#so it kinda starts out as this person on a rather suicidal surveying mission

[thehardkandy]

I'm really glad I decided to finish Exordia this morning because it did lead to just about 7 hours of writing (+lunch break and dog walk) so that I was able to do a short story front to back ~3300 words.

Feels like a bit W because the last short I did was October, which is still much more recent than the one before it had been (though I've had a few abortive attempts at getting past the first 20k of a book in there)

I spent a lot of the winter depressed and struggling to find the joy in doing something for it's own sake, so I've been trying to really push myself toward the parts of writing that have me looking back on my own writing fondly. Because even without plans for publishing stuff there is so much of my writing that I think my life is better for having written

I feel very good about what I wrote today, so hopefully I'll keep doing this small stuff

I'll say an especial shout-out to the Penric novellas, the cemeteries of amalo books, and Exordia for really making me feel that extra fondness for books and writing lately

[crackmyheart]

Badlands: Chapter 3: New Americana (Kellic)

a/n: hey i’m a piece of shit when it comes to updating but if you’ve been following me for a while then you already know that. i want to finish this story as well as cataclysm and i miss writing a lot. i hate writing big long author’s note so yeah i’m not dead and i put my heart and soul into this chapter like i do with everything else so i hope you enjoy, the situation shown in this chapter was inspired by halsey’s “new americana” music video

—

MasterPost

By the time May rolls around, Kellin and Vic have rebuilt their relationship back to the “friendship” level, though neither of them dare to take it any farther. The memories of their long-ago fling are still there, of course, but they’ve started to fade in the wake of something new and different. They’ve started going on late-night outings together again like they used to, but there’s less of the thrill that they felt when they were younger. Both of them have hardened since those days, and now they walk the streets like seasoned veterans, wishing they were still blissfully unaware of just how much worse things could get.

Tonight, as they’re roaming side by side throughout the city, they pass by a familiar corner, one that everyone was talking about only days ago. It’s right at the edge of a particularly busy and cop-infested street, where a small group of people protested—and were, inevitably, shot down. Literally.

 “This is where that protest was the other day,” Kellin says, “isn’t it?” It’s not even a question—they already know for a fact that this is exactly where those protesters stood.

 “Yeah,” Vic replies, gritting his teeth, his face darkening. “It is.”

 Though it’s far from the first protest in Badlands history, there’s been an increase in these sorts of events in the past few weeks—and, as a result, the amount of police brutality has also increased. It’s been a flurry of tear gas, shootings, and violent seizures of protesters who haven’t been seen since their arrests, and while Vic has mentioned it once or twice, Kellin hasn’t heard him properly speak on it. They can probably guess how he feels, though, if his disdain for the police remains intact.

 Vic picks up his pace, turning suddenly and jaywalking across the street, headed in the opposite direction of the busier areas. Kellin follows him curiously, calling, “Vic, what...?”

 Vic hops into a nearby alleyway, then sits down on the ground with his back against the wall. He gestures for Kellin to sit down next to him, and with questions on their lips, they do. “What’s wrong?” they ask softly.

 Now that they’re alone and close together, Kellin can decipher Vic’s emotions more easily. He’s truly angry, and he’s not holding anything back.

 “It just...it makes me so....” He shakes his head, scowling, eyebrows furrowing. “I can’t even begin to describe how upset it makes me. How angry. That to protest is to commit suicide, because no protester is ever seen alive afterward. I hate how the police have control over all of us, how the few in power have everything while the rest of us fight each other for scraps. Those protesters didn’t deserve to be treated the way they were. People like you and I don’t deserve to be beaten for having opinions, for daring to speak out against our situation. They just want us to sit down and shut up, to deal with our suffering alone and without complaint, and if we don’t, they’ll make us.” He glances back up at Kellin, his lip trembling, a gleam in his eyes the likes of which Kellin hasn’t seen in years.

 “You’re right,” Kellin says, their voice cracking. He’s said everything that they’ve been thinking but that they were always too afraid to say.

 “I try to hide it,” Vic continues, his voice staying about the same in volume but growing in intensity. “I try to just live my life. I get high to forget how angry I am. But you know I’ve never been one to ignore injustice, to turn a blind eye to cruelty, and I hope to God that I never will be. I can’t just deal with it, Kellin. I can’t. I won’t. Maybe that’s my fatal flaw, but I don’t fucking care. I’d rather die at the hands of some ruthless, power-hungry cop who shoots first and asks questions later than have to live the rest of my life like this.”

 Kellin nods slowly, something exciting and terrifying starting to flow through their veins. “Me too,” Kellin says, hoping those few words convey to Vic just how much he’s moved them with just one rant. “Me fucking too.” Their heart has started pounding with fear and rage, breaking through the numbness that’s enveloped them since Justin’s death. All of a sudden, they feel rebellious and alive for the first time in a long time, and it feels so fucking good.

 “Hey,” Vic says suddenly, seeming to partially shake off his anger. “So, I know this seems kinda random, but I’ve been meaning to introduce you to some of my friends, show you a little hangout of ours. Or, well, it’s mostly theirs, but I come around sometimes. It’s a good place to be if you wanna sorta let loose, and it’s not too far from here.”

 “Okay,” Kellin says almost immediately, hopping to their feet. Right now, they’d let Vic take them anywhere. They’d follow him to the ends of the earth if it would mean that they’d get to feel this way. “Let’s go.”

 Vic leads the way, into an area of Badlands with smaller, more run-down houses, as opposed to the skyscrapers with big neon signs and apartment complexes with hundreds of windows. He walks like he’s on a mission, not slowing down until he reaches the back entrance of a long, one-story building. Kellin can tell immediately, though, that while it may have been abandoned originally, it is nowhere near uninhabited. They can faintly hear the pounding bass of music playing from inside, and through the small window in the door, they can see flashes of light and moving silhouettes. Vic doesn’t bother knocking; it’s too loud in there to be heard, and besides, it’s not like the door is locked. The warehouse itself is in a kind of obscure place, an area Kellin doesn’t visit too often, so it’s not likely to be a particular hot spot for bored cops looking for people to arrest (though they could probably find some).

 As soon as Vic opens the door, he and Kellin are greeted with blasting music, heat, and an odd smell that seems to be a mixture of sweat, smoke, and other substances. As Vic heads inside, Kellin closing the door behind them, they’re approached by a tall, skinny guy with a fair amount of tattoos, including an owl on his neck. “Hey, Vic!”

 “Tony,” Vic replies with a grin. “Long time no see.”

 Tony glances over at Kellin, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Is this who you’ve been abandoning us for?” he says teasingly. “Have you officially become that person who leaves all their friends for the person they’re dating?”

 “Hey!” Vic says indignantly, but he’s still smiling. “Don’t act like you and Mike didn’t leave us all to go fuck in the bathroom when you two first got together. Besides, I didn’t know when the right time was to introduce you. Also,” he adds, “we’re not dating.”

 Part of Kellin had been hoping he wouldn’t comment on that.

 “Hi,” they say. “I’m Kellin. Need any drugs? I’ve got loads. Vic can vouch for me.”

 Tony laughs, briefly surveying the room that they’re in, which has no shortage of stoned or intoxicated people in it. “I think we’re good for now,” he says (an understatement). “But I’ll be sure to hit you up next time.”

 Kellin takes a moment to fully take everything in. They’re in the back room (which makes sense, considering they entered through the back door), and the door is wide open to reveal a long hallway with people scattered around, some sitting down against the wall, others roaming from room to room. The music is coming from an old but still clearly functional stereo in one corner of the room, and a makeshift tinfoil disco ball hangs from the ceiling, creating occasional shards of white when the light hits it just right. It seems like it should have the vibe of a large party, but it feels more personal somehow. Everyone clearly knows each other, and the few people dancing around in the middle of the room are more messing around than anything Kellin would expect on the dance floor of a nightclub.

 “This is our little home away from home,” Vic says. “As for the people who come here, it’s mostly a conglomeration of smaller friend groups that have just sort of converged into one big friend group.” He makes his way toward the hallway, beckoning for Kellin to come with him. “I can show you around.”

 Kellin nods, still in too much awe to say much of anything. It feels as though everyone in this building is connected. In here, they don’t really feel like loners on the very fringes of society. They don’t feel like outsiders at all.

 Vic nods to a few people hanging out in the hallway, passing a joint around. He explains to Kellin that usually the only reason doors are closed is if some people are using the room for sex. Some couples are still publicly making out, though, and according to Vic, sometimes there are casual lap dances or strip teases going on. But it’s not just intimacy, either; there are also people practicing their fighting skills with each other, as well as various games taking place, ranging from spin the bottle to card games to billiards (Jaime, another one of Vic’s friends, has a rich uncle who apparently gave him a pool table for his birthday).

 The rest of the inside of the building is decorated similarly to the back room, filled with stolen things as well as handmade decorations like the disco ball. “Most of the stolen items are my handiwork,” Vic says with a proud half-smile.

 Kellin rolls their eyes, laughing a little. “Oh, quit bragging, cat burglar.”

 For as long as they’ve known him, Vic’s most prominent talent has been his ability to steal. It’s true that he sells most of the things he finds, but he also keeps his favorite items, either for his own home or, evidently, this place. Not only does he steal large, conspicuous items (such as the neon Miller Lite sign) with ease; he also has the stealth and agility of a cat burglar, often climbing through windows and across roofs to take things from apartments on the third story or higher. Kellin’s seen him in action before, and it’s pretty damn impressive.

 “Aw, come on,” Vic says playfully as the two sit down on a mattress in one corner of the room with the Miller Lite sign in it. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s kinda awesome.”

 Kellin nods, only milliseconds away from replying when all of a sudden, in the distance, they hear someone busting a door open, followed by screaming.

 Kellin and Vic both stand up immediately, and everyone else around them stops whatever they were doing in confusion and alarm. The music in the back room shuts off abruptly, and then Kellin can hear very clearly the loud, harsh voices of men shouting: “Line ‘em all up!”

 The cops.

 Already people have started for the front entrance, but the police must have come in that way, too; they’re blocking every escape route, and hardly any of the rooms have windows in order to keep the inside hidden. Before anyone can even think of a plan, they’re all ushered into one of the windowless rooms, harshly shoved or prodded with guns. Most of them protest, Kellin and Vic included, but it’s no use—within half a minute, every single person in the building has been rounded up and shoved into the room, guarded by a multitude of hostile police officers.

 “Which one of you was it?” one of them demands, pacing back and forth and glaring menacingly. “We got an anonymous tip from someone who overheard a couple of you freaks slandering us earlier tonight. Contacted us while following you from deeper in the city, and we found you at this place.” He zeroes in on Kellin, Vic, and a few other people that look kind of like them, namely Tony and Vic’s brother, Mike. “We’ve got an idea of what you look like, so don’t bother trying to hide.”

 Kellin’s heart drops down into their stomach. Realistically, anyone hanging out in this building could’ve been talking shit on the police, but they’re pretty sure they know the exact conversation that this guy is referencing.

 Fuck. They grit their teeth, taking a deep breath in an attempt at staying calm. We should’ve been more careful. We shouldn’t have said anything at all.

 “You have no right to just round us up like this,” an indignant voice protests. Kellin, whose gaze has mostly been trained on the floor, looks up, only somewhat surprised when they realize that the speaker is none other than the person standing right next to them.

“Who do you think you are?” Vic says defiantly. Everyone’s eyes are on him now, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Even if one of us was ‘slandering’ you guys, you know what? You should be getting shit for the way you all treated those protesters, and for the way you’re treating us right now. Where did our right to free speech go, huh?”

 “You never had it,” another officer snaps. “For as long as you are within the confines of this city—which will be forever—you have never had, nor will you ever have, the right to speak freely if you are going to encourage rebellion.”

 “So what are you gonna do about it?” Vic snaps back, becoming more and more enraged by the second. “What if you can’t figure out which one of us said that shit? What if we all deny it? Are you gonna arrest all of us? Or are you just gonna pick one of us and say, ‘Yeah, let’s just say it was that one?’ In fact, why didn’t you bring your witness with you to pick us out—”

 With that, the first officer to speak steps forward and grabs Vic by the collar of his shirt. “The person in question wished to remain anonymous.” He grins, showcasing a mouthful of too-perfect teeth. “Besides, with the way you’re talking, I think we’ve already found our culprit.”

 “Wait!”

 Kellin doesn’t even realize that the word is out of their mouth until the officer turns to look at them and narrows his eyes.

 “Don’t hurt him. He’s innocent,” they lie, their heart pounding with fear as they try to keep their voice steady. “He’s just making a spectacle of himself so he can protect me.”

 “Kellin—” Vic starts, eyes widening in shock.

 “It was me,” they continue, shooting a glance at Vic that they hope says, Let me handle this. “And I’m not sorry.” Their voice grows stronger, making their claim sound more convincing.

 “I think it’s true,” one of the other officers pipes up, gesturing to Kellin. “This kid looks familiar.”

 Kellin looks the first officer straight in the eye, attempting to match the defiance that Vic demonstrates so effortlessly. “It was me alone. Arrest me, imprison me, I don’t care.”

 The second officer to speak cracks a wicked smirk. “Who said anything about prison?”

 Before anyone can react, Kellin feels rough hands grab them from behind, yanking them backward out of the lineup. They yelp as both their arms are twisted behind their back and they’re pulled out of the room, which soon erupts with protests. Vic’s voice is the loudest of them all, shouting nothing but Kellin’s name, as if he doesn’t know what else to say.

 Kellin struggles in the officers’ iron grip, but it’s no use; before they know it, they’ve been escorted down the hall and shoved out the front door. Two cops hold onto them, one grabbing each arm and leading them down to the sidewalk, where one of the men harshly pushes them down onto the rough concrete, causing them to scrape their knees. Kellin curses themself for deciding to wear shorts in the warmer weather, but within a few seconds, they realize that scraped knees will soon be the least of their problems.

 They’re no longer bound, but they barely have the time to even think about climbing to their feet before one of the cops smacks them hard in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun. Kellin lowers their head, instinctively covering it with their hands, but it doesn’t stop any of the cops from hitting them again, this time on the shoulder with a baton.

 Kellin glances up briefly and notices that a crowd is gathering around, even though it’s late at night. From what they can see, it looks like most of them are members of the proletariat, all living a similar situation to Kellin’s. They’re not cheering or booing—they’re just standing there, watching with grave expressions on their faces. On the one hand, Kellin wishes that at least one of them would try to help, but on the other hand, they can understand why no one would want to, why no one would dare.

 “This,” one of the cops says to the crowd as the baton slaps Kellin’s hands, “is what happens when you conspire against us.”

 “I wasn’t—” Kellin’s sentence is cut off by another particularly hard smack to the back of the neck.

 “This is what happens when you disobey!” the cop continues, raising his voice while Kellin sinks down further and further, feeling weak and helpless, knowing that even if they try to escape, they’ll just be caught and punished even more.

 The hits of the baton stop for a short moment, but only so that another one of the cops can tackle Kellin, shoving them onto their stomach and then forcing them to lie on their back. And then he swings his baton again.

 That’s around the time that Kellin tries to check out, tries to just endure the pain. The blows are fueled with the officer’s rage at being disrespected, as well as his hatred of Kellin’s “kind.” They can tell that their face is a mess of blood and swelling, but they don’t even care—they’ve already accepted that this is probably how it’s going to end, beaten to death slowly and painfully so that their mangled body can be used as propaganda to keep the rest of Badlands in line. It’s happened to so many others before.

 And then: a flash of darkness, too quick to make out, tackling the cop with a short battle cry. The person jabs the cop in both eyes, then swipes the baton from out of his hand, tiny and nimble and quick. “Get up!” they say, reaching out to Kellin as someone else, someone bigger and stronger, keeps the cop pinned to the ground.

 Kellin scrambles to their feet, all dizziness and pounding pain, and the person—a girl named Lynn, they realize now from a brief introduction earlier—guides them away from the action. As they take the scene in, it becomes clear that the people inside the building have led an attack on the cops—an attack to rescue Kellin.

 “Oh my God,” Kellin gasps in awe as Lynn leads them down a quieter side street, where a car is parked on the side of the road and already running—and in the driver’s seat waits Vic.

 “Go somewhere safe,” Lynn says as she opens the passenger side door for Kellin, who falls into the seat with a sigh. “We’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about us.”

 “You be safe, too,” Vic replies softly. “Or, well, as safe as you can be.”

 “It’ll be alright,” Lynn says, her eyes gleaming with determination, with an incredible will to live. “We’ll probably have to find a new hangout spot, but as long as we’re alive, we’ll be alright.” She closes the passenger side door and then rushes back to the scene, wielding the cop’s baton like a baseball bat. In the low light of the moon, she looks like a street warrior.

 “I’ve got a place for us to go,” Vic says, immediately putting the car into drive and peeling out of their spot. “I hope you’re okay.”

 Kellin shrugs, staring down at their hands. “I just feel so pathetic,” they admit. “I gave up so easily. I thought I was going to die. And you all...you’re risking your lives for me.”

 “It’s easier when you’re in a large group,” Vic says. “Never forget: you’re the one who risked your life to protect me. It was only right that we do the same for you. Bravery will come back to you—I know it will.”

 Kellin gazes over at Vic, their heart swelling with emotion. “Thank you,” they whisper, hoping that Vic will understand the magnitude of those two words.

 “We stick together,” Vic says. “All of us.”

 Back in January, Kellin wouldn’t have believed such a statement. But they’ve been wrong before.

[charlesjening]

State of the Profession 2019: We Need to Talk About Accounting’s Big PR Problem

Not sure if anyone’s noticed but the profession is in trouble. You know it’s bad when the most cynical of cynics feels compelled to say yeah, this is kinda actually bad.

Sure, I’ve talked plenty of shit over the years but I’ve also been one of the profession’s biggest cheerleaders, lifting up future CPAs when they’re about to give up on their dreams, supporting ambitious accountants at conferences and lobbying days, even sharing press releases that in the back of my mind I thought were completely stupid but knew deep down had the best of intentions. But now? Now we’re in a really dark time.

I wish I was more into sports, then I could say something relatable like “if the accounting profession were a team, it would be the 1981 [shitty team here]” and Bramwell would commend me for my extensive knowledge of shitty sports teams. Are the Clippers still a joke? The Cleveland Browns? Yeah, I’m terrible at this. Anyway.

Accountants behaving badly

Anyone noticed Bramwell has been writing an “Accountants Behaving Badly” column on the regular for weeks now? WEEKS. Used to be maybe we could scrape one of those together once a month or so, but now every single Monday conference call we have with The Powers That Be, when it comes time for our publisher to ask what Jason is working on for the week, he confidently exclaims “working on Accountants Behaving Badly, should have that done this afternoon!” Well damn.

I pulled up headlines from the last few he’s done, and holy shit. These aren’t just your run-of-the-mill middle-aged accountants embezzling from clients, we’re talking theft, fraud, kiddie porn, even murder. MURDER.

Yorba Linda accountant arrested on suspicion of embezzling $1.8 million from Suzuki of America in Brea

Rensselaer accountant sentenced in child porn case

Phoenix tax preparer sentenced to prison for stealing his clients’ tax refunds

Lansing accountant sentenced to 7 years prison for fraud

Wakefield accountant sentenced to jail, probation for stealing from church

Essex accountant admits fraud against Cats production firm

North Las Vegas murder suspect a UNLV graduate student

EY employee conspires in £76k staff fraud

PwC accountant fired after 1,700 upskirting images

Accountant lied on oath to protect crime gang torturer

I could keep going but we’d be here all day and we still have a lot of ground to cover. You get the point.

I looked back in the archive and it appears it’s worse than I initially suspected. Bramwell has had no shortage of weekly material going all the way back to July, with even more littering the pages of the archive if you go further back than that. What in the hell is going on?

I mean, maybe people are just losing their minds. These are hard times we live in after all. Everyone is all worked into a lather politically and the future seems bleak, and you know, maybe otherwise good, honest accountants just snapped and started stealing and lying and, uh, killing their wives and then sloppily trying to pass it off as suicide.

I want to say these are isolated incidents but damn, in the aggregate, it’s starting to look like accountants around the world have collectively lost their shit.

KPM-God damn they did it again

No discussion about the profession’s PR problem could be had without mentioning the elephant in the room. Not pointing fingers but I just have to say it: KPMG.

Has KPMG had a single positive headline all year? Honestly I have no idea, I’ve been too distracted by all the not positive ones. They’ve had a rough go of it, no doubt. Just when you think their reputation couldn’t get worse (on top of the baseline reputation they’ve always had as the sweaty armpit of the Big 4, that is), something else appears that makes you sigh the sigh of a bitter, alcoholic, old accounting tabloid writer who is sick of this bullshit (I’m projecting here, obvs).

Rather than blockquote the dozens upon dozens of articles we’ve written in the last year or so that simply beat this already dead horse to a pulp, let’s just pull some headlines from the last year, shall we?

SEC Says $50 Million Fine For KPMG Is ‘Significant’ and ‘Appropriate’ For All That Cheating Going On

Survey Finds That Nearly a Third of KPMG Employees Aren’t Surprised by Latest Cheating Scandal

Which KPMG Scandal Is Worse: PCAOB ‘Steal the Exam’ or CPE Training Exam Cheating?

KPMG Australia Partner Pleaded Guilty to Stabbing a Dude with a Corkscrew Outside of a School

Here’s More Proof That KPMG U.K. Totally F*cked Up the Way It Handled Bullying Allegations Against Partner

KPMG Doesn’t Think It Should Have to Pay a $16 Million Fine For Screwing Up BNY Mellon Compliance Reports

Another Day, Another Fine for KPMG

KPMG Just Can’t Stay Out of Trouble

KPMG Mexico Could Be Facing Fine of Up to $1.6 Million For Huge Data Leak Blunder

U.K.’s Audit Regulator Wants to Find Out Exactly Why KPMG Is Such a Hot F*cking Mess

KPMG Appeals One-Year Auditing Suspension In Oman, Loses

Should I keep going? I could keep going. That’s only some of the worst ones going back to March. Of this year. Soooo… seven months. Of course, no discussion of KPMG malfeasance would be complete without including what I think is my favorite headline of the year:

The PCAOB Needs to Just Beat the Sh*t Out of KPMG Already

Alright. So yeah, KPMG has a problem. But bigger than KPMG’s inability to keep its nuts out of the fire is the fact that thanks to the Big 4 oligarchy, every KPMG fuck-up is a fuck-up for the Big 4. The average person doesn’t know nor care that it’s a single firm bogarting all the fuck-ups. All they see when opening up their Wall Street Journal is some accounting firm cheating or failing in their duty to clients or whatever the hell it is KPMG is fucking up this week.

That’s not to say other firms haven’t had their fair share of fuck-ups. Which brings me to my next point.

Our toothless regulator

Those of you who know me know I’ve been an outspoken critic of the PCAOB over the years. At the same time, I can respect some of the work they do in the way I respect about 60% of what is posted in /r/therewasanattempt.

  Back when the PCAOB was formed in the early ’00s, I was but a starry-eyed 21-year-old, and let’s just say I had more important shit to care about back then without turning this already long piece into another tangent about Adrienne’s Poor Choices in Life That Lead Her Here. It would be five whole years until my world would come crashing down and send me spinning into the purgatory of accounting, where it seems I’ve been banished to exist for eternity like some drunken, angry ghost. I digress.

Not sure if you guys heard but the PCAOB is failing in its mission as it quickly approaches its 20th birthday. Damn, has it been that long? Am I that old? Ouch.

Francine McKenna writes via MarketWatch:

The PCAOB board is staying out of the public eye in 2019, in violation of bylaws established by the law that created the PCAOB, the Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002. The law requires the PCAOB to hold at least one public meeting of its governing board each calendar quarter. However, the PCAOB board has held no public meetings of its governing board since December 20, 2018.

MarketWatch asked the PCAOB to comment on its apparent lack of compliance with its bylaws regarding open board meetings.

A PCAOB spokeswoman told MarketWatch, “Consistent with long-standing practice, the Board holds open meetings to take action on business such as standard-setting or voting on its budget and strategic plan. We expect to hold two open meetings in the coming months to address our 2020 budget and a proposed concept release related to our quality control standards.”

Not only is the PCAOB getting called out by us pundits circling the profession like hungry vultures waiting to pick the last rotten piece of muscle off a rapidly-decaying corpse (no offense, Francine, you know I love you), the normies are starting to pay attention, too.

In September, the Project on Government Oversight wrote a scathing hit piece on the PCAOB titled How an Agency You’ve Never Heard of Is Leaving the Economy at Risk that I absolutely recommend reading in its entirety.

A federal watchdog you’ve probably never heard of is supposed to be protecting your financial security.

It’s supposed to be policing some of the biggest and most powerful firms in American business.

It’s supposed to reduce the risk that, as a result of fraud, error, or corporate incompetence, your financial future goes poof.

Indirectly, it’s supposed to help safeguard any savings you’ve stashed in the stock market, any stake you have in a pension or retirement fund, and maybe even your paycheck and employment benefits.

It’s supposed to help avert man-made disasters like the financial crisis and mortgage-meltdown of a decade ago; the accounting scandals that destroyed a long list of corporations such as Enron and WorldCom almost two decades ago; and the savings and loan crisis that consumed mountains of taxpayer money in the 1980s and ‘90s—the kind of catastrophes that can cripple your community, crater the economy, or collapse the financial system.

But in key respects it’s been doing a feeble job.

That goes on for, well, let’s just say it’s a long read. Read it. All that to say, everyone’s getting called out now. Remember the good old days when mainly all we had were low blows for Grant Thornton and McGladrey cracks? Yeah, that time is over.

Meanwhile, in Canada

So we’ve established that the profession has a PR problem and that’s all well and good, but at this point, I’m not entirely sure even Don Draper could turn this dead horse into dog food.

On September 11, I wrote an article about CPA Canada’s new advertising campaign, the goal of which I believe was to make CPAs “cool” although who the hell knows with these things sometimes. Yeah, I guess that was it.

In its ongoing effort to smash the green eyeshade stereotype and convince the public that CPAs do more than just annoy their clients and vague tax-like things civvies will never understand, CPA Canada hired advertising agency DentsuBos to develop a new campaign with the lofty goal “to portray CPAs in a modern light.”

The “new face” campaign comes on the heels of last year’s “boring CPA” campaign, also developed with DentsuBos, which ran a cool $5 million. Personally I prefer the AICPA campaign in which a small business owner literally gets his ass beat until a CPA appears to rescue him but whatever.

Just nine days later, Canadians across their fine country opened up their Financial Post to read all about how CPA Canada absolutely fucked up the Common Final Examination, which for my fellow ignorant Yanks who might be wondering, is their version of the CPA exam essentially. Abject failure, slapped all over the national news. Embarrassing.

So what now?

This article is already way too long and since no one is around to edit the shit out of me I could probably make it even longer, but let’s not turn this beating into a massacre, K? Point has been made.

So I have to ask: What is the solution? For all this talk of public trust and ethics, the profession is wobbling unsteadily at a pretty crucial crossroads and in desperate need of a come-to-Jesus moment. All it’s gonna take is one more big scandal to topple the whole thing, and at this rate, we should see that, I dunno, next week sometime?

I dunno about y’all but I’m getting tired of getting all worked up over the potential for some big blow-up only to be disappointed when literally nothing happens. To be frank, I’ve had doom and gloom blue balls since 2008 still waiting for the economy to fully bottom out and that never happened, so let’s just say I’m not too hopeful even Enron II will have much of an impact at this point when not if it happens. Sure, there will be a few salacious headlines and maybe we’ll get another toothless agency out of it but will anything really change? From the depths of my cold black heart I’m inclined to say nah.

I guess all we can do is wait, see, and hope middle-aged bookkeepers would stop robbing their employers blind.

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