Hazelnut? French vanilla? Almond toffee? No. Because, come on. These are abominations. Also, no more non-dairy creamer. And no more Equal. Splenda is okay. This is my first new edict after a quick roll through the Stanford Shopping Center yesterday. It’ll be a clause in our new lease agreements.

Obviously we can’t enforce this in every corner of the world. Just in malls that have Apple stores. But hey, it’s a start. We expect customers will be thrilled that we’re working on new ways to improve their experience. I’ll have an essay, “Thoughts on Flavored Coffee,” coming soon.

So those clever kids at the New Yorker think they’ve figured out a way around my dieresis ban. David Remnick, the editor of the magazine, has an uprising on his hands, with pissed-off New Yorker writers tearing the hair out of their powdered wigs and telling Remnick he needs to do something, goddammit!

So Remnick just put out a style guide memo saying that from now on the magazine will do two versions of every story. The version for print and Web browsers will contain the dieresis, as always. For the iPad they will make a new version that substitutes hyphens for the dieresis. As in, co-ordinate, re-elect.

Yeah, but no.

We’re now going to amend our developer guidelines to say that all content must use “conventional spelling and punctuation,” as defined by Apple, on a case-by-case basis.

The only question we have is whether we should tell the New Yorker about this now, or let them spend a few months fixing every article in their 85-year archive and then tell them.

The second way is more fun so that’s what we’ll probably do.

But either way, cock block! Yay us.

Just got this email from a guy at the Free Software Foundation:

We personally do not use the dieresis in our own writing, but we respect and will defend the right of the New Yorker or anyone else to do so. Who are you to just go changing the English language? And what’s next? Will you outlaw the umlaut in German? Diacritical marks in French? And while you’re at it, why not acute and grave accents? Where does it end?

Answers to those questions, in reverse order:

It ends where I say it ends. It’s my machine, and I decide what you can do with it. Deal.

The French and German stuff can say.

What’s next is I’m going to have Silvano, my assistant, wheel me around the Stanford Shopping Center and I’m going to point to things that I want banned.

And who am I? I’m Steve fucking Jobs, bitch. I invented the friggin iPod. And the iPhone. And the iPad. And I’m not changing the language. I’m making it better. If you didn’t have such a massive ego you might realize that I’m doing this for your own good.

Reëlected. Uncoöperative. Coördinated. Enough already, you poncy private school fruits!

You can keep them in your print edition. But on the iPad? No way. We won’t support them.

Get used to it, my friends. There’s more to come.