Indtrykket varer til slutningen. Det er maed sjovt, men ikke helt sjovt nok - og det er et problem at man ikke kan grine pegende af El Jobso, men er bundet til at grine inde fra ham. Men gode grin undervejs fo' sure. Den overlarge person man griner af i stedet for idiot savant'en Jobs er Larry Ellison, den jetflyvende, hurtigkneppende, kompromisløse zen-vegetar - og så er en sekvens hvor vegetar-Steve kommer til at spise en sausage mcmuffin, fordi han er blevet arresteret og ikke kan få andet, virkelig sjov. Steves kone flipper ud

"You should shower", she says.
I head for the door.
"Not here", she says, "You should go somewhere else. Go to the Four Seasons or something. And you need to get rid of those clothes. Just throw them out. Here."
She hands me a shopping bag with a fresh set of JobsWear: jeans, Issey Miyake black mock turtleneck, sneakers.
"I can smell it on you," she says. "I can smell your sweat. You've got meat sweat. And it's on your breath."
"It's that bad?"
She turns and begins to retch into the bushes.
"You should go to the temple," she says. "You should see the roshi."
"I had a few bites of sausage. That's all."
"That's dead animals," she says. "That's death. You ate death, Steve. You put death into your body."
She starts crying.
"I don't even know who you are anymore," she says.
I look at her. I feel nothing. What kind of monster have I become? I don't know what to say. I walk past her into the house. I go down the hall to my office and lock the door behind me.
She comes down the hall and starts pounding on the door.
"Steve, please!" she says. "Please don't do this!".
"Go away," I tell her.
"It's death!" she says. "Now you've brought it into the house. We'll have to call the roshi. We'll have to have every room repainted. We may have to move."
"Leave me alone."
"Who are you?" She's hysterical now. "Who are you?"
I'm on the floor, curling up into the fetal position, moaning.