Windows Gives No Tongue / Reminder: Microsoft's bloated OS is truly terrible in the sack. But a Mac will make you moan
As many of you know, we'd abandon Windows tomorrow at the National Sexuality Resource Center
if I had my way; I can't discuss the Mac/Windows divide rationally with anyone. If you want me to do it, I have to do it on my Mac. Mark Morford, one of the San Francisco Chronicle's most delicious columnists, has hit the nail on the head, I think. It's about desire! Check it out:
It has those beady little eyes. It has that seedy come-hither stare. It has overstretched pleather pants and million-dollar gold caps over stained teeth, through which glides that famously shrill voice that seems at once tempting and full of promise and yet also more than a little whiny, deceptive, ill.
"Aww c'mon, baby," Windows pleads, kneeling at the foot of the bed. "This time it'll be different, I promise." It coughs that familiar phlegmy hack, like a busted Dell motherboard scraped over a lumpy C programmer.
"I'm clean as Gates' conscience! Coding smooth as PowerPoint in pudding! No hang-ups at the moment, guaranteed. Got me all the latest precautions, baby. Just downloaded 18 more urgent patches to cover up the latest in about 115,986 severe security holes and I'm triple condomed against all those bugs that sent me into such a crazy spasm last time. Check it out!"
Your breath comes in hot short gasps. Now it's not Windows at all. Now it's the long snake moan of a sleek silver MacBook running Apple's delicious OS X over your skin, caressing your belly, tickling your pelvic bones, kneading your flat panel.
Inhibitions vanish. Life opens. Your hips widen, your fingers roam, your imagination dances. This Mac, you know, will do anything you want, sacred to profane, Madonna to whore, with finesse and stability and zero fear of sudden viral invasion. They have mad skills down in the hot zone. Multilingual. Ambisexual. Sweet and pure on the outside and yet kinky as hell as soon as you say the word. Bonus: They don't insist on wearing old Comdex '98 baseball hats and oversized "Star Wars: Episode III" T-shirts while they get it on, like Windows. I mean, Oh my God.