Tuesday, March 14, 2006


So my finances were becoming such a mess and I decided what better way to fix it beyond repair than to hire a Forensic Accountant. The dude can only be described as a total champ, he knows fucking everything there is to know about ledgers, debits, the South Sea Bubble, plus with the nous of a detective for ferreting out the Truth, nothing but the Truth, Uh-Huh.


It's pretty good! OR SO I THOUGHT, until he set in on my voluminous records, calling up all his mates on speed-dial, shouting 'How the Fuck am I going to tackle this case, the biggest of my career, I'll be pushing paper for the rest of my life on Traffic Duty'. He totally cordoned off the area with Accounting Tape --> good luck crossing that shit without a Warrant(y).

'When Simultaneous MCs Drop That's Spontaneous'

So now I'm stuck with NO access to my financial records, I tried to liven up the mood by saying shit like 'There's no Accounting for Taste', the dude gave me a fucking Thousand Yard Stare straight up. He must have seen some fucked up shit back in Accounting School to pull one of them. Luckily I gave him a Million Yard Stare right back, like a fucking Zen Robot of Space-Time. Good one Accountant, try and fuck with this shit and we'll see who wins.

I wish I could get to my God Damn share certificates.


Blogger la nadine said...

your forensic accountant should meet my deadbeat accountant.

they could go bowling with the grim reaper and really fuck some shit up.

1:22 AM  

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