Anthropomorphic 

Leopard Character 

Portrait

Piper Yuwot

In the fever dream within the labyrinth of a madman's psyche that is Anthroxville, only two guarantees are certain: getting jumped by John Knuckle, and the inevitable sting of taxation. Whilst the former has remained a widely accepted and unadulterated constant in its headboshing form over the years, the art and science of taxation have undergone various metamorphoses, each more baffling than the last, sending Anthroxville into spasms of revolutionary fervor.

The last group audacious enough to tamper with this Pandora's Box, the Embaristocracy – consisting of the illustrious Herbert Whiffpop, Bertie Plimsoll, and Ottoline Puffplinth – levied the ill-fated Fuckhead Tax on the populace. Needless to say, the masses didn’t welcome it with open arms, and is widely cited as the trigger of their inevitable downfall, courtesy of the tax-griping shah of the coup d'etat, Cornelius Fudge.

So, in the spirit of self-preservation and hoping to avoid a similar fate as his precessors, the newly inaugurated President Clint Bigot enlisted the anthropomorphic leopard, Piper Yuwot, as his chief economic necromancer and instructed her to conjure up a tax system like never before, one to somehow fend off the ever-looming economic implosion, but also keep the public’s pitchforks pointed firmly at one another rather than at himself. Whilst Florence de Looselips managed Anthroxville’s Bureau de Blabber, ensuring that every whisper exchanged had its monetary worth; Piper found herself in the tumultuous sea of taxation, which, as Clint eloquently put it, would be a thankless posting, for if she managed to pull off the impossible and get things successfully jiffin' along nicely, then naturally, he would take the credit – if not, she would be the one getting publicly spit-roasted as a sacrifice to the gods of fiscal policy.

For a number of sanity-scooping weeks of guzzling Gilbert Jitterbug's illicit gear-cranking coffee and slamming her head against the table, Piper tried to wrangle her way through an onslaught of various equations, data sets, and formulas. Every policy she explored would either result in Anthroxville going completely bust, or, degenerating into yet another round of all-out civic insurgency. Bankruptcy or rebellion? Spit-roasting or Roast-spitting? Even the vexing specter of the Fuckhead Tax made a brief cameo, teasing its viability. Credit where it's due to those embaristocrats, for it would have almost certainly raised the most revenue. She cautiously shelved the notion and pressed on.

Without any breakthroughs, the anthro leopard headed over to Edison Upskirt's eatery, Upskirt Nosher, and was bravely probing her sizzling dish, when she tuned into the narrative of a misadventure in modern love taking place at the next table over. It involved the not-so-romantic rascal, Milton Mouthbucket, who, by the sounds of things, had cunningly catfished an unwitting Zofia Squits into meeting him on some dating app called Bonkr, by posing as the swashbuckling adventurer, Frødrik Frødrikson. As Piper listened in, it sounded like Milton was soliciting Zofia to stay for two minutes to hear him out. "$20 ought to do it," he said, throwing down the notes on the table. "No chance," replied Zofia, rising to her feet. Milton upped his offer by 5. "What do you take me for?" asked Zofia, turning for the door. "Everyone's got a price," Milton responded, before boldly pitching they go behind the bins out back for $50.

Whilst unsuccessful in Milton's case, who got slapped into the next century for his troubles, his indecent proposal had set the anthro leopard's mind into gear: Value is fluid, and anything could be monetized if given the right conditions. In a whirlwind of frenzied excitement, Piper conceptualized the 'Yuwot Tax': A chimera of economic theory; carrying both the breakneck acceleration of turbo-capitalism and the crimson hue of socialism.

The foundational tenet was elemental: everything had a price. It wasn't just a system; it was a societal experiment on attachment, emotion, and value. Every trinket, bauble, and asset — be it as tangible as a brick or as ethereal as a whisper — had to be self-valued every calendar year. Based on these valuations, a certain portion, cunningly expressed in percentages, found its way into the cavernous coffers of Anthroxville's government.

In Anthroxville's nascent tax system, emotion had become a tangible asset. Take the automobile Gonzales, for instance, deemed by the masses as a dilapidated heap, yet in the eyes of its owner, Kingsley Throttle, it was a vehicular masterpiece. The broader market might value it at the worth of a crumpled soda can, but Kingsley had slapped on a price tag resembling that of a showroom head-spinner. It wasn't about metal, rubber, and oil; it was sentiment and memories, crystallized annually in tax statements.

"Suppose," questioned President Bigot, when Piper first brought her proposal to his office, "one of the fuckheads were to undervalue their possessions to skimp on their tax dues?" "Ah, well that's the crux. If any shrewd soul chooses to match that declared pittance, Anthroxville's statutes would mandate the sale. No bargaining, no wrangling. Every asset, every price, is recorded unambiguously in Anthroxville's grand database, the Cadastre." However, when the notorious tycoon, Dinero Cashmoney caught wind...