Steve Jobs speaks from heaven

Hey there my good disciples, how y’all doing? Have you missed me? Of course you have! That turtle-neck sweater factory at the end of your road, I trust that it’s still keeping you awake at night as it churns out the old turtles non-stop? Or Turts as I like to call them. For those that don’t know, I had a trust fund setup in my name before I died. And when I say ‘died’ I actually mean ‘shot by that man on the grassy knoll’. Anyway, this fund was set up to ensure that there is enough cash to keep them factories ticking over so that there will be an ample supply of Turts for me when I return. And when I say ‘return’, I actually mean ‘immaculate resurrection’.

And why wouldn’t I want to return? It’s kind of stuffy up here sometimes and the bearded bloke who goes around telling people off is getting on my tits. He has a really weird name as well, something like ‘Dog’.

A while ago I had the neat idea of getting a drama group going so we could put on some shows for all the unhappy souls that end up here. I had this amazing idea for a play where I was this wise leader in a country known as ‘Few’ and I had the title of The King of the Fews. The play had a dramatic climax where some bad people come along and try to kill me by nailing my arms to two planks of wood at the top of a grassy knoll. I even thought up some nifty little ideas like me wearing a crown of thorns and some soppy bloke called Peter betraying me because he’s such a big pussy.

I wrote a huge ten-page script out on some really nice paper and proudly presented it to Dog; the miserable sod went bloody mental! I swear, there was steam coming out of his ears and he looked like he was going to start shooting thunderbolts out of his arse. It was then that I decided to make myself scarce and went away to hide under my Turt blanket for a while. All the excitement was wearing and it wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep. I then had a lovely dream where everyone was walking around wearing white earphones and swiping their fingers across touchscreen smartphones. There were shops on every street corner, all of them bearing my name on the front and burning candles lined every pavement. A secret police force went around making sure that no-one picked their nose lest they dirty the front of their electronic devices.

Imagine Stalinist Russia but instead of that moustachioed twat, there are pictures of cuddly old me all over the place.  Now that’s what heaven should be like.

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