My iPhone rings and it’s Ballmer. Somehow he got my private number and I guess he’s all proud of himself. He goes, “Hey, I know it’s only 9 a.m., am I waking you up?” Then he starts going on about how he just did this Yahoo deal, and how Windows 7 is awesome, and Bing is awesome, and the Xbox kicks ass, and the laptop hunter ads are working like crazy, and suddenly Microsoft is on a roll again. He’s all out of breath, like he’s stomping around in his office or something, and he asks me if I read the link he sent me where the Wall Street Journal was saying that maybe he isn’t such a complete butthead after all. I told him I had someone read it for me and tell me the gist of it. He goes, “Yeah? Is that what you did? You had someone read it to you? You guys down there in Silicon Valley have been having a good laugh at my expense, haven’t you? Well, who’s laughing now? Because the thing about Microsoft is, we keep coming after you. We’re like a bunch of pitbulls. And guys like you, with your sneakers and your jeans and your turtlenecks, and your groovy little glasses, acting all cool — you know what? I’ve been dealing with guys like you since high school. I may not be cool, but I always win. Because I will never give up. Never, never, never. Guys like you? You’re cool, but you’re weak. I find your weakness, and I go after it. I’ll chew you up and crap you out. I will eat your fucking balls.”
I was like, “Dude, hold on. Did you just say that you like to eat balls?” He goes, “What?” I said, “You just said you like to eat balls.” He goes, “I didn’t say I liked it.” I said, “So, you do it, but you don’t like it? Is that it? You don’t enjoy it?” He says I’m twisting his words around, and I tell him it’s fine, whatever, it slipped out, he doesn’t need to worry, because I won’t ever tell anyone about his secret hunger for big, hot, sweaty man balls, though I am curious about whether he wants to eat my balls before or after he chews me up and craps me out, because if it’s the latter case then it’s kind of doubly weird. Then I go, “Well, excuse me, but I have to go finish making the new tablet computer that’s going to destroy your precious little netbook market. But you can work on my meaty balls some other time. I promise. Because I know you want to. Okay? Namaste.”
Monkey Boy, honestly, you make it too easy.