Batten down the hatches and hide your silver spoons, ye scurvy dogs of the trade winds! The word from the gilded parlors of the Mar-a-Lago tavern is that the Great Orange Privateer, Donald Trump, is ready to name a new master of the mint. The whispers across the salt spray suggest that none other than Kevin Warsh is being beckoned to the helm of the most formidable treasure galleon in the known world: the Federal Reserve. For those of us who have spent years dodging the jagged reefs of inflation and the whirlpools of negative equity, this news hits like a broadside to the hull. Warsh, a veteran of the Morgan stables and a former cabin boy on the Board of Governors, is no stranger to the dark arts of currency manipulation and the secret charts of the discount window.

‘Tis a curious choice for a Captain who loves low tides and easy sailing. Warsh is known to be a man of the hawkish sort, though he wears the velvet coat of a diplomat. He survived the Great Storm of 2008, clinging to the wreckage while others were swallowed by the abyss, and now he looks to seize the wheel from the weary Jerome Powell. My first mate, Old Barnaby ‘Short-Sell’ Bill, spat a glob of tobacco into the sea when he heard the news. ‘He’s a man of the ledger, sure enough,’ Barnaby growled, ‘but he’s also a man who knows how to tighten the garrote when the doubloons start to lose their luster. If he takes the wheel, expect the anchor of interest rates to drop faster than a mutineer with lead in his boots.’

Indeed, the consequences for the high seas of global commerce are as murky as a swamp in the Louisiana bayou. Should Warsh take the post, he will be tasked with navigating the treacherous waters of a debt-laden empire while keeping the trade winds blowing in the Commodore’s favor. The lords of Wall Street are already sharpening their cutlasses, wondering if this new Quartermaster will favor the merchant kings or if he will let the tides of the market drown the over-leveraged wretches who have gambled their last grog on tech stocks. A Warsh-led treasury could mean a firmer hand on the printing press, or perhaps a more calculated approach to the tariff wars that currently plague our shipping lanes.

Lord Reginald of the Bond-Market, a man whose wig is taller than a mast, was overheard in the captain’s quarters saying, ‘Warsh is the bridge between the old world of gold-backed logic and the new world of digital sorcery. He speaks the language of the gentry but knows the grit of the docks.’ Whether that means he will save our sinking currency or simply rearrange the deck chairs while the hull takes on water remains to be seen. The dread pirate Trump wants a man who can keep the economy’s cannons firing without overheating the powder, and he believes Warsh is the navigator for the job.

Prepare yourselves, me hearties. If the nomination proceeds, we are in for a season of choppy seas and shifting winds. The United States dollar may find its footing, or it may be cast into the depths if the new Quartermaster decides the debt must be purged with fire and brimstone. Keep your eyes on the horizon and your hands on your purses, for when the masters of the mint start changing the locks, it’s usually the common sailor who finds himself without a berth. The age of Warsh is approaching, and the smell of gunpowder and fresh ink is thick in the air.