Yesterday, I reported about how neighbors near Apple’s secret car-making lab were reporting “motor noises” late at night. Since electric cars, like what Apple is assumed to be working on, are pretty silent, this is puzzling. I speculated that maybe Apple Chief Design Officer Jony Ive was working on his sand rail in there, which is where the trouble started.
See, only one quote from Jony Ive talking about his off-road monster made it into the article that ran, even though I spent hours in an interview with him that took place entirely inside my head. I think the portrait of Jonny Ive, lover of sand rails and good fucking times, is much better expressed in the full interview.
Happily, our fearless editor salvaged the cut portions of the article, and sent me the tickertape with the missing words via Jalopnik’s extensive pneumatic tube network. After re-reading this, I suspect Patrick knew what he was doing.
Anyway, you readers are the most important thing to me. Seriously, everything else is urine-soaked garbage. So, since you deserve the best, no matter how low-quality,I present to you, the lost ridiculous made-up interview with pretend Jony Ive, Apple Chief of Design. Enjoy!
Since I have a hunch about this, I waited until late last night, and then grabbed a flight on a fictional Concorde to Sunnyvale, where I showed up at the secret address at 11 PM. I immediately heard the telltale rumbling of unmuffled exhaust.
Chewing my way through the security fence, I followed the sound to its source, an open garage door, where I could clearly see a shirtless Jony Ive laying underneath a metalflake blue-painted VW-powered sand rail, complete with massive rear tires and a huge stinger header exhaust system that he was in the process of removing.
Ive was startled to see me, but I anticipated this, and brought with me a case of Schlitz, which was enough to get him to stop his call to security on his pre-release iPhone 7.
After he very rapidly finished two beers, he really warmed up, and invited me over to check out the car.
“Just listen to this sonnofabitch before I finish taking these headers off,” he said, as he grabbed the throttle control that linked the twin carbs. He jammed the throttle repeatedly, causing the engine to rev deafeningly loudly.
“Fuck! Fuck yeah! You hear that shit?” Ive was screaming at this point, to be heard over the engine. He opened the throttle completely.
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah YEAH! Fuckin’ a, man! Listen to that shit! Boomboomboomboombom!”
He let off the throttle, drained the remains of his beer, flung the can at the wall, and grabbed another.
“I hate that fuckin’ Johnny Law says I gotta take this off and put on some bullshit muffler because some bitch complained. I mean, fuck, dude, I didn’t leave England to come the fuck to America to be QUIET? You feel me?”
Ive caught me looking intently at the sand rail.
“Yeah, little dude, you like that shit, huh? That’s a 2500cc Type IV case, twin Kads, hot cam, custom electronic ignition system I had the iPhone guys rig up — this little bitch is good for 250 horses easy.”
He took another long swig.
“Easy. Maybe 3. I fuckin’ beat a new Camaro off the line the other night.”
Ive paused as a fit of coughing overtook him, ending as he hocked a loogie the size of a ping pong ball at a trash can, missing.
“C’mere, check this shit out,” Ive said, dragging me by my arm to the sand rail’s cockpit. “Look at that shit. That’s an original fucking iPod, one of the first ten off the line, and I had my fucking guys convert it to do all the dash shit. Go ahead, turn the scroll wheel – see, you can turn on the lights, radio, all that shit. Awesome, right?”
It was pretty cool.
“Hit the center button.” I hit the center button. All of a sudden, It’s My Life by Bon Jovi blasted out of the speakers mounted all over the sand rail’s tube frame.
“That’s the fucking horn, man! Fuck yeah!”
Ive then finshed the beer, crushed the can on his head, vomited, and collapsed.
I left.
(it should be re-iterated that, technically, I made up all my interactions with Jony Ive.)