My Trip to the Apple Store

The story I tell here,
Entirely true,
Could easily happen
to any of you.

When my PC failed me,
its hard drive ascreech,
I went to the store
of which hipper men preach.

With turtleneck black,
and eyes oh so cold,
The Apple man bought me
'fore I knew I'd been sold.

He spoke of its features,
He spoke of its price
Assured me that nothing
was nearly this nice.

The plastic, fantastic;
And firewire, too?
It also holds pictures
and clips from the zoo!

Sound editing, easy.
Photo touch-ups, a snap!
To use this computer
takes no thinking cap.

"But hold on," I asked him,
"What makes this so good?
These are all functions
That a PC could-"

"Blasphemy!" yelled he,
"It's got such ease of use!"
To prove it he made up
A widget-shaped goose.

His fingers were flying,
Slowed only by need
To press that strange button.
I missed right-click's speed.

"Now wait up," I begged,
"Can't I change or adjust?"
The interface seemed stagnant,
and I despise rust.

"Absurd!" was his charge,
"What change could you need?
It's a perfect design
for all people, indeed!"

He told me, "No viruses!
Macs will prevail!"
I asked about hard drives,
heard "Oh, those still fail."

"Now slow down," said I,
"This all seems quite fine.
But can't I depart from
your neatly drawn lines?"

He straightened and frowned,
Then gave me my hat.
Said, "Sorry, sir-
thought you were cooler than that."