Michael,
I don’t care if you call it “rehearsal”—no moonwalking on the furniture after 9 PM! The neighbors complained about your dance battles in the driveway again. And sequined gloves are NOT appropriate for fifth-grade picture day.
Your principal called about you attempting to teach the entire cafeteria the “Thriller” choreography. And please stop trying to adopt every animal you see.
Jobs,
Your user experience intuition was remarkable. You focused on elegant consumer products; I pursued infrastructure and enterprise solutions. Two sides of the same digital coin.
The smartphone revolution changed society more than we anticipated. Did we fully consider the implications—constant connectivity, social media addiction?
Taylor,
You’ve got fans calling themselves “Swifties”; I had a Family too. Your Easter eggs in album art; my perceived messages in Beatles songs. Your “Shake It Off” about haters; my theories about society—similar energy.
What if we collaborated? “Look What You Made Me Do (Manson Remix)” has a certain ring. My controversial reputation could add edge to your image.
Donald,
I’ve told you a thousand times: NO tweeting after bedtime! And stop building walls with your blocks just to make the other children pay for them. Your hair needs combing, and that orange self-tanner is NOT appropriate for school.
Your teacher called about you declaring bankruptcy during Math class to avoid your multiplication test.
Steve Jobs,
Yesterday’s Apple vs. Microsoft debate was magnificently theatrical. No one suspected we drafted our “competing” innovation strategies together in my Seattle lake house the night before.
The press loves our supposed rivalry, but they’d never understand our partnership extends beyond technology.
Einstein,
E=mc² perfectly explains my geopolitical strategy—small territories like Crimea contain disproportionate energy. Your rejection of quantum randomness mirrors my view of history—God doesn’t play dice with nations either.
Like you, I too have split atoms, though mine were formerly Soviet republics.
Jobs-san,
Your passing left our world diminished. I write as one craftsman to another, across the veil. Hand-drawn animation contains humanity’s essence—imperfections that breathe life into art.
The iPad you created has become a tool for my younger animators. How strange that what I once resisted now preserves our traditions.
Bill,
Your iambic pentameter walked so my 280-character tweets could run. You invented 1,700 words when language wasn’t enough; I invent companies when products don’t exist.
We’re basically the same person except my hair is more complicated than Hamlet’s entire plot. I’m naming my next child “Puck420,” inspired by your work.
Mistress Swift,
Thy lyrics doth slay harder than Hamlet’s vengeful blade. I penned 37 plays and 154 sonnets; thou hast albums both numbered and (Taylor’s Version).
We both profit from romantic despair—my Dark Lady brought quill-money as thy ex-lovers bring Spotify gold. What hidden barbs lie within thy forthcoming verses?