Yo, peep this: I know all y’all wanna hear about tha mad bugged-out shit that went down at tha annual Monroe County CPA Convention from July 14-16 at tha Ramada Inn Northeast. Y’all heard about tha violence an’ tha lootin’ an’ tha arrests an’ all that shit, but I’m here to say that most of that shizit you read in tha newzpaypas an’ saw on TV be WACK.
Tha Accountz Reeceevable posse DID NOT start no trouble. We wuz just guardin’ our grill against those Accountz Payabo muthafuckas, straight up. They wuz tha ones what be bum-rushin’ us an’ wreckin’ shit. Don’t believe them fuckin’ media lies: Tha press be frontin’, ’cause they be playa-hatin’ on the A.R. bruthahood.
I be here to bust some myths, know what I’m sayin’? All tha A.R. homies be tellin’ me, “Yo, represent, H-Dog! Set tha record straight!” Damn right I’ll set tha record straight, so all y’all peeps out there can judge for yo’selves.
Myth Numba One: We brought in extra A.R. bruthahs from other counties to beat down tha Payabo krew.
Man, that BULLSHIT. True, there wuz more accountantz this year who be specializin’ in Accountz Reeceevable than in yearz past. But that ain’t because they wuz from otha counties. It was because any homey worth his two-year accountin’ degree knows that Accountz Payabo be a wack-ass gig. Thas why tha Payabo punks keep hirin’ them fool temps all tha time. If anything, tha A.P. wuz usin’ temps to beef up they numbaz at tha convention.
Y’all can’t tell me some of them A.P. suckas at tha Ramada wuz real CPAs, man. They didn’t have that special gleam in they eye. They looked like they thought double-entry bookkeeping wuz some kinda freaky sex shit. So fuck that boo-ya about Accountz Reeceevable bringin’ in reinforcements. Tha A.R. bruthahood represents to tha fullest and fights its own battles, y’all, word is bond.
Myth Numba Two: Both sides came to tha Ramada fully strapped.
Shit, man, if you read tha fuckin’ newzpaypa articles, you’d think we all came into that convention fully strapped wit’ our letta openers an’ staple guns an’ all that hardcore shit we bangas pack. But tha Monroe County CPA Association decided this year to install X-ray metal detectaz at tha entrance to tha Ramada’s Commodore Room, where tha convention wuz bein’ held, an’ tha A.R. bruthahs complied. That’s because even though us A.R. bruthas got crazy hate for tha A.P. posse, we wanna cool out and increase tha peace, all in tha name of tha Principles Of Accountin’ that all CPAs observe, know what I’m sayin’?
But, damn, them Payabo freakz didn’t comply like we did. Did you read about mah homey Jerry Tha Sharpie Head, tha bruthah who got stabbed on tha convention’s first day? Well, he didn’t get stabbed by no A.R. homey. Some newjack Payabo knocka named Howie Schwartz did him wit’ a ballpoint pen. (See, ballpoints ain’t hardly got no metal in them, an’ you can sharpen one ’til it be as deadly as any letta opener.)
After that, tha A.R. bruthahs wuz lookin’ foe payback. Only, contrary to what tha newzpaypas said, we used our fists, not no letta openers or staple guns. And certainly not no souped-up Bic bullshit. We wuz handin’ out tha beatdowns when them muthafuckin’ Payabo punks started tryin’ to put our eyes out, whippin’ ’round they paypa-clip chains like they muthafuckin’ ninjas. So there be another myth shattered, ’cause tha A.R. gots HONOR, know what I’m sayin’?
By tha way, Jerry Tha Sharpie Head be okay, but they had to pump a buncha blue ink outta his system. That shit can paralyze a man in 30 seconds. But Jerry’s huffed so many Sharpies an’ highlighta penz ova tha yearz, he built up a resistance. Jerry be back at work journalizin’ tha shit outta them spreadsheetz. Mad propz to Jerry. An’ big ups to them fast-thinkin’ paramedics who saved his life.
Myth Numba Three: Tha police busted everyone equal.
Man, that be tha wackest myth of all. Twice as many A.R. bruthahs got busted as them Payabo fuckaz. Tha cops be totally down wit’ tha Payabo krew, ’cuz they inform on tha A.R. all tha time. Mah homey Gary got busted by tha Five-O, just ’cuz he was packin’ some binda clips in his pocket. Anybody who offices carries that shit around, but since Gary’s in tha A.R. he a born suspect, know what I’m sayin’? Damn. Gerald Luckenbill, tha office comptrolla at Midstate Office Supply, had to bail his ass out.
Tha H-Dog ain’t no muthafuckin’ narc, but, man, if them cops bothered to shake down tha Payabo krew at tha Ramada last weekend, they woulda found enuf rubba cee-ment an’ Liquid Paypa to put ’em in lockdown foe LIFE. But I ain’t kiddin’ nobody. Them Payabo muthafuckas be high on that shit only ’cuz tha cops supply ’em wit’ it in exchange foe information about us. Them bitchez at Office Depot be in on it, too. It be a fuckin’ conspiracy, man. Word is bond.
Myth Numba Four: Tha H-Dog kicked tha shit out of Myron Schabe.
Shit, if only that wuz true, y’all. Yeah, Myron Schabe, tha fuckin’ Accountz Payabo Supervisa at Midstate, wuz at tha convention, frontin’ like he some kinda big-willie pimp, all because he wuz gonna reeceeve some bullshit Lifetime Achievement Award from tha Monroe County CPA Association. Beats tha fuck out of me what tha hell he ever achieve. I guess he achieve bein’ an old-ass geezer.
But after Jerry got cut, an’ the shit went down, Myron went all buckwild. I ain’t never seen that old fool bug out like that. Some muthafucka tried to cold-cock me wit’ a Dilbert mug, but I went all Wushu on his ass. Then I hear this wheezin’ noise behind me, an’ when I whip around, there be Myron in my face. Thas when I realize he wasn’t wheezin’, but yellin’.
“You, you’re responsible for all of this, Herbert!” he say to me. “Accounting used to be a decent, law-abiding profession until you started writing that obscene column of yours, calling for violence against Accounts Payable personnel, who are honorable people trying to make an honest living just like anyone else. I can’t even go to the grocery store without one of your young Accounts Receivable hoodlums chasing me down and threatening me. Not too many years ago, accountants all worked together, whether they were in Receivable or Payable. I chose Accounts Payable because I thought it would offer me more opportunities for advancement and enable me to provide a good life for my family. And it did, for many years, until you came on the scene and made my life a living hell! You’re a debit to society, Herbert Kornfeld, not a credit, and I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
Shit! From tha way that geezer wuz trippin’, you’d think his Depends be stuck up his ass-crack! Sheeit. He tellin’ me what it wuz like, back in tha day? He wuz probably ancient then, too! Man, I ain’t never gonna be like Myron, some old fucker wit’ no dignity tryin’ to roll wit’ tha newjack scene. Fuck that shit. When I a geezer, I gonna cash out mah benjamins an’ retire to Branson, MO. And all y’all can kiss my ass.
Myron wuz buggin’ out so much, a cop nabbed him and cuffed him. Huh. He musta mistook Myron for a A.R. bruthah. Myron wuz so insane in tha membrane, tha cop used his stun gun on him. Tha Five-O tried to bust me, too, but I be out wit’ a QUICKNESS.
Some pitiful muthafuckas po’mouthed me to tha press, sayin’ I wuz runnin’ scared. Bullshit! Bein’ quick like a fox ain’t runnin’ scared, but these wack-ass mofos wouldn’t know that, ’cuz they be soft in tha dome. An’ if I wuz runnin’ scared, how come I show up foe work come Monday morning, an’ Myron hafta call in sick ’cuz his belly’s still hurtin’ from where tha cop stun-gunned him? They ain’t got nothin’ on me, an’ that’s how it gonna stay.
So come get me, cops. None of tha bullshit you try to pin on me will stick. Never has, never will. An’ to tha rest of y’all out there, don’t believe tha hype. H-Dog OUT. Peace.
Prior to his death on April 30th, 2007, Herbert Kornfeld wrote about workplace issues for The Onion. He worked as the Accounts Receivable Supervisor at Midstate Office Supply, the state’s oldest wholesaler and retailer of office supplies and business machines.
