Straight outta Compound Interest

...I ain't no fool. I know bullshit when I hear it. So I gets right to tha heart of tha matta and aks ACO-LYTE, "If you care so much about tha Accountin' bruthahs an' sistahs, why didn't you get certified instead of chasin' some wack poli-sci and Russian degree?"

He start shiftin' his feet a little and hesitatin', mutterin' somethin' about attendin' grad school. That only get mah bullshit detector goin' off all tha more. I press him, and he finally say it.

"Well, I guess that I, uh, ultimately decided that, for me, from a career standpoint, accounting is too... boring."

Half tha A.R. bruthahs at that table had to hold me back. Tha Letta Opener of Death wuz practically burnin' a hole in the pocket of my Membaz Only jacket. It didn't take long foe tha Lums hostess to notice, an' soon tha manager be clearin' us out. That manager has a runnin' vendetta against me ever since I dunked some A.P. sucka's head in a vat of Thousand Island dressing at the Lums salad bar a few years ago. But that A.P. fucka deserved to be dunked, just like ACO-LYTE deserved a date wit' tha L.O.D. afta what he said.

Dag, yo. What's been goin' on these days? First, Jerry Tha Sharpie Head crosses ova to Payabo. Now, tha bruthah who once stood to inherit mah phat collection of hangin' file folders, dope-ass three-hole punch, and pneumatic desk chair wit' adjustable lumbar support decides that mah life's work not only beneath him, it boring, too....

Props on the mad TPS skeelz: The Onion. Fight tha powa that be S to tha A to tha R–BOX!