Dudes, please, for the love of all things holy, get a grip. About a zillion of you have sent in links to articles like this one on Ars Technica where Woz is quoted saying he might buy one of these nutso Psystar Mac clones. Quote from the Wozmeister: “I need another tower and I like the price, so I may get one.”
People, come on. He’s joking. Okay? The guy’s rich. He doesn’t care what stuff costs. And anyway he gets any Apple product he wants, for no cost. He’s punking you, you dumb reporters! He’s been doing this stuff for years. It’s worse now because he’s getting older and he doesn’t have much to do and frankly the poor old bastard is bored out of his skull. So when reporters call him he considers it a chance to play a prank on them. He once told a guy from InfoWeek that he’d stopped using toilet paper for environmental reasons, and was only wiping his butt with his bare hand, “like they do in Monaco.” The kid printed it. Hilarious.
If you think that’s bad you should see what Woz does to telemarketers. He’s the only person I know who hasn’t had himself put on the “Do Not Call” list. He told me he wished they had a “Please Do Call” list so he could get on it. He does terrible things to them. He’ll pretend to be brain damaged, and keep asking them to repeat what they just said. He’ll tell them he weighs a thousand pounds and that he’s lying in bed eating onion dip out of his navel. He’ll make up stories, like he just came inside from burying his neighbor’s tiny dog which he accidentally ran over and killed with his lawnmower and he doesn’t know if he should tell anyone. Or he and Kathy Griffin will pretend to be having an argument (because it turns out she loves doing this stuff to telemarketers too) and she’ll start screaming at him and he’ll scream back, telling her to shut up because “I’m trying to help our family by obtaining zero percent APR financing rates on our credit card debt, okay? So just sit your white trash ass back down on that couch and shut your pie hole while I talk some business with this finance person. Okay, sir? You still there? I’m sorry about that. My wife’s on new medication and it’s just making her crazy. Oh, wait, hold on a sec. No, you shut up, slut! Do not push me, baby. I will knock those teeth out of your head! Okay, sir, are you still there? No, we’re fine. Please go ahead. This is important.”
Another one is he’ll pretend he’s elderly — “Ninety-one years old and still making love once a week to my girlfriend, and she’s eighty-three!” — and then when the telemarketer goes into her rap he’ll ask her to hold on a minute and he’ll say he’s feeling some tightness and pain in his chest and he needs to get his nitroglycerin pills but then he’ll pretend he’s fallen over and he can’t get to his pills and he’s having a heart attack and can the woman please call 911 and he starts to tell them the address but then he drops the phone before he can spit it out. And I mean he’ll act out the whole thing, lying on the floor, groaning, everything.
The worst one is sometimes if the telemarketer is a woman he’ll tell her that his girlfriend recently broke up with him (usually for some bizarre reason, like she fell in love with a carnival midget) and he’ll start telling the telemarketer how nice his girlfriend was and how he misses her so much and he keeps calling her and leaving messages and she won’t call him back. Then he’ll start to cry a little bit and he’ll say he’s just so lost and lonely and forlorn, and he can’t sleep at night — and then he’ll say, “You know, ma’am, you sound really nice. Can I ask what you’re wearing? Oh that’s nice. Do you mind if I just touch myself while you tell me about the vinyl siding? No please, go on. Really. I want to hear all about it. Uh-huh. Oh. Oh yes. Uh-huh. Vinyl. Never paint again. Lower heating bills. Yes. Yes. That’s good. No, please keep talking, I want to hear all about it.” Then Kathy will barge in and say, “Tommy, honey, it’s time for prayers. Tommy? What are you doing? Are you masturbating again? Are you on the phone? Who are you talking to?” Then she’ll grab the phone and say, “Who is this and what are you doing corrupting my son with your filth? Do you realize this boy is fourteen years old? Well I swear you are in huge trouble. I want your name and your supervisor’s name and I am calling the police right now. I mean it. As the Lord is my witness, you are going to jail!”
Anyway, trust me. Woz won’t be buying a Psystar computer. He’s just having some fun with some poor tech reporter. Good one, Woz. You’ve still got it. You old nut.