In the tower of E4, where the air's rare and thin,
Sits Durwood the Destroyer, with a confident grin.
With skin like a lizard and wisdom so wide,
He’s got all the answers—just don’t look inside.
“Culture? Who needs it?” he scoffs with a sneer,
As he implements layoffs and spreads all the fear.
The bottom 8%? They’re just dead weight, he claims,
While he pats his own back and plays corporate games.
Outsourcing to India? Oh, what a delight!
Why bother with locals? They just cause a fright.
And pensions? Ha! Just a relic of yore,
Durwood’s got “strategy”—who could ask for more?
With 20 million a year, he’s living the dream,
While he freezes your salary—how’s that for a scheme?
He smiles in his office, counting all his loot,
As he squeezes the workers in a nice corporate suit.
He grumbles to himself, “I’m underpaid, it’s absurd!
My peers are raking in more, haven’t they heard?
While I toil in this tower, making tough calls,
I deserve every penny; I’m breaking down walls!”
The stock price’s a shadow, it follows the oil,
While he struts and he frets, in his bubble of toil.
“Look at my brilliance!” he shouts, feeling bold,
But it’s just the market—no magic to behold.
He lost to the activists, oh what a blow,
As his board picks were rejected for the new show.
But up in his fortress, he still rules with flair,
Oblivious to chaos, he just doesn’t care.
“Prepare for the future?” he chuckles and scoffs,
“I’m the master of strategy; you can trust me, it’s gloss!”
So let’s raise a glass to this leader so grand,
As he steers ExxonMobil with a quaking hand.
In his private elevator, he rides up so high,
While the workers below just sigh and comply.
So here’s to Durwood the Destroyer, so bleak—
May his arrogance falter, and his lizard smile grow weak!