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Bell Curve


In your excitement to finally be an IRS agent, you choose to audit a billionaire famed and loved for philanthropic acts and financial generosity. In your frenzy of sums and dividends, you forget to carry the three, and the philanthropist’s reputation and fortune—as well as your career—go down the toilet.


You end up reviewing local property tax claims in downstate Stinkville, where nobody has any particular interest in owning property, much less paying taxes on it. At least the gig is predictable.


You work for the state government for a decade, analyzing income tax reports, and your on-the-job experience has made you an office manager. You are bringing home the bacon, which you bought with your respectable earnings.


You have worked your way up the tax ladder to be the head honcho at the IRS federal tax office. You can now hire other agents to stress out each tax season, and they themselves fear an audit from you. You are now in the tax bracket you used to only read about.


You earn the title of Special Agent in Charge, and get to run agencies throughout the nation, pulling in big bucks and making the highest-level executives who laugh in the face of tax codes grip their tax returns in fear. You are pretty much an IRS superhero.