A Story For Accountants by Crad Kilodney
Young Mr. Richards, who shared a cubicle with the lovely Trixie, had at last found the ice-breaker he’d been waiting for to try to date her. Holding up the latest Wall Street Journal, he said to her, “Well, Trixie, today’s the big day.”
She looked up from the statement of cash flows she was working on. “What big day?”
“As of today, the new Financial Accounting Standards Board rule change takes effect. Companies will no longer amortize goodwill. Instead, intangible assets will continue to be carried at their original book value unless they become impaired, in which case companies will take the appropriate write-down.”
“Yes, I knew that,” said Trixie.
“It’s a great leap forward for your planet,” Richards continued. “Where I come from, we’ve always accounted for goodwill without amortization.”
Trixie turned her swivel chair around to face him. “What do you mean, where you come from?”
Richards put down his newspaper and spoke with dramatic emphasis. “You see, Trixie…I am…not of this Earth….I am from…the planet Elasmognathus!” And so saying, he stood up to show off the monstrous erection bulging beneath his trousers.
Before Trixie could find words to reply, the door across the hall opened. Their supervisor, Mr. Seymour, walked into the cubicle. He glared at Richards. “I heard what you said, Richards. That was a foolish admission on your part.”
“If you are from the planet Elasmognathus, then I am your sworn enemy….You see, I am from…the planet Omblorvats!”
There was a flash of light, and Seymour morphed instantly into a grotesque giant insect. He raised one of his six spindly arms, which held a rod-like gun, and blasted Richards with a bluish ray. Richards burst into flames and within seconds was reduced to a small puddle of steaming, brown goo on the floor. Then, in another flash, Seymour morphed back into his human form. Adjusting his tie casually, he said to Trixie, “You will not mention this to anyone.”
“No one would believe you anyway.” And with that, Seymour turned crisply on his heels, marched back into his office, and shut the door.
Trixie slumped back in her chair, shaking her head in incredulity as she stared at the puddle of goo that used to be Richards. “Holy shit,” she muttered. “And I thought accounting was boring.”
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Crad Kilodney, P.O. Box 72577, 345 Bloor St. East, Unit 7, Toronto, ON, M4W 3S9
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