Steve Jobs sets his iPhone down atop his thirty-thousand dollar Mahogany desk, which was crafted from pieces of an ancient redwood, Apollo 11, and a species of dinosaur so rare that it was never named and leans back in his eagle-skin desk chair. He chuckles while twirling his pen that was blessed by the Pope and inscribed with a magical spell that grants the user an infinite boner.

“Three hundred thousand in a day,” he says with an incredulous shake of the head. “Three hundred thousand in a day! Three hundred motherfucking thousand iPads sold in one day!”

He rises from his seat, prompting the gadgets around him to report aloud, “You have risen from your seat, Steven.” He crosses the room, prompting the gadgets around him to report aloud, “You are crossing the room, Stephen,” and, dressed in the slick black suit of a modern emperor, stops in front of a giant wall comprised of video monitors. “What do you want to see, Stephen?” a talking lightbulb asks.

“Everything. Show me everything”

And like that, every monitor flickers to life, every one if them showing the bloated face of a recent iPad purchaser. They all stare into the camera with wonderstruck faces. They have no idea that the iPad has a camera that feeds directly into Steve Job’s office, allowing him to track the movements of every Apple user across the globe. In a couple weeks, he’ll know everything he needs to know to make his next move: world domination.

Steve laughs maniacally in front of his giant wall made out of monitors.

BA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

His seven assistants hear him through his foot-thick office doors. They know what to do when they hear him laughing: hold all incoming calls and cancel his three o’ clock appointment. When he’s laughing, that means he’s either a) watching old episodes of Mork and Mindy or b) he’s in one of his “I’ve conquered the world and there’s nothing in the world that can stop me” moods, which means he’s probably going to spend the next couple hours experimenting with Nazi artifacts and doodling in the margins of the Necronomicon he bought off Roy Disney.

After twenty minutes, the laughter trails off, and becomes a short spurt of coughs and gagging. Steve has worked himself in a sweat. He’s collapsed in his chair delirious and soaked from head to toe. “What do you want to see, Stephen?” his tape dispenser asks him.

“I want to see the world in twenty years, when roads and homes have been replaced by iRoads and iHomes, and people aren’t people anymore, they’re iMen and iWomen and iWomen with iCats and iDogs who eat iFood and go to iSleep at night.”

Steve’s gadgets whir softly as they think, then take off in different directions to get to work on creating the world in Steve’s image. And Steve Jobs curls up into a ball and sleeps in his chair, dreaming efficiently designed dreams that can fit comfortably in his sizable pockets.