Every Friday, the staff at Crazy Apple Rumors Site used to answer common help questions based on our vast experience with Apple products and our fervent belief that we know more than you do.
But not any more.
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[THE TOP-SECRET CARS HEADQUARTERS. THE OFFICE IS ALMOST EMPTY, THE DESKS ARE CLEARED AND A LONE FIGURE SITS PUTTING ITEMS INTO A CARDBOARD BOX.]
MOLTZ: Macworld media badge. Boba Fett action figure. Lock of Nancy Heinen’s hair. Unreleased CD of HyperCard for OS X. Copy of Schillerworld magazine. Hey, there’s my Apple iPad! Man, how did I not see that was just a Newton with a sticker on it that said “iPad”? Ha-ha! Ahhh, I was so young! Well, 37.
[TAKES A SWIG OUT OF A BOTTLE OF TRES GENERACIONES ANEJO TEQUILA THEN SHOUTS TO ABSOLUTELY NO ONE:] This isn’t a box of objects it’s a box of memories, dammit!
[LOOKING INTO THE BOX] And, um, something wrapped in aluminum foil that says “Rob Enderle’s liver”. I’m kind of afraid to open that. That’s from a weekend in Vegas I don’t remember anything of at all. Which is probably a good thing.
But…
Good times. And now… it’s all…
[SUDDENLY, A LOW HUM BEGINS TO FILL THE ROOM. IT CONTINUES TO GROW AS A WHIRLWIND BEGINS, SCATTERING PAPERS AND FLINGING THE BLINDS ABOUT. AS THE NOISE REACHES AN ALMOST DEAFENING LEVEL, A BRIGHT BALL OF WHITE LIGHT APPEARS, SENDING BOLTS OF ELECTRICITY SHOOTING TO THE NOW-EMPTY OUTLETS IN THE ROOM. A FIGURE EMERGES AS THE BOLTS OF ELECTRICITY CEASE AND THE HUM DIMINISHES. IT IS THE ENTITY, STILL IN THE FORM OF THE HOTNESS THAT IS JENNIFER FRICKING CONNELLY.]
MOLTZ: Hey! What are you doing here? You already left.
THE ENTITY: Re… appearing.
MOLTZ: Right. Well, it’s not that I’m not glad to see you, but we’re not really supposed to be in here. Our lease ran out today. I already gave the keys to the landlord. He just let me in here to clean out my desk.
THE ENTITY: Forgot… [WALKS OVER TO A TABLE AND PICKS UP A PEN] …my pen. Double booked in 4 billion years.
MOLTZ: Huh?
THE ENTITY: [THE ENTITY REGARDS THE PEN THOUGHTFULLY] Interesting. Future uncertain. Again.
MOLTZ: [RAISES THE BOTTLE OF TEQUILA] Well, you got that right. [TAKES A DRINK]
THE ENTITY: Unknown forces now in motion.
MOLTZ: Uh, is that something I should be concerned about?
THE ENTITY: No. Yes.
MOLTZ: Thanks. That’s helpful.
THE ENTITY: Well… goodbye! [TURNS TO THE LIGHT]
MOLTZ: Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of odd?
THE ENTITY: Jean-Louis Gassée.
MOLTZ: Yeah, well, he’s one to talk.
THE ENTITY: [NODS, THEN TURNS BACK TO THE LIGHT BUT DOES NOT ENTER, AS IF CONSIDERING SOMETHING FOR A MOMENT. THEN POINTS INTO THE LIGHT.] You?
MOLTZ: Uh, you want me to come with you? You want me to step into the light?
THE ENTITY: Yes.
MOLTZ: But, uh, wouldn’t that mean I’m dead?
THE ENTITY: No. Opposite. Alive. Everywhere. Everywhen.
MOLTZ: Oh. Hey, you mean just like Captain Sisko?!
THE ENTITY: No!
MOLTZ: Uh, OK.
THE ENTITY: Stupid!
MOLTZ: Well, it seems pretty much the same. How’s it different?
THE ENTITY: Booze! Wii bowling!
MOLTZ: Oh. Well, those are good differences.
THE ENTITY: Pudding!
MOLTZ: You’re three for three.
THE ENTITY: Baked Lays!
MOLTZ: That’s not terribly surprising.
THE ENTITY: Manual stick transmission!
MOLTZ: OK, now it seems like you’re just shouting random things.
THE ENTITY: Crab!
MOLTZ: Oh. Chesapeake or Dungeness?
THE ENTITY: Don.
MOLTZ: Oh. Two B’s.
THE ENTITY: Yes. Or… not.
MOLTZ: Aye! [NODDING] There’s the rub.
THE ENTITY: …
MOLTZ: …
THE ENTITY: Coming?
MOLTZ: You know… um… no. Thanks. As tempting as spending eternity in a parallel universe is, with all the booze and pudding I can consume, surrounded by Mac pundits of yore and energy beings who can turn themselves into Jennifer fricking Connelly at will… I’m gonna stay here. But… thanks, man. For everything.
THE ENTITY: Ah. Chicken.
MOLTZ: What? No! Hey, I did go to the center of the galaxy with you to fight Tentaculous, if you remember.
THE ENTITY: Cross-town bus!
MOLTZ: Oh, fine. Maybe it was to you, but humans aren’t used to interstellar travel. And the in-flight movie was “Catwoman”! Dear god, that made me sicker than zero G and all the radiation combined.
Anyway… you take care of yourself.
THE ENTITY: Affirmative.
[THE ENTITY TURNS AND STARTS TO ENTER THE LIGHT]
MOLTZ: Oh… hey.
THE ENTITY: Hmm?
MOLTZ: What’s your name?
THE ENTITY: Name?
MOLTZ: You never told me your name. After all these years. Do you have one?
THE ENTITY: Yes.
MOLTZ: What is it?
THE ENTITY: [PAUSES BEFORE ANSWERING] Moof.
MOLTZ: Moof? No. Really?
THE ENTITY: [NODS, THEN SHRUGS] Coincidence.
MOLTZ: [LAUGHS] OK. See you around?
THE ENTITY: [NODS] Round. Like… waffles.
MOLTZ: It always comes back to waffles, doesn’t it. Almost as if the universe were waffle-shaped or something.
THE ENTITY: Kumquat.
MOLTZ: Um… right. Well… you have a nice flight.
[THE ENTITY TURNS AND ENTERS THE LIGHT AS THE HUM RETURNS, BUT ONLY BRIEFLY. THE LIGHT SHINES BRIGHTLY AND THERE ARE SPARKS AND THE NOTHING.]
[MOLTZ LOOKS AROUND AT WHAT IS NOW ALMOST OFFICIALLY THE FORMER TOP-SECRET CARS HEADQUARTERS.]
MOLTZ: I guess this is it. Jeez. Everybody’s gone but me. Chet. Vinz. Albert (whoever that is). Masako. Howard. Ugluk. Thor. The angry Scotsman. The highly effeminate half-Orc. Gloria the Sexbot. Tentaculous. Apple’s friend Gary….
[SCOOTER THE MAILROOM BOY BURSTS INTO THE ROOM, LABORIOUSLY CARRYING A LARGE BOX.]
MOLTZ: … Scooter the mail room boy…
SCOOTER: Oh! Mr. Moltz! You’re still here!
MOLTZ: Scooter, don’t interrupt me. I’m not through reciting names. Gordy, Glaarku…
SCOOTER: Oh, well, it’s just that… there’s a package for you.
MOLTZ: Really?
SCOOTER: Yeah. It came earlier. From a Mr. Skiller?
MOLTZ: Huh? “Skiller”? I don’t know any… Wait. Schiller?
SCOOTER: It’s kind of big. Do you mind giving me a hand? I think maybe it’s a monitor or something.
MOLTZ: You’re kidding.
SCOOTER: [READING] “30-inch Cinema Display”.
MOLTZ: No. Frakking. Way.
SCOOTER: That’s what it says.
MOLTZ: Well, how do you like that?
SCOOTER: Uh, well, it’s OK, I guess. It’s a little big for me, though. I live in an efficiency.
MOLTZ: Uh-huh. Yeah, well, fortunately that was a rhetorical question. Let’s load it into my car, Scooter, my good man. Because my work here…
…is done.
[THEY EACH GRAB AN END OF THE BOX AND MOVE INTO THE HALL. MOLTZ SHUTS THE LIGHT OFF WITH HIS ELBOW AND SWINGS THE DOOR SHUT WITH HIS FOOT. IT CLOSES WITH AN AUDIBLE CLICK OF THE LOCK.]
[THERE IS A BRIEF SILENCE.]
MOLTZ: Ah, crap. I think I just locked my car keys in there.
And my box of stuff.
And my bottle of tequila.
[THERE IS THE SOUND OF THE MARIMBA RINGTONE.]
And my iPhone.
[FOLLOWED BY THE PLAINTIFF BLEATING OF A SMALL BOVIDAE.]
And, uh, apparently, the evil goat.
Darn it.
Here we go!
Puppy pile-on!!!!!!!!!
http://www.crazyapplerumors.com/?p=1036
Jumpy McJumpster!
Well I made it across with a few bruises, but the skateboard tumbled into the abyss. The guy that lent it to me is going to read me the riot act.
Is he an Armed Forces Officer, Police Officer or Magistrate?
If not, as Duke said, “It don’t mean a thing.”
Actually, he’s a volunteer at the branch library. Next he’s going to read The Red Pony, by Steinbeck.
*sigh* We’re falling behind…
Still Here!
Travels with Charlie is much better as you can laugh at his Charlie impressions.
Addendum:-Even funnier persuade him to make hand shadows of Charlie at the same time. He’ll forget all about his skateboard.
Pulling ahead……..
Stop that, DOc, you’ll go blind.
And my spare parts box is very low on eyes at the moment.
Do you have any green thumbs in there? I could make a mint by selling them outside the garden shop this spring.
Check the box with the putrid smell coming out of them. I think there are some in there that are green.
It’s green fingers over here, so if you find some of those Ace, split fifty/fifty?
I’m looking in Del’s parts box, and I see no green digits. But I do see the Red Hand of Ulster and the Red Arm of Gwynedd, not to mention the bioluminescent nose of Rudolph. (So that’s where it went!)
Ace,
Interesting about Ulster and Gwynedd but any Rednecks? The Ulster thing reminded me of my school badge. What was a heart held in a hand doing over the motto, “God’s Gift”?
Just realised, the motto was about me.
*Does stolen happy dance again*
Here is my bioluminescent post for the 9th, 10th and 11th.
Oh, and the 12th too.
*glow, glow, glow*
Nice iMoo but should it be THAT that’s glowing?
It’s the 14th now, and I can see the glow from way over HERE!
Hi, all! I’m back!
(What do you mean, “Were you gone?”!?)
A week of vacation followed by a week of hectic work stuff meant no time to be a CARS can’t-let-go.
Anyway, I’m back. As I look around, I see that there are, indeed, fewer left.
Drat you, Moltz, come back already!!!
Hi J0n,
Bi J0n.
Hi, J0n; Hi, Nxxx.
Bye, y’all.
Bloody rednecks.
Is not, Goodbye old chaps, do hope you have a pleasant evening, a better response than Bye, y’all.
Buy now, before the prices go up!
Are you kidding??? Sell! Sell! Sell!!!!!!!!
later…
Don’ panic, consult The Entity.
Sorry, forgot he’s split.
He’s split! Now I understand everything. The Entity split into two! Its old self, and Jennifer F. Connelly!
Not much choice, you’d die with either of them.
It’s time we brought this meeting to order. Why are we here?
That’s easy! To keep on keeping on!
All together now in the Sir Harry Lauder song:-
Keep right on to the end of the road,
Keep right on to the end.
Though your etc. etc.
Sorry, I don’t know the song.
Besides, the end of the road is what I fear most. What ensues? Will there be lunch, eternal damnation, or eternal damnation with the occasion lunch break?
I say, get a crew out there to extend the road ever further, so the road will never end.
Would it help if the road was made of yellow brick?
Only if you have ruby slippers.
I’ve heard of her.
No better than she should be, as they used to say.
“As you walk through the storm, keep your head held high…”
Appropriate. Liverpool is European City of Culture.
OXYMORON!
Rather, Liverpool is a Petri dish of culture.
Or Petri-pool is a culture dish of liver?
For some reason the term “plaintive bleating” always makes me think of Kenny G playing soprano saxophone.
Not to mention “ineffectual whimpering.”
Moltz wrote “plaintive bleating” not “over loud plaintive bleating.”
Sadly I know a sax player who thinks Kenny G is wonderful. Should I kill him?
No, for every Ernie Watts you have to have a Kenny G or the world goes out of balance and crashes through the guard rail. Same with the fans. It’s a delicate balance.
But if I kill him, he can associate with Paul Desmond and Bird and learn how upper register saxophones should be played.
Well. if you must, you must …
… but then you will be responsible for taking over his duties, and I sincerely doubt that you will be able to play as badly as he does.
You aint heard me!
Lets keep it that way!
*Sobs. Then wipes away tears and says defiantly*
“You’ll be sorry when I’m dead”
*Waits for dreaded, “Oh no we wont.” or “Can you make it soon?” response. Wanders off, weeping hysterically*
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Only fifty-one more posts to go in the attempt to right this topsy-turvy list.