~record scratch~
"Yep, that's me." said a vaguely southern voice.
"I bet you're wondering just how I got here. Well, it all started 8 months ago..."
~ wavy lines, flashback noises~
"No, it's fine," he said, naively. "We can record a podcast on this computer, I'm sure that it is a quality machine that won't randomly shut down halfway through a podcast, and then refuse to restart, causing us to lose thirty minute of content."
"Yeah, but don't you think..."
"No, this is an Apple product," he interjected,"and you know Apple products. no-one every has any problems with them, and they work perfectly all the time."
"But..."
But before he could finish his sentence, a ghostly arm reached out from the grave at his feet. The translucent hand made its way up to the throat of the naysayer, and began to strangle the life out of him. Now it all made sense to him. This is why his lifelong friend had brought him to this graveyard. This is why he been led to a specific grave. As his final breath left his body, he peered toward the tombstone. It was at this moment that he finally felt at peace, and he let go of his doubt, fears, and regrets. As his body lay cold and limp, an image was burned into his lifeless eyes: "R.I.P Steve Jobs."
~FIN~