Touch Bar


“Hey, back off, gas giant! Asia is an amazing band, and if you’d ever taken the time to really listen to the awesomeness that is ‘Free,’ you’d…” I trail off, suddenly becoming aware of the abundance of Apple products that seems to have proliferated throughout the cafeteria during my brief absence. Specifically, everyone’s got the new MacBook Pro.

Even fat Ernie.

“So…why do you look like Mowgli?” Lily asks.

“Joey Martin, actually,” I reply, my attention split in two.

“Joey who?”

“He was the boy character in those old Tarzan movies.”

Ernie looks suspicious. “There are old Tarzan movies?”

“There were, like, dozens of them. Don’t you keep up with the classics?”

“If it’s not Pixar, I don’t care,” Summer says.

“Oldies give me gas,” Ernie adds.

I frown. “Everything gives you gas.”

“You still haven’t explained why you’re some Tarzan boy from a hundred years ago.”

“First things first,” I say, “how and why does everyone suddenly have the new MacBook Pro?”

“Because we’re cool. Am I right, ladies?” Ernie tries to high-five Eva, but she ignores him completely.

“No, what I mean is—”

“What he means,” Ernie interrupts, “is that he’s a Mac-hating Windows fanboy who can’t stand living in a world where tech can be stylish.”

“I use Ubuntu, dumbass. You know that.”

Eva gives me a questioning look. “You’re a Mac-hater?”

“I don’t hate Macs,” I say. “I’m just not into overpriced novelty computers with limited usefulness.”

“What’s more useful than having style?” Ernie asks.

I start counting off on my fingers: “An SD card slot. Being able to write to NTFS-formatted drives. foobar2000. The ability to access an Android device’s storage without a third-party driver. Maximizing windows without having to go full-screen. Being able to connect devices and drives without having to bring several different dongles wherever I go. Not needing to reduce my productivity by glancing down at my keyboard at regular intervals in order to use the Touch Bar. For starters.”

“You only need to look at the Touch Bar once, bro.”

“Really?” I fold my arms. “Show me how you can touch-type effectively using the Touch Bar without having to look at it.”

Ernie stands, unzips his pants, takes out his wang, and, awkwardly maneuvering his hips into position, presses it along the length of the Touch Bar.

The amazing thing: no one seems to give a shit.

Dumbfounded, I ask, “What are you doing?”

“Duh. Using the Touch Bar to unlock my new MacBook Pro.”

“With your dick?”

Ernie blinks. “How else am I supposed to unlock it?”

“I don’t know—a password, maybe? A thumbprint? Anything but your dick?”

“Passwords are so 2015.”

The girls nod in agreement.

“It’s true,” Lily says. “2015.”

Why—what—why? “So, that’s it, then? Ernie just unlocked his MacBook Pro by fucking it, and you’re okay with that?”

Ernie puts on a haughty air as he tucks his junk back into his pants. “It’s not fucking your MacBook Pro, it’s applying the length of your wang against the Touch Bar so as to register your cock metrics. This is the wave of the future. You’re making a big deal over nothing.”

“I don’t care how many fancy words you use, you just fucked your MacBook Pro.”

“Fucking would mean a hard-on and eventual ejaculation. My shit’s dry.” He holds up his MacBook Pro for me to examine. “See for yourself.”

I wave him away and look to the girls for some semblance of sanity. But they seem only mildly offended that Ernie just genitally authenticated—and then only because he did so in front of them, not because Apple is now expecting its users to replace their passwords with their wangs. “This…this doesn’t make any sense. No one’s going to question needing to take out your dick every time you want to unlock your MacBook Pro?”

“Genital authentication!” Ernie barks. “More secure than fingerprinting or iris scans! Wave of the future!”

“What if you’re a girl? How do you unlock your MacBook Pro, then?”

Summer rolls her eyes. “There’s a dongle for that, genius.” She gets up, cradling her MacBook Pro. “Speaking of which, I need to check my Facebook. Where’s the girls’ restroom?”

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Published by

Jesse Gordon

Geek. Writer. Supreme overlord of the SUPERMEGANET pseudoverse. Author of THE OATMEAL MAN, DOOKIE, and other such wasteful nonsense.