a hyperventilating freak." Turns out I did have the Bubonic Plague, I just have a FAB immune system, but nonetheless, Gerard caught it too. Gerard was gone later that week. I suspect this is what happened of course, because I don't see why Gerard would stop talking to me and have his apartment cleaned out. I reminisce about Gerard a lot and hope that his Bubonic death was a thrill for him. One day as we were on our scooters, he told me a secret. I am ready to share this secret with the world. This is the secret: he only used me for my fiscality. I was appalled, but I told him, "We are friends through and through." 

Many people use me for my fiscality. If you are reading this, you are arrested for this crime as well. I may be fiscal, but that does not mean I'm flippin' out about the economy all the time. Sometimes I like to go to my local Ben & Jerry's or put a bit more granola on my parfait, you know, "livin' it up." This apparently is the reason I was rejected from spots for editorial writing at Forbes, The New Yorker, and the New Yolker. The New Yolker was a magazine for the fiscal farmer and since I grew up in the grasslands of northern Russia, I was confident I would land the job. I would yolk and yolk and yolk. I had to pay 50 rubles to get to this stinkin' land so I could write for the New Yolker. Now my dreams are crushed. But ya know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.