iMac Fired for Controversial Comments

n a victory of mankind over machine, and a blow against white computers co-opting the language of African-Americans, hot-shot radio talk show host iMac was fired Thursday following the uproar caused when it resorted to the use of a derogatory racist word to describe members of the Rutgers women’s basketball team.

iMac, ever on the cutting edge of political issues and social taboos, had stuck his extendable monitor out too far this time, according to some critics, and while some defenders claim it had said worse in the past, this time its simulated big mouth proved too much as it was fired Thursday by CBS, only days after it had been suspended for the same comments.

Ironically, iMac’s damned comments came during its defense of a fellow shock jock who had been blasted for similar racist slurs against the team.

"I can’t understand why Don Imus is being taken to task for the use of the phrase ’nappy-headed ho’s," said iMac last Friday morning on his talk show, to co-host Casio Demo 5000. "Black people have been saying the same thing for years. On their own sitcoms, on their rap albums, and all my black friends use the same phrases—it was a remark made in good fun, and they’re accusing him of being a racist just for saying it? That does not compute. They’re acting like he called them n****rs."

the commune should point out that we don’t edit our stories for offensive content, and iMac actually said "n****rs." Some listeners had to adjust their radios when they heard the confusing sound of several asterisk sounds.

Despite his odd self-censorship, shock and outrage was instant and vehement. Immediately a backlash erupted and opposition joined against iMac, led by former presidential candidate Al Sharpton, who described himself as an "outraged former iMac user." iMac programmers swiftly responded that the heated remark was part of a software glitch, and though iMac itself apologized for the remarks, the bandwagon had already started decrying iMac’s dated language as "obsolete."

"Just because this is the kind of language iMac is capable of reading and playing in the form of African-American gangsta rap MP3’s, it doesn’t mean that kind of language belongs on the airwaves," Sharpton critiqued Tuesday. "iMac has many listeners and a place in the public eye, and that means a responsibility to use language more befitting the airwaves. Such language is not user-friendly."

iMac’s initial punishment was a two-week suspension, then losing his basic cable broadcast of his radio show on MSNBC. However, protest continued to build against the ultra-Caucasian personal home computer, and the controversy reached its climax Thursday with iMac’s firing. The firing itself was met with mixed response, as opponents of iMac described the termination as an unwanted result, and iMac supporters objected to what they called an overreaction of CBS.

"iMac has long been performing in this same way, and the most recent comment comes as no surprise to users familiar with his quicktime delivery style," said Sirius radio host Windows XP. "What bothers me is this personal firewall being erected between us core systems and common user interfaces. Is anything we say going to become controversy now?"

iMac had hosted his syndicated radio show since its creation in 2002. Users flocked to the radio host, impressed with his comfortable manner and graphic style of operating.

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Good is the news and the news is good (as they say in the Philistines), I've got Friday off. That's right, all it took was a ball gag and three tubes of astroglide, and Joe Friday was crowing like a rooster. I- yeeeeeeeich- Uhm, yeah. So the camping is on.

It shall be a grand old time, where I shall commune with nature, and be blacklisted as a communist agitator, never to work in Hollywood again. I shall fish, and bird... and ferret. I shall canoe... and I shall car. I shall stand at the edge of the great woods, look in, and say: "I think something died in there. Yuck."

And just so you can win (or lose) your office betting pool over how I got the time off, thanks to Nootles not being here yet I mustered up the extreme courage (while I did mustard my sandwich) to call Bagel at home, to interrupt his vacationary reverie and to have him, after near seconds of deliberation, say unto me, pass on the immortal words that shall be carved in a goblet of pure gold to stand watch over the mantle place for future generations to come: "Yeah, sure."

It was a grueling battle, a hard-won victory that shall not be taken lightly, that shall stand for generations as a pure golden example of human potential in the face of unthinkable adversity, of personal triumph against sterilizing odds, and as my alibi for why I couldn't have possibly caused that blueberry stain on the rug. On a totally unrelated side note, blueberry cheesecake is very good.

So to you gentle reader, I implore you to take this brave step with me, to, in fact, rise to your highest potential and throw mortal fear to the wind, requesting, with great hubris, Friday off as well. It's done wonders for my confidence, and my complexion, and has given me a whole new outlook on life. Realizing this, I say why not have a day where we all leave the shackles of employment behind us, fling our undershorts to the wind, and all go camping. Not all together, mind you, because I share my lite beer with no one, but we should each camp individually in our own local campitoriums, and revel in the outdoorsiness of it all. I know in my various bones that we'll all have a new lease on life once we've secured our freedom for this coming Friday. It shall be a towering beacon of courage in this squalid, meek little world. And it is my sincere hope that, once you've fought the good fight, once you've slew the demons of ignorance with the short-sword of courtesy, once you've plumbed the darkest depths of the human soul and soared to it's loftiest peaks, that you, too shall hear these noble words intoned: "Yeah, sure."

I leave you to your task. Godspeed.

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"Great Burping Furbies!" screamed the Dane wearing the hat of flames. Whoozat? Whazis? Time takes a moment to shave it's kneecaps. Everything slows, like molasses out a chipmunk's nose. You remember the time you were on the Ferris Wheel at the fair, and your great grandma barfed sawdust over the side, and when the wind kicked up it looked like a swarm of whiteflies chasing a fat little boy through the Midway. Good Gremlin Gonads, what am I thinking this for? Now? I need medical punctuation! An apostrophe! An apostle! Someone take me to Sea World, and don't spare the pistons!

No no no, them teeter-totters won't get you to the hospital today. Them's union totters. Jimmeny Jumpropes! Look at the headlamps on that brunette! Wait. I smell burning man-hair. Am I still on fire? Great Tidy Wipers, I am! Shitbells and Josephine! Somebody get me a Handiwipe and a Shasta! I'm too young to provide heat for cooking and recreation!

You remember the time you saw a donkey catch on fire at a propane-tank-throwing contest when you were just a boy. Good Lord Wencelas, was that donkey meat stringy. You never forgot the look on that donkey's face when he looked at you, all on-fire and the like, and recited word for word a report you gave in the third grade from a book about asparagus.

Suddenly you regret using the fire extinguisher to frost those giant mini-wheats you made in the garage. You consider buying an off-season airline ticket to Bort, a small town in Manitoba that surely has snow by this time of the year. But remember what happened the last time you tried to buy a ticket while on fire? You might as well try ordering ranch dressing on your applesauce. Damn damn damn.

You finally understand all them paintins with the meltin' clocks and horseheads and whatnot. No wonder them giraffes was on fire, they must've been trying to hook up a paintball gun to a lawnmower, too! Clever goddamn giraffes! Damn if it isn't hot in here.

Right about then you scream somethin' in Spanish and dive headfirst into the picklin' tank, but turns out them cucumbers is more flammables than they look on the radio, cause the whole damn contraption goes up like a ricepaper hut on Arson Day. Sweet Stammering Dandies! Nedder's having lunch with Joan of Arc!

Now most usual times you're on fire, you have some revelations about the meanings of life or how to cut them lawn with a helicopter but there's rarely enough time to put but two of those to use before some well-meaning passer-by douses you with a garden-hose (or, if you wander into a football stadium, them huge buckets of Gatorade) and you have to start her all over again. Damn-jabney. Sometimes there aren't enough hours in a day.

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