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Have I destroyed Apple by resigning? Do the faithful think this is like if Jesus went back to carpentry? – Fake Steve Jobs
Let’s hope so — fingers crossed. Because the only thing more annoying than Apple products is the people who use them. Not just because they tend to be personally annoying, though they do. But because they never shut up about it. I am sick of your cultists giving me their laundry lists of why my PC is inferior. I’m sure it is. But I unapologetically keep purchasing pieces-of-crap HP notebooks (at a clip of about one every two years, since that’s how often they fail me), just to annoy you and your Kool-Aid drinking iCatamites, to fly the middle finger of resistance in the face of your moony-eyed groupthink and technological triumphalism.
Fake Steve Jobs, I am sick of both you as an individual, as well as being sick of what you represent. I am sick of your trendy untrendiness. Your eternal black turtleneck. You’re freakin’ 56 years old. You’re worth 5.5 billion dollars. Time to change your shirt, man. You smell like stale Speed Stick and sweaty affectation.
I am sick of your never-ending stream of overhyped, overpriced, unnecessary iProducts. Your iPads and iClouds and iToldyouso’s. I’m sick of the way you lowercase your “I’s” for all proper nouns, a transparent act of false modesty, as though the laws of nature and punctuation don’t apply to you. I’m sick of how I can no longer get all the way through lunch without my dining companion succumbing to iPhone interruptus. And I’m sick of the way your iPod has put every record store within a 100-mile radius of me out of business. I can no longer even find one at the mall. But I sure as hell can find an Apple Store, where iDorks stand six deep to get their iProducts iServiced, as they sport your iUniform (mom jeans and New Balance shoes), completely oblivious to the fact that unlike you, they’re not rich enough to get away with dressing that badly.
Fake Steve Jobs, you’re a computer geek, so you’ll understand that life is a binary choice. You are one thing, or you are the other. You are Coke or Pepsi. Stones or Beatles. Dog person or cat person. SUV or Prius. Jesus or Satan. Real or fake. Wood-burning fireplace or gas. Bourbon or vodka. PC or Mac. Me, I’ve made my choice: Coke-Stones -Dog-SUV-Jesus-Real-Wood-burning-Bourbon-PC. So I have no room in my life for your iClutter.
Don’t get me wrong, you have my sympathies on your health travails. And I’m glad you’ve resigned in order to focus on your physical well-being. Here’s hoping you and your new liver have many happy, healthy years together. That said, I hope your company gets bought out and sold off for parts by a consortium of the record-store clerks you threw out of work, along with the Chinese iSlaves who manufacture your products, though there’d have to be a lot of the latter, since the ones who haven’t killed themselves are only paid about $293 a month, and that, after a 65 percent raise after the rare negative press that ensued after the iSuicides.
Let us pray that Apple is done. Or that at the very least, that smug and snarky little iPunk, Justin Long, shoots a new Apple commercial in which John Hodgman once and for all crushes him and his metrosexual skinny jeans with an old-school IBM mainframe, eats his heart, and picks his teeth with Justin’s bones. That would be iDeal.