Original story by fuiru:

“One of my favourite Steve Jobs stories was the time the engineers working on the iPod brought their finished prototype to him in his office. He said it was too big, they needed to make it smaller. They said it was as small as they could make it, it couldn’t be made any smaller. So he took the prototype over to his aquarium and dropped it in. The iPod sank to the bottom, and as it did, tiny little bubbles came out. ‘See those bubbles,’ he asked. ‘They’re air inside the iPod. Make it smaller.’

“Another story about Steve Jobs was when they brought the prototype for the iPad 2 to his office. The engineers told him it was faster than the first iPad. He took it over to his aquarium and dropped it in. ‘Look how slowly it sank,’ he told them. ‘Make it faster.’

“One time a newly hired intern had been sent out to get Steve a sandwich. When she brought it to him, he looked at it. ‘I thought I ordered the beef on rye,’ he asked. She told him it was indeed beef on rye. He took it over to his fish tank and dropped it in. ‘Does that look like beef on rye?’

“He was always dropping things in that fish tank. We couldn’t stop him. We told him he had to stop, he wouldn’t listen. It was full of stuff that shouldn’t be in an aquarium.

“The fish had all died years ago. One had been crushed under an early generation iMac. The others were all poisoned. He didn’t care.

“It got to the point where there was no room for anything in the fish tank. When we emptied it after he died, we found a body in there. We never found out who it was.”

fuiru:

Last weekend, when Steve stayed at Casa De Fuiru, he brought a purple box with him.

“This is for you,” he said, presenting it to my wife and I. “It’s a Monica’s grape pie. Monica’s does the best grape pies.” Then, barely audibly, he muttered under his breath: “And lo with this blessing, thee I also do curse.”

Steve then went on to tell us that since he tried these pies for the first time, he has literally thought about them every day.

I watched him as he said this. His eyes looked into the distance, and for a second I no longer saw Steve. Instead, I saw a sailor, clinging to a raft in the middle of the ocean, his eyes scouring the horizon for blessed relief, knowing that with each rise and fall of the sun there may never be an end to his torment.

I saw the man who, as a child, watched Aphrodite bathe, and who lived his life knowing he would never again see this epitome of beauty (unless he drove 45 minutes away, to Naples, NY, and bought one (I was starting to see Steve again at this point)).

Tonight, Mrs Fuiru and I tried the pie. And lo, with that blessing, we are now also cursed.

Monica’s grape pie is like someone melted down a candy store and placed it inside a pastry crust.

It’s like having a party in your mouth that’s fully catered, with none of the premium liquors running out by midnight and the next day someone else cleans and tidies your house.

After tonight, if I were to ever write an erotic novel, it would be about an innocent young man who is seduced by a wanton grape pie that makes him do all sorts of pervy things, most of which involve putting spoonfuls of the pie in his mouth, slowly. The eighth chapter would consist of nothing but groans, while chapter sixteen would be banned in Hungary. The cover would be a black and white photograph of a plate with pastry crumbs on it.

Since eating a piece of this pie, I have become illogically and obsessively jealous of the foil dish it came in, because that goddammed foil dish has been able to cup the joyous grape pie against its bosom for several weeks. If I could be reincarnated as an inanimate object, it would be a foil pie dish with a Monica’s grape pie in it.

After eating her first mouthful of this pie, my wife said, in a halting and disbelieving fashion: “I don’t really understand what’s happening in my mouth right now.” Before either of us could eat any more, we embraced for several seconds.

Steve, if you’re reading this, I wish to thank you. Thank you for sharing your curse with us. Our lives will never be the same again.

Happy pi day, everyone. Especially you, Phil. Especially you.

Hey guys!

Don’t forget that Mother’s Day in the UK is 10/03/2013!

fuiru:

wordishness:

• Assthrasher
• Cyclonic Bloodbath
• tWatpArty
• Müthåfückå
• Distended Anus Queens

Brian Molko’s Rectal Escape
Tokyo Gut Cleavage
Desiree Walker and the NEHNEHNEHICAN’TSEEYOUs
Cheesethump
The Very Angry Caterpillars
The Manbaps

Burn Hiroshima, Burn
All The Nation’s Sphincters
Jägerbombastic
Bloody Blondie
Foo Fighters

50 Shades of Grape Pie

fuiru:

Last weekend, when Steve stayed at Casa De Fuiru, he brought a purple box with him.

“This is for you,” he said, presenting it to my wife and I. “It’s a Monica’s grape pie. Monica’s does the best grape pies.” Then, barely audibly, he muttered under his breath: “And lo with this blessing, thee I also do curse.”

Steve then went on to tell us that since he tried these pies for the first time, he has literally thought about them every day.

I watched him as he said this. His eyes looked into the distance, and for a second I no longer saw Steve. Instead, I saw a sailor, clinging to a raft in the middle of the ocean, his eyes scouring the horizon for blessed relief, knowing that with each rise and fall of the sun there may never be an end to his torment.

I saw the man who, as a child, watched Aphrodite bathe, and who lived his life knowing he would never again see this epitome of beauty (unless he drove 45 minutes away, to Naples, NY, and bought one (I was starting to see Steve again at this point)).

Tonight, Mrs Fuiru and I tried the pie. And lo, with that blessing, we are now also cursed.

Monica’s grape pie is like someone melted down a candy store and placed it inside a pastry crust.

It’s like having a party in your mouth that’s fully catered, with none of the premium liquors running out by midnight and the next day someone else cleans and tidies your house.

After tonight, if I were to ever write an erotic novel, it would be about an innocent young man who is seduced by a wanton grape pie that makes him do all sorts of pervy things, most of which involve putting spoonfuls of the pie in his mouth, slowly. The eighth chapter would consist of nothing but groans, while chapter sixteen would be banned in Hungary. The cover would be a black and white photograph of a plate with pastry crumbs on it.

Since eating a piece of this pie, I have become illogically and obsessively jealous of the foil dish it came in, because that goddammed foil dish has been able to cup the joyous grape pie against its bosom for several weeks. If I could be reincarnated as an inanimate object, it would a foil pie dish with a Monica’s grape pie in it.

After eating her first mouthful of this pie, my wife said, in a halting and disbelieving fashion: “I don’t really understand what’s happening in my mouth right now.” Before either of us could eat any more, we embraced for several seconds.

Steve, if you’re reading this, I wish to thank you. Thank you for sharing your curse with us. Our lives will never be the same again.

My salutation to all friends upon their first grape pie experience: “You’re welcome… and I’m sorry.”

fuiru replied to your photoset: Phil is the best guesser. This had me laughing…

Last night someone (I think it was Kate) did a picture for “Ninja” and it was this entirely black figure with a sword. As soon as I guessed correctly I realised that I had the letters JAYZ and cursed my overly fast response

That was me! That was my JAY-Z ninja!

(That app is so freaking buggy. After I drew ninja for you, I played my move with Jann, but instead of seeing her drawing, I saw my ninja drawing and guessed it. So weird.)