The thing that the serial jerkbags who will attempt to make hay with all these revelations next week will never mention is "Who cares?"

The Macalope doesn't know about you, but he never wanted to work for Steve Jobs. He values his various body parts too much for that. He never even really wanted to have the clichéd beer with him. Or green tea, or refined essence of Himalayan blackberry nectar, or Moscone Center stagehand blood, or whatever Jobs actually drank.

He would have to have seen him in a meeting with Eric Schmidt or Jonathan Ive or Tim Cook or anyone who he could have gotten fired up talking to.

No one said Steve Jobs was perfect. We said he forged a company that makes damn near perfect things.