When Steve Jobs died (most likely as a direct result of the shoddy piece of iCrap that his company launched just 24 hours earlier), tearful simpletons across the globe gathered around his grave to pay homage to the genius who Changed The World?, one recycled idea at a time.
When the prophesied iJobs resurrection failed to materialise three days later, a handful of maverick thinkers finally dared to suggest that maybe Stevie J wasn’t Jesus incarnate after all, and perhaps all the gushing, glassy-eyed dogma spewing across the Internet might have been a teensy, weensy bit overblown.
Various stories began to bubble to the surface about Jobs being generally a bit of a git-about-town, and the leaked preview of a suspiciously well-timed “definitive biography” revealed he was in fact a dirty, smelly, LSD-addled hippy with a bitter, venomous hatred towards anything that looked remotely like fair competition in the marketplace. And that’s not even mentioning his various attempts to abandon his first daughter.
