The Fiduciary: A Poem
Sing to me,
O Muse,
of the rapacious hunger
of unfettered capitalism.
Of the dubious
legality of
fiduciary
responsibility,
and the slavish
devotion
to shareholder value,
which has sent countless souls,
battered, benighted, and bereft,
debased and despairing,
morally and financially compromised,
to the House of Death.
Consider the tragic
tale of timid Tim,
son of the shipbuilder Donald,
and stalwart sidekick
of the once wily entrepreneur Steven,
who assumed control,
and greatly expanded,
the indomitable empire of Apple,
a shrewd and cynical corporation
whose ubiquitous touchscreens
have caused more conflict
than the Golden Apple of Discord itself,
an accursed fruit
which the devious goddess Eris,
strife incarnate,
employed to scandalize
the glorious wedding
of Peleus and Thetis,
singlehandedly sparking
the Trojan War,
laying waste
to legions of noble heroes,
and leaving behind
scores of despondent children
and heartbroken wives.
Could not timorous Tim,
billionaire chief executive
of one of mortal man's most
valuable companies,
have cajoled King Donald,
ignoble failson of Fred,
and the angriest
most ignorant,
and most repulsive
of the Beta Men,
sordid practitioners of
misogyny,
misandry,
child predation,
and cuckoldry,
by calmly and rationally explaining
to the incompetent King
that his destructive tariffs
were little more than
regressive taxes,
which disproportionately
harmed
his woefully and willfully incompetent base,
and suggested instead,
with his sycophantic grace and obsequious congeniality,
that the rapidly decaying philanderer,
nepobaby of Wharton,
deposit said
destructive tariffs
firmly
into his rectum?
Could not terrified Tim,
undignified alumnus of Duke University,
the insufferable champions
of college basketball
and racial animus,
have refused to heed
his master's
demands to remove
ICE-tracking
smartphone apps
from the Apple Store,
which complied with
First Amendment laws,
and were helping
melanin-rich mortals
avoid ignominious capture
and inhuman detention
at the hands of
dishonorable and disreputable
mercenaries?
Could not thick-headed Tim
have declined to
prostrate himself
before the spiteful,
off-brand emperor,
and stood in solidarity
with the proletariat,
and demonstrated strength
for his fellow citizens,
by resisting,
however futile,
to wade
in the ever-encroaching
tide of fascism?
Could not tiny Tim have,
if nothing else,
maintained
his dignity
and pride?
O cruel and wicked
Fates,
what venal
machinations
you weave
into the vacuous souls
of cowardly men!
Listen to Me Ramble
If you love the sound of my voice half as much as I do, you should check out the replays of the following Substack Live discussions where I was the esteemed guest.
On Sept. 25, the inimitable Michael Estrin and I discussed the dismal state of American capitalism, the corrosive effect of money on culture and politics, and the surprising amount of heart displayed by the characters in Leverage. Watch the video replay by clicking HERE (and scrolling to the bottom of the post).
Last Wednesday, me and the mega-talented Andrew Boryga had a candid conversation about the ecstasy of creating art, the agony of commercial expectations, the vacuousness of social media, and the importance of focusing on the one thing we can control: writing. Watch the video replay by clicking HERE.
If those conversations don't sate you, I post links to all my past and future media appearances on my webpage. You can explore the full slate by clicking HERE.
Stay frosty out there.
—Amran
