Reliable Source

Reliable Source: Mac Vs. PC

Marion Cox | 10 Apr 2010 14:00
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Seeing the hostility between us, and my inability to eat anything that she had "cooked," my sister asked, "Marion, want to set up the computer next to the Mac?" I wanted nothing more than to get away from the soup that tasted like fish ass -- plus, my urge to punch Mary's boyfriend in the face continued to grow. If I got the computer set up quickly, I could stop by Giorgio's and pick up a BBQ chicken pizza and beer to wash the taste of health out of my mouth.

Setting up the computer was easy. What wasn't easy was figuring out how to connect it to the wireless network. Everything I knew about computers was useless. At random, I began opening folders looking for some clue to unlocking the secrets of the Macintosh operating system.

One of the folders I tried to open was password protected and innocuously buried in another folder named "recipes." I knew what this was; I had a very similar setup on my computer to keep my dad from finding my extensive Japanese porn collection. It was my duty to see what Mary had gotten herself into -- what if he had a bunch of snuff and child pornography in there?

I used my expert hacking skills to bypass the folder's security - well, not really, his password turned out to be the same as my porn folder password (12345). But what I found in that folder wasn't porn; it was something much more sinister.

I stormed into the living room filled with rage and demanded, "What - the - fuck -- is this?"

Renault rose to his feet, "You're messing up the energy, man."

I was livid. "Why do you have these women's names and social security numbers on this computer?"

"Marion, what's wrong?" I heard Maryanne yell from the kitchen.

"He's even got a file on you!" I shouted back barely able to contain my anger at this macrobiotic Mac-lovin' gypsy.

I don't remember Renault standing up, but soon we were wrestling for the MacBook. I stumbled back into the bedroom tripping on the raised doorframe. I landed against a pile of obnoxious throw pillows; Renault held the MacBook.

I guess it was bad that the first thing Maryanne saw when she came out of the kitchen was me ripping the PC from the wall and raise it above my head like the caveman from 2001, ready to crush the skull of my rival.

If Maryanne hadn't shouted, I might not have paused. But my hesitation gave Renault time to shield himself from the blow from my hefty PC with the only object available to him, the shiny white plastic MacBook. As my homebuilt PC came down, the Mac snapped; the extremely expensive machine cracked open, guts spilling from its disemboweled chassis. Clearly, PC was the winner in this particular fight. Screw you, Justin Long.

There was some yelling, some screaming and the police were called. Strangely, Renault didn't stick around for to talk to Officer Dales. My sister was angry at me, but once I calmed her down, pointed out that I was still here, and that Renault had taken her purse with him, she began to believe my side of the story.

Before she got her PC, Maryanne said that she would only call once or twice a month, three times at most. but she has problems every day. I don't mind though -it's nice that we've got so much in common now.

Marion Cox's PC weighs 40 pounds; he considers the extra weight protection against crackheads.

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