Oklahoma Tax Commission v. Mick Nakamashi

Let’s cut straight to the chase: the Oklahoma Tax Commission is suing a man named Mick Nakamashi—possibly also known as Mickey Nakanashi, though we may never know for sure—over $1,518.47. That’s it. No murder, no embezzlement of a small town’s entire water supply, not even a dramatic tax evasion scheme involving offshore yachts and a fake identity in Belize. Just one guy, one tax bill, and one very determined state bureaucracy that’s ready to drag him into court over what, in the grand scheme of government debt, is less than the cost of a used Honda Civic. This is not The Godfather—this is The Taxman Cometh, and it’s the most Oklahoma thing since deep-fried butter on a stick.

So who are we talking about here? On one side, we’ve got the Oklahoma Tax Commission—the state’s official tax enforcer, the financial hall monitor, the entity that shows up at your door like, “Hey, remember that time you didn’t pay your income tax? Yeah. We do.” They’re represented by a law firm that specializes in collections—Linebarger Goggan Blair & Sampson—whose name sounds like a villainous law firm from a 1980s cop show. On the other side? Mick Nakamashi. Or possibly Mickey Nakanashi. The filing can’t quite decide. He’s an individual—no attorney, no corporate shell, no offshore accounts (as far as we know). Just a dude with a Social Security number ending in 2397 and, apparently, a serious aversion to filing his 2019 income taxes.

Now, let’s reconstruct the crime—or, more accurately, the paperwork failure. In 2019, Mick (we’ll go with Mick, because it sounds cooler) earned some income. The exact amount isn’t in the filing, but we know he owed $610 in state income tax. That’s not chump change, but it’s also not “I bought a private island” money. For whatever reason—maybe he forgot, maybe he was mad at the government, maybe he thought Oklahoma would just forget—Mick didn’t pay. And the state, being the state, did not forget. They waited. They calculated. They added fees. They added penalties. They added more penalties. By January 15, 2021, the original $610 had ballooned to $707, thanks to a $61 “tax warrant penalty” and a $36 filing fee—because nothing says “we’re here to help” like charging you to be reminded that you owe money.

But the story doesn’t end there. The warrant was filed, indexed like a court judgment, and then… radio silence. Mick didn’t pay. The Commission didn’t give up. Time marched on. Interest accrued. And by March 11, 2023—over four years after the original tax year—the total owed had nearly doubled to $1,518.47. That’s right: a $610 tax bill became a $1,500+ legal action. At this point, the state isn’t just trying to collect—they’re sending a message. A warning. A tax-based Scarlet Letter. “This is what happens when you don’t pay your ITI,” the filing seems to whisper. “We will find you. We will index you. We will garnish your wages. And we will do it with the full force of Title 68 O.S. §231.”

Now, why are they in court? Because the Oklahoma Tax Commission wants to enforce that tax warrant like it’s a civil judgment. In plain English: they’re asking the court to force Mick to show up and explain what assets he has—bank accounts, property, maybe a prized collection of vintage Beanie Babies—so they can start seizing things. They’re not asking for punitive damages. They’re not demanding an apology. They just want their money, plus interest, fees, and the sweet, sweet satisfaction of bureaucratic victory. The legal mechanism here is straightforward: once a tax warrant is filed, it becomes a lien—basically, a legal “I own a piece of your stuff until you pay up.” And if Mick doesn’t pay? The state can garnish his wages, freeze his bank accounts, or even put a lien on his house. It’s not dramatic, but it’s effective. And honestly, kind of terrifying if you’re the kind of person who forgets to file taxes.

So what do they want? $1,518.47. Is that a lot? In the world of tax debt, it’s a rounding error. The IRS deals with millions of dollars in unpaid taxes every day. But for an individual? That’s a car repair. A vacation. A down payment on a used motorcycle. It’s also, frankly, a lot to pay for forgetting to file a form—especially when nearly half of it is penalties and fees. Imagine getting a parking ticket for $25, but then ignoring it, and five years later owing $75 because of late fees, admin charges, and “judgment processing.” That’s essentially what happened here, except with state income tax and a law firm named after a spaghetti Western.

And now, our take: the most absurd part of this case isn’t the amount, or the name confusion, or even the fact that a government agency is suing a guy over what amounts to a moderately expensive dinner for two. It’s the sheer escalation. A $610 tax debt becomes a court-ordered enforcement action with attorneys, filings, and a demand for a hearing on assets—all because someone didn’t pay their taxes on time. The state could’ve sent a reminder. A sternly worded letter. A passive-aggressive postcard with a picture of a crying bald eagle. Instead, they went straight to “We’re taking your stuff.” And look—nobody’s saying you should dodge taxes. Pay your taxes, folks. Seriously. But when the punishment starts to dwarf the crime, you have to wonder: is this justice, or just bureaucracy on autopilot?

We’re not rooting for tax evasion. We’re not saying Mick is innocent. But we are saying that there’s something darkly comedic about a state agency spending legal resources, staff time, and judicial bandwidth to chase down $1,500 from a guy whose name they can’t even spell consistently. It’s the fiscal equivalent of using a flamethrower to light a candle. And yet, here we are. Because in the world of civil court, sometimes the smallest debts make the biggest noise. And somewhere, in a quiet corner of Atoka County, a clerk is indexing a tax warrant like it’s the Magna Carta, while Mick Nakamashi—wherever he is—probably just wishes he’d filed that damn return in 2019.