I bumped into our favorite asshole, Steve Jobs, on the streets of Manhattan the other day, and to be honest with you, loyal readers, I kept my head down. No, I’m not one hundred percent proud of my cowardice, but I’m also known around the Retardo offices for not being anyone’s fool. I know Jobs, and I know he’ll go to any length necessary to protect the precious image of himself as “the guru to the creative promise in us all” that he has so carefully manufactured over the years—or so I assumed…

I thought I had slunk well past the Mussolini of Mac, and had raised my head to proceed quickly to my destination (never mind where, ever-meddlesome reader), when I felt a hand, icy cold, land suddenly upon my shoulder. Startled, I spun to face my assailant—all the while distinctly aware of the air growing close and still around me, of sound suddenly muffled from my ears, of the light in the sky abruptly becoming too bright, as if overexposed, washing out the city landscape—it was Steve. Jobs. He had spotted my face in the crowd despite my spineless attempt to dodge him, and now he was going to kill me in front of the whole world…and there was nothing I could do. And he would probably get away with it, too! The goddamned world had always let this fucking shit head get away with anything he ever wanted, and now he was going to tear my head from my shoulders and suck the…

But surprisingly, no.

I won’t lie to you, friends. We argued. So much that we decided to take it off the streets and back to my artfully decorated cubical at Jose Headquarters, so as to not draw any more attention to his neatly trimmed beard (it looks just as nice in person!). Turns out that his people keep close tabs on this site, and bring to him the truth we’ve told, and he is pretty fucking pissed about it.

We talked all through the long night, and though we agreed on nothing, we did reach an easy rapport with each other, as generals often do while their respective soldiers’ slug it out in the bloody valleys below. We drank wine, we listened to Manford Mann, and soon I had him relaxed enough—and myself confident enough—to ask the question I pose to every visitor of my office.

He beamed, and immediately said yes, then disrobed so I could draw his portrait. The results are above and to the left, people. Click on it to view the full version. I found him to be a surprisingly soft and vulnerable subject. Tell me what you think. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008 at 4:20 pm and is filed under Chronicles, Photogenetic. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.