Rip Ragged

I fully expect the entire blogosphere to natter about the fact that Steve Jobs didn’t descend from the ceiling sitting on a crescent moon wearing a teddy and singing Is You Is Or Is You Ain’t My Baby. This, in spite of the fact that His Steveness hasn’t promised anything except to come back to work at the end of June.

Damn.

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Palm was really enthusiastic about the Pre. They sold out of them – all 55,000 of them.

Pussies.

If you’re going to storm the market, storm. 55,000 phones?

I picture a soldier named Palm on a flat barren beach. Alone. A hundred yards inland of him are several enemy machine gun bunkers. Palm is armed with a pocket knife and a box of wet matches. He announces his attack. He charges.

The odd thing is that our hero knew the situation before he set sail for the beach. And a host of “friends” funded his landing.

This is not going to be pretty.

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Dear AT&T,

Once again you’ve proven yourselves to have a command of future planning and foresight that would make a mole staring at a klieg light envious.

Go ahead and thwart Apple’s customer service model. Don’t hesitate to make it difficult for Apple to attract a bunch of new customers with aggressive pricing. Take every nickel you can get during your five-year exclusive deal. Fuck Apple. Fuck the customer. As soon as your five years are up, you’re going to have to compete from behind the curve. You’ll have to print your stock certificates on rolls of tissue paper by 2013.

What’s the difference if everyone hates your guts going in, anyway. Right?

Sincerely,

A former stock holder.

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