THE LOVE THAT DARES NOT SPEAK ITS NAME ON APPLE PRODUCTS

ITEM [via Violet Blue]: Apple demonstrates “Ping”, its new social network for iTunes that lets you connect directly with your favorite artists via their Twitter streams – and censor them if they talk about sex and gay stuff like Prop 8.

At least if you go by the promotional shot featuring Lady Gaga.

According to ReadWriteWeb, Apple’s version of Gaga’s Twitter timeline was edited to leave out tweets referring to Prop 8 (which Gaga is clearly against) and manwhores.

This shouldn’t surprise anyone, of course. This is the same company whose iBookstore can’t deal with references to sperm whales.

Still, I’m sure there’s a completely plausible explanation for all this. Maybe the editing was just for the promo shot, and the actual live Ping version may run uncensored.

I would hope so anyway. Because otherwise, it looks like yet another Apple service I won’t bother to use on account of I’m a grown person who can talk about sex without blushing like a schoolgirl.

Leave it in,

This is dF

KIM JONG-IL DRIVES WOMEN WILD

Because what’s the point of govt propaganda if you can’t make yrself look like a chick magnet?



DISCLAIMER: Not actual North Korean propaganda. But it should be.

Axis of sexy,

This is dF

I HAD TOO MUCH TO DREAM LAST NIGHT

I was in the research wing of an industrial complex, interviewing the chief technical officer of a company that made core routers. I was wearing a t-shirt with the company logo for some reason – it was swag that doubled as a guest badge to get past security. I'd put it on to be polite.

As I made my way to the exit, I was stopped by a man in a crew cut. He advised me there was a mandatory meeting in ten minutes – all employees must attend.

I told him I wasn’t an employee.

“Where’d you get that shirt?” he asked suspiciously.

“From reception,” I said.

“Those shirts are for employees only.”

“They were out of guest badges,” I said. “We could go there and sort this out if –”

“There’s no time for that, son, the meeting starts soon. No exceptions.”

“But I don’t work here.”

“Then why are you in this building? Authorized personnel only.”

“I’m a journalist doing a story on what this company does.”

“Son, I already have you down for trespassing. You sure you want to admit to me yr a spy?”

“Now wait just a minute –”

“You know what we do to spies in this country, son?”

He proceeded to show me a documentary film shot in a low-budget Russ Meyer style circa the late 60s, showing men in suits being shot, beaten, set on fire, thrown off bridges and somehow failing to die until finally they are devoured alive by giant demonic porcupines.

The film inexplicably cut to a montage of scenes featuring men reclining on beds and pinned down by spectacularly busty women stripped to their panties with beehive hairdos and breasts bigger than their heads. Each women wobbled her breasts in the captive’s face, forcing him to fondle them and suck her nipples in self-defense.

"Meeting's started," said the man. "Yr late."

“About this meeting,” I said.

And then I woke up.

Unauthorized entry,

This is dF