HOW DO YOU DO?

HOW DO YOU DO...

the growing annihilation of everything by apple

Bastard bedclock. Without choice or off switch the routine reverberations inflicted on my innards by my tick-tocking mattress brings me from REM to ROM: Ready On Macintosh.

From the corner of my eardrum I hear the swish swooshing of my partner’s gait.

“Hello Big Balls.”

You can personalise them, you know. They’ve made the skin so life-like, the gestures smooth and tactile, yet the companies insistence of everyone in the i1 series topped with the head of Steve Jobs as a memorial to his contribution is at best, sexually confusing and at worst, the concept of an utter bastard.

“Hey Roger, let me make you some wonderfully cool Mac snacks.”

“Oh no, haven’t you got anything else Linda?”

(I chose to change the name).

“ical say’s you got a meeting at 11, so your body needs the iron, and you know how your bowels...”

“Alright I‘ll have the goddamn cereal”

“Mac snacks?”

“Yes”

“Are you going to wear your turtle neck today?”

“I told you LINDA, I'll never wear that thing you bought me, particularly in black.”

“I’ve got it in grey, it is minus four outside”

“What’s your idroid repairs code?”

“Battery low, going into sleep mode”

The year is 2058; you say it twenty fifty eight now because that’s the proper way. The world is largely the same other than, insta-porn and 6G, even my toenails have signal, quiet why is probably something to do with the rise of insta-porn and toe-sex.

Oh and Apple’s taken over the whole worldwide control and governance for all time.

I suppose it was inevitable really. You could tell from when the C of J (Church of Jobs) started. The shops began changing; people used to come in with all their money and come out with grey boxes. Some people just sat there, staring up at the beaming apple. Weekends would see organised pilgrimages, tens, to hundreds, to hundreds of thousands from all and sundry gathered until Brushed Steel Sunday.

Then the Apple sign appeared on TV channels, in papers, on dogs, squirrels and fishcakes. What with all the fanatics and mantras the competitions cries became quieter and incompatible until they were obsolete even to themselves. The perfection and secrecy, the money and control, you couldn’t escape it; you didn’t want to, it’s cool, slick and works, who couldn't live another second without that?

Governments pleaded to be owned by them. People begged to be ipods. I couldn’t buy an unbitten Apple anyplace.

As the tag of the Apple App says. “The world’s just got better, ah-pple.”

“Blump, blump.”

I have to go to my 8 to 8 job. Everyone works for Apple now, over in ihub 5b over the iroad, past the icafe, on istreet 200,000.001. I’m a trainee Genius, my Mega-mind boss Britney is a real processor, she’s the new Bab core quarto cinco seis series. It’s apparently amazing working here, so they all keep saying, I think those rose tinted isight goggles must be “really super”.

“Blump,blump.”

“Yes Linda”

“Roger your wicked new ipants have arrived with anti-dribble”

“Thanks for telling me and the whole ibus, don’t party call me again. Can you individually hand wash all my old pants, drying each with the exhalation of your breath.”

“But that would take...”

“Bye Linda”

I don’t even know what I do at work, no one does. We are told to praise the new things and everything’s an innovation. Occasionally they come in and tell me to emotionalise this, so i sort of gasp and cry at the same time, they usually go away looking a bit confused. Thing is, this life I’ve got with Linda Steve Jobs and the ifish, it’s ok, it’s just the day to day niggly things that get to me.

Like how many more times are they gonna reinvent the book? The answer was seven then they transformed and revolutionised the book by calling it something insane like ibook. Now I have to throw away books because people in the istreet call me cavecunt.

Why pre-curse everything with i. If it’s ubiquitous we might as well just call things what they are again, like bus, or sellotape i-sellotape is pretty much the same as sellotape, Apple just made it in the shape of an Apple which isn’t really innovation, if anything it’s a bit annoying cos the tape gets stuck in the bite part which is a nightmare to get out.

Another thing, ok Helvetica is law, so we can’t change that but every word being gradiated is a bit much. It’s like I’m in some revolving reflection falling into the bases of lower case g’s and y’s. A novel reads like a commercial, it’s like letters have got too much gravity and end up just fading like the word slurberburber.

I also noticed everything pre Apple was not a rip off, now I have to remortgage Linda’s legs each time I tick off my shopping list which isn’t fun for Linda, she’s 1^st generation, her bits weren’t put in well, and those faffy clips, nightmare.

“Yip Yi Roger”

“Beiber, hows’s things?”

“Bad, real bad. I got a load of mp8s unallocated, corrupt and renamed Ko Biddley”

“Oh really, what a crisis.”

“Not with the new sort, export, robort from Apple, it’s a revolution in organisational mistakes.”

“Great”

“You know what’s really great?”

...

“The price 209.99, the worlds just got better, hey?”

“I suppose so, anything else today that will re-blow my already blown mind?”

“No, but Apple are...”

“Bye Beiber”

It’s like everyone’s an advert, it’s super fast, it’s oh so beautiful, worth the extra money, and you can’t get a virus. That was the one they lived to regret. Corkscrew-cock.jpg was its name. Who would have known Little Willy Gates from a mansion in Medina could create such a monster, the virus was also very devastating.

Within 12 hours, half of the world’s Macs were hacked and their desktops changed to Windows 95, causing such emotional trauma many reported monitors falling from the sky and hysterical middle managers listening to the Rolling Stones ‘Start me up’ on repeat, screaming. “You make a grown man cry.”

Thankfully Steve Jobs hitback with a virus wall so high it can be seen from Bournemouth. Since then no house has any windows. The Rolling Stones were put out of their fans misery and violently euthanaised by force-feeding them their entire mediocre back catalogue, the whole event lasted 17 hours and was watched by 2 billion people, their biggest concert ever.

“Blump, blump. You’ve got a meeting in 1 minute and no seconds.”

Some days I feel like just rebelling from it all and living with the Flashplayers in no -Iceland. They have a whale of a time with whales making unauthorised videos and playing them back, so the seals say. They don’t care they’re not in UltraHD 3D-D. They just get by roughing it in MegaHD 3D-D. It’s not a life though, they can’t even smellup each other using wiremore networks. They still use Facebook Ultra, yeah the one with the virtual sex poke.

“Blump, blump, meeting now”

“Morning Roger, let’s get down to it”

“O.k. what’s it?”

“You know and I know we’re not allowed to say what it is, we can’t even talk about what it’s used for, but we can definitely confirm there’s an it and it’ll be big”

“What dimensions?”

“We can’t discuss size, big as in sellable. Size is a week 13 matter. Right now in week one we have to discuss it’s possible presence in the future.”

“Ok so what is the reason for its need?”

“The need, all is necessary in our global effort to keep making things better for reasons unknown for a causes unrealised, the world’s just got better.”

Everyone “Ah-pple ”

“So what’s this meeting for?”

“For, for the fact we had a meeting in week one to discuss it. If we didn’t how would we cope in week 2, the whole thing would be a mess.”

“Quite, is that all?”

“Yes, I grouped you in for a meeting next week furthering are discussion in week one.”

Sigh. "Bye"

“Blump, blump. How was your meeting Roger?”

“Like frying eggs in space”

“That’s a good joke, please correct if response was unsuitable.”

“Beep, response corrected”

“How was your meeting Roger?”

“Like frying eggs in space”

“Are you hungry for eggs?”

“Yes”