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Illustration: Seth
 And what a year it's been! From queries about detaxers to desperate pleas for help on the homefront, CAmagazine's daring advice guru has been busy as a CA in tax season — he's even got a love interest as well as deep dark secret
Since CAmagazine introduced our resident Dear Abby, the eminent Mr. Snafu Specialist, to our readership three years ago, accolades have poured in from every city, prairie town, village, nook and cranny of this country. Letters from chartered accountants across Canada landed in bagfuls on the desk of our resident oracle, expressing their undying gratitude for the gift of Snafu's bountiful wisdom. CAs have found his advice most helpful during the season of tax returns, a time when their offices are invaded by unusual clients. This year though, it's Snafu who is over-whelmed — by the plights and fancies of a few CAs clearly under the influence of a full moon.
Running with wolves
 Dear Mr. Snafu Specialist,
I'm a forensic accountant. Last year, I got a call from a member of the legislature in a country that is a powerful ally of Canada. For the purposes of this letter, let's just refer to this well-known country as the Land of the Freeloaders and the Home of the Brazen, because this best describes the insane corporate accounting practices that went on there recently. This legislative member asked me to investigate reports that a certain notorious corporation from there — we can call this company Grab The Money An' Run, or An' Run for short –– had scammed the CCRA here in Canada and avoided paying more than $60 million in taxes.
I duly commenced my investigation, and hoo-boy Mr. Snafu, the shenanigans I uncovered! The corporation allied with a major bank in an illegal chase for tax-free bucks; the complicated schemes they successfully executed made that terror of tax avoiders, the almighty CCRA, look like a tame pussycat. I could tell you all kinds of stories about the two corporations, but that's not why I am seeking your advice.
I am writing you because while I was conducting my investigation, I foolishly fed my wife juicy details about what the accountants in these firms were up to. Snafu, telling her was a colossal mistake. It was done in the throes of passion, and it led to the kind of changes around my house where peace became an alien concept and nagging grew to nuclear proportions. "What the hell is wrong with you anyways?" she'd snap at me every evening. "Why aren't you a sexy accountant like all those sexy accountants at An' Run who made loads of cash by doing all the right things? Don't you want to retire early? Who cares if their companies have gone under? They are retiring early with loads of cash! Who cares if some of them are going to jail? Their wives will live in comfort and luxury while they serve their term!"
She would go on like this all night. I'm afraid to go home these days. But the worst of it is that my wife, who never used to give a flying flock about accounting, has developed an insatiable interest in it, greedily reading up on every scandal, and endlessly browsing websites and participating in discussion forums. And now, I just found out that she has been carrying on an e-mail correspondence with one of the accountants at An' Run. They are planning to meet in a restaurant nearby next week. "Finally, I get to meet a real accountant, one with a big pocketbook who knows how to do useful things with money," she told me. Mr. Snafu, what should I do? What did I do wrong?
Chased out of home in Chatham
Dear Chased,
You deserve to be slapped, or even shot. Why were you discussing such matters with your wife? Don't you know that the iron rule of life in North America is that good is boring, while evil is alluring? Why do you think the accounting profession was ignored by the media all these years until the recent scandals, whereupon the jackals of journalism leapt upon accountants in a gleeful frenzy? I ought to abandon you to your fate, but I am committed to helping accountants at tax time. The solution to your problem is simple. Just show up unannounced at the restaurant, and shout, "Senate investigation!" Your rival should scamper out of there as fast as his corrupt little legs will carry him.
Detax redux
Hey Snafool or whatever your name is,
I read your story on detaxers and I have one very important question. If Eldon Warman, the detax guru, is not in jail after 15 years of being detaxed, doesn't that speak more loudly than the fear-inducing article you wrote? (See CAmagazine , Detax man cometh, March 2002).
I have met some detaxers who are enjoying a prosperous and happy life, and have been doing so for the past 10 years, obviously not sharing a cell with Bubba.
Perhaps you should have looked a little deeper into the detax system on Warman's site where you would have found the answers. Again, I ask you this question: why is Eldon Warman not in jail?
Detax Sympathizer Somewhere in Canada
Dear Sympathizer,
Many detaxers are not in jail because the justice system doesn't see the benefit in incarcerating nut bars. At one time, there were institutions devoted to keeping such people out of circulation where they could be observed, and medicated under supervision. Sadly, such highly useful places are in bad odour today, and many lunatics are allowed to roam the streets in the false belief that this is better for society. The unfortunate case of the detaxers shows most convincingly that it is not. If you are seriously considering becoming a detaxer, I am obliged to warn you: the leviathan moves slowly, but it does eventually get its prey. The CCRA has an appetite for devouring detaxers, so you may find yourself sharing that cell with the big fellow. And I am most reliably informed that he isn't a kind and loving "partner."
Studying video games
 Dear Mr. Snafu Specialist,
I get a lot of tax-related mail at this time of the year. Just recently, a client faxed me a survey that "showed" that Canadian children between the ages of eight and 16 would give up video games or their allowance to help their parents pay for college or university. It's something called an RESP Intuition Survey. I've attached a copy. What do you think?
Disbelieving in Dresden
Dear Disbelieving,
Snafu's eyebrows literally flew off the top of his head when he read your letter and attached survey. Clearly these children are immigrants –– from another planet. Or more likely from some dirt poor fourth world country where they have no idea what video games are and know nothing of the interminable hours of enjoyment real Canadian children derive from having their brains turned to mush by phosphorus images. Asking children whether they would give up video games to free up money for education is akin to asking politicians whether they inhaled or pressing adults about their sex lives —— the answers invariably contain a large measure of fiction.
A sampling of the findings is instructive. According to the survey, "technology and medicine/healthcare are the fields most students would like to pursue." Indeed. I wonder if anyone bothered to explain to these eight- to 16-year-olds that technology is not just another word for Nintendo or PlayStation. And I suppose their interest in medicine comes from long hours pleasurably spent examining the human body on those Internet sites that pop up ever so often despite the existence of Net Nanny and other such filters.
The report noted that more than 90% of Canadian parents have started teaching their children financial planning skills. This most certainly explains the boom in lottery ticket purchases. Obviously this most popular form of financial planning requires inculcating good habits such as putting aside $2 every week, diligently studying past winning numbers, and analysing the birth dates of lucky family members. And let's not forget the all important lessons on how to scan the papers (every Thursday and Sunday morning for 649 stocks and Saturday for Super 7 bonds) to observe how one's investment is doing.
Clearly what this study shows is that we should take all studies with a large grain of salt.
Love in the Time of Snafus
 Darling Snafu:
Since you began your employ as CAmagazine's advice columnist extraordinaire, I have read each and every one of your letters, sometimes several times over, lingering on your magnificent handling of words and imagery, how efficiently you deal out advice, with such eloquence and yet economy. I have, truly, never known any person such as you. What skill! What composure!! What grace!!! Indeed, now, I must tell you my precise feelings, express as I have never done to anyone, something that has been pressing on me, oppressing my spirits and generally causing me great discomfort, especially now during the tax season when I really should be doing my work. But I cannot, you see, because, dear darling Snafu: I am in love with you. Yes, madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with you.
As I sit here now, in the dim evening light of my modest office in a little town north of Toronto (I don't dare yet reveal my identity but I will disclose that I am a sole and single practitioner, single being the operative word here) staring at the endless pile of tax returns that only seem to grow higher as the days go on, as my heart grows heavier and my answering machine clogs up with messages and my… well, you get the picture. Suffice it to say, I cannot go on like this Snafu. If I am not able to find a way to release these feelings that have been pent up inside me nigh on three tax seasons, I shall verily go mad, quit my practice and roam the earth forever, leaving a trail of unfinished paperwork and some very angry clients behind me.
You understand chartered accountants so well and are so wonderful at giving advice; I was hoping you would have some for me, even as it concerns such personal and private affairs as this. Better still, if we could meet and talk about this further I would be forever indebted to you, my darling Foo (as I like to call you secretly.)
Yours always, Lost in Loveland
Dear Lost,
Mr. Snafu is both flattered and troubled by your missive. Flattered because it is always a pleasure to find one's person and abilities appreciated; troubled because the love you so eloquently expressed shall sadly remain unrequited. I am sorry but there are vital reasons why Snafu's identity must remain a closely guarded secret.
First and foremost, Snafu does not only provide advice for chartered accountants; this is merely a sideline. Snafu also provides advice for CSIS, the FBI, MI-5, the CIA, and remnants of the defunct KGB. As a result, Snafu is privy to enough classified information to bring down all the major governments of the world. If it were to come to light that any of this information had been, in the heat of passion, passed on to you (see previous letter by the unfortunate Chased out of home in Chatham), there is every chance you would be "terminated with extreme prejudice."
As a result, Snafu has tended to keep to himself for much of the past 40 years, residing in the past 20 with his aged mother. Snafu's mother is another reason why he cannot get involved in an affair of the heart since a significant proportion of his time is spent taking care of her. She has also become rather possessive in her old age: deceptively frail-looking, she exhibits a volcanic rage whenever she suspects any woman of having romantic designs on her beloved son. She has, on a number of occasions, boxed the ears of the poor cleaning lady in the mistaken belief that her activities were a prelude to moving in and becoming Mrs. Snafu.
The final reason why we cannot meet is that Snafu is deeply wary of women professing undying love for him, since at a time in the distant past, when Snafu was but a callow youth living in Europe, and when his mind was suffused with silly notions of romantic sentiments, he was deeply wounded by a young woman to whom he had bared his soul and given his unreserved love. She was a Frenchwoman, a Parisian, Odette by name –– but enough of that. Suffice it to say, Snafu has sworn off women forevever. Consequently, dear lady, I am afraid we cannot meet. As for advice, I do not have any for you, save one piece of conventional wisdom that is a tried and true recipe for heartache of all manner: work. Work is a cure-all, so my recommendation is that you dive into the mounting pile of tax forms on your desk with the same passion as you did romance and feel fortunate you are employed in a profession that will never leave you twiddling your thumbs for want of something to do.
I lived in Jamaica for many years, and I will leave you with a saying from those wonderfully expressive people that fully captures the tragedy of romantic attraction: "Wanty-wanty can't get it, and get-it-get-it no want it." In other words, much of love is unrequited. So just grin and bear it like everyone else. |
