My adventures are not for the faint of heart. It seems that despite my best efforts, during every full moon I revert to my most primal of insticts. A rage takes over the likes of which I cannot handle. The only thing in my mind is a series of images I don't quite understand as if somewhere inside me is another being of unimaginable horror.
I am. A Were-Accountant.
I know it sounds far fetched but one day, as I was crossing the street, a group of bankers ran by with fear in their eyes. I stopped one in an ill fated attempt to find out what was the matter, for you see bankers only herd together when interest rates drop, and I heard no such dropping.
The frightened man in the six thousand dollar suit leaned in a spoke a word so sinister, so vile that I had no idea how to properly process this information. He spoke simply,
"Restructuring"
Restructuring, the three most dangerous words in the english language. I knew that these short, stockey financiers were running from a predator most foul. For you see, if a company is restructured, there is always a food chain.
First the lunch room attendants get the boot, but I knew there was no way a banker would run from a lunch room worker as they have never actually met (despite popular belief bankers do not have stomaches)
Second, the man who holds the doors open for you at fancy businesses and wears the little red vest and hat, they have often been reffered to as stewards or consierges but I have just told you their technical name. They are always second to be restructured, however if you do find yourself being chased by one, all you must do to elude them is to run into a building, they will then hold the door waiting for your return, if you leave from a second door, they will be trapped in a hingy pergatory until the end of days.
Having ruled these two options out, I was left with only the third and most disturbing position to ever be restructured. The accountant...

Continued later...
Unknown "A Moustache" Perplexed - 16 years, 9 months, 9 days ago