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McCoy: A taxing stay on a desert island
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Have you ever played the game where you narrow down all your possessions to those very few that you'd want if you were marooned on an island? It's a fun game, so to get you thinking about your most valuable items, I'll share my thoughts on what I would want, were I suddenly to become marooned somewhere in the Pacific.

First, I'd want my Bible. Not only is it wise to have your Bible with you on a deserted island, but could you imagine trying to explain to St. Peter why you left the Good Book at home but took "Rolling Stone" magazine? I love my music magazines, but if it comes down to what I'd be reading under a palm tree as I watched for passing ships, I'll take Matthew, Mark and Luke. Of course, if there's room,
I'd also want some books by my other favorite authors, especially, Erskine Caldwell. Have you read "Tobacco Road"? If you're marooned, I'd recommend reading some of that book each morning as the sun hits your little hut. "Tobacco Road" is so depressing that you'd actually be glad to be on a deserted island, just because you knew Jeeter wouldn't be coming down a dirt road to steal your turnips.
I'd want some notebooks and ink pens so I could catch up on my writing, and I'd want a bunch of disposable razors and shaving gel, too. A beard on a salty, hot island would be murder. Most of all, I'd want a lottery ticket. I don't care whether it's a winning ticket or not; I just need one measly ticket. When I'd had enough of bananas and fish and sand mites, and was ready to be rescued, I'd just wave the ticket around and scream, "I won sixty million dollars in the lottery! And I'm not going to pay a penny in taxes on this. Not a penny!" I'd probably make little raspberry noises for good measure. That's all I'd have to do to get off the island. A good IRS agent wouldn't need more than two days to find me. I might be trading my stay on a deserted island for a stint in Rikers Island, but that's a risk I'll take. As a prisoner, I'd get three meals a day, and I wouldn't have to make my own underwear out of old coconut husks and palm fronds.

David McCoy, a notorious storyteller and proud Yellow Jacket, lives in Covington and can be reached at