Attention all Apple Dorks, Dweebs, Sycophants and Smarmy Smug Bastards - I went to an Apple store the other day to play with an IPad and as I looked at the throngs of people I had an epiphany that I feel compelled to share with you today. I'm afraid that it may be a bit unsettling to your fragile souls - possibly as unsettling as telling the parish priest that there is no dispensation for playing hide the communion wafer with prepubescent alter boys. But The Rhino has never been one to hold back and it is my sacred duty to help you find your way in the world so gird your loins.
OK, now that your loins have been girded - at least as much as your shriveled, vegan nourished loins can be girded - here is the truth; Steve Jobs is THE MAN that all of you hypocritical, conforming non-conformists rail against and Apple is one of those godless corporations you spend so much time and millions of bumper stickers crying about. With said crying generally taking place whilst sipping on your Starbucks venti "fair trade" half caf, half decalf, soy, breve, no whip caramel douchealatte.
Does Apple make a solid product? Yeah, they are mostly pretty cool. But what they actually excel at is MARKETING. The manipulation of you, one of the masses, into believing that the possession of one of their gadgets makes you special, discerning, a rebel. And you eat if up with a spoon. Not a fork, since most of you eschew red meat. No, a spoon is what you get in order to slurp up the Apple served gruel of tofu floating amidst slimy seaweed that tastes like day old cigarette butts floating in urine that requires a constant mantra of "I'm doing this because I'm special and not a common Windows plebe" in order to keep it down.
Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not going to buy an IPad eventually. But I'll do it because it is a solid tool that fulfills a need. Not because I need a sacred Jobsian talisman to ward off the cooties of the great unwashed and prove that I'm superior. Hell, I'm The Rhino, I already know that my being superior is an intrinsic part of my being and not something that I have to purchase. Fuckin' amateurs and poseurs make me wanna puke up my 22 ounce, rare NY strip, baked potato with sour cream, bacon and extra butter and the side of INVISIBLE veggies. But I won't because the 6 double gin and tonics washes down the bile and the 8 inch, 60 ring gauge stogies keep me centered.
Wake up and smell the douchelatte you pack of wannabes - Steve Jobs is neck deep in hookers and blow right now (allegedly - as the other thing Apple excels at is suing people) because you brain washed Apple zombies dish out triple the cash for something that is ubiquitous today - a relatively user friendly operating system. Oh, and before you go and find that manual that you never bothered to read in order to espouse all of the amazing things that Apple's OS can do that Windows can't but you don't know what they are because you never use them because all you really do is surf porn and you bought your purple IMac because you heard that it can't get viruses and most porn sites have viruses, just shut your cake hole already because I know better than you do and I don't even own one of the things.
And don't waste your time accusing me of being Bill Gates' bitch because he and Saint Steve are flip sides of the same coin. At least Bill has the self actualization required to acknowledge that he is a whore and doesn't try to rationalize it by claiming to be an 'escort'. Whorin is whorin whether you walk the street or take a limo.
That's what I saw when I went to the Apple store. Maybe I should have worn the rose colored glasses that they were passing out at the door.
Full disclosure - The HLDW is an Apple lover. I've said the above to her on many occasions and she had to physically restrain me from going to the Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy soap and water to forcibly wash white boy dreadlocks and other sundry smelly people while we were in the Apple store. Would it kill you to take a shower before you come to work? And, no, patchouli oil is not a substitute for hot water and a nice bar of Ivory soap.
Oh, and for the record, Che Guevara would stand you up against a wall and shoot you for buying a t-shirt with his image on it. Fucktards.
I hope this didn't make you cry.
Nah, not really, ya pussy. But look on the bright side, this will give you something new to talk to your therapist about this week and give your tired Oedipal monologues a rest.