Nury Vittachi
My wife says I’m listening to too much rap, but I told her: “Imma not, sista, Imma good mista, where my homeboy at?”
Rap “music” was on my mind when a reader told me about blond Californian rapper Kreayshawn who tweeted that tax authorities had emptied her bank account but it was all her accountant’s fault.
No doubt she’ll soon tell the story in a rap “song”: “It ain’t ma fault, I blame da accountant, he took ma moola as I said in ma announcement.”
And then actress Heather Dubrow told reporters that her accountant enticed her to invest in a dodgy deal which left her broke. I guess she can reprise her desperate housewife role with real feeling now.
And then a star from TV’s Jersey Shore whose “name” is The Situation (presumably his close friends call him “The”) also blamed his accountant for his financial problems.
What gives? Are all entertainment accountants criminals? So it seemed, until your columnist did some fact-checking. Kreayshawn later removed all her accusatory tweets about her moneyman. The small print in the desperate housewife case revealed that the advisor was not an accountant: she just thought he was. And the advisor to The Situation turned out to have “once been” an accountant.
Accountants are a bit like police officers and teachers: they get unfairly blamed for everything.
When folk say accountants are boring, I point to Gibby Haynes. He did an accounting degree, was named Accounting Student of the Year and became an auditor at Peat Marwick. But he was also leader of a successful punk rock band that was so wild radio stations refused to play their songs. They are known as BH Surfers (full name unprintable in polite publications like this one). Not sure if he still does accounting.
Newsflash: I read that the rap star known as 50-Cent has filed for bankruptcy, which means that he technically is not worth 50 cents. One should never rejoice in someone’s misfortune, but ha ha ha you have to laugh and dance around the table a bit, right?
But a question for any accountants reading this came from a Twitter friend who likes to be known as Weird World: “What if dogs are way smarter than we think and they just play dumb so they don’t have to work and pay taxes?”
I told him that that was a ridiculous thing to think about dogs. Cats, yes.
Anyway, back to the topic of rap singing. I’m going to start a band called Condemned Building Don’t Enter so that after the posters go up everywhere, the whole population will be living in the streets, ready for my open-air concert.
I’ll make a quick fortune, blow it all on hedonism and then blame my accountant. It’s the done thing, right?
If you don’t get rap, try translating it into British English. Original: “You ain’t clockin’ me, mutha, hittin’ on my honies, brotha, Imma take you out, uh-huh, uh-huh.” Translation: “I would rather you didn’t look at me, sir, as I demonstrate affection towards my female companions, my friend, or I may have to bring your life to a premature close, what ho.”
