Fearsome, jungle-thick Borneo,
Home of bent-bamboo ankle traps,
And dinner is lashed to a pike staff
And carried back to a village to roast.
The crackling aromas waft westward
To the nostrils of executive recruiters,
Now, self-described, romanticized,
As Head Hunters…
Heart of Darkness types,
Barking at Bluetooths and pounding back Chivas,
Who immobilize MBAs
With curare-laced pay packages
And drag them, heads spinning,
To jobs they never imagined.