Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion

There’s something beautifully chaotic about watching a big-eyed, silent turnip wage war on government forms. Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion is a top-down action-adventure where you don’t just dodge taxes, you rip them up with gleeful defiance and leave a trail of shredded paper and bureaucratic shame in your wake.

You play as Turnip Boy: wide-eyed, expressionless, and apparently incapable of speaking but fully capable of committing federal crimes. After getting booted from your home by Mayor Onion for, you guessed it, failing to pay taxes, you’re sent on a series of increasingly unhinged “errands” to pay off your debt. These include raiding dungeons, battling oversized animals, committing further petty crimes, and uncovering the suspiciously rotten roots of vegetable society.

Each new area is a bite-sized burst of joy. The dungeons are simple but satisfying, full of puzzles that rarely outstay their welcome and enemies that go down easier than a grocery store discount bin. Combat is snappy, item puzzles are charmingly goofy, and the entire game runs on the kind of absurd logic that feels pulled straight from a cartoon fever dream.

And that’s the magic here: Turnip Boy nails its tone. It has major Adventure Time energy, talking food characters, vague apocalyptic lore, and an undercurrent of emotional sincerity hiding beneath layers of jokes about hats and IRS documents. Characters like a haunted pickle jar or a business-savvy carrot bring just enough personality to make every encounter feel fresh, even as you’re robbing them blind or ignoring their dialogue to chase collectibles.

Sure, it’s short, clocking in under three hours, but that’s exactly the point. There’s no filler here. No bloated fetch quests. Just a nonstop sprint through clever jokes, compact levels, and delightfully weird side quests, all leading up to a revolution against the garden’s leafy elite.

So if you’ve ever wanted to commit light treason in a fruit bowl, Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion is your moment. It’s dumb. It’s brilliant. It’s anarchic in the most huggable way possible. And yes, it turns out evading taxes can be… fun.