We here at Macrosoft appreciate your business, and your commitment to our ecosystem! We know that if you had a choice you’d probably use a Gaggle cloud OS or a sleek silver Pear iSeed desktop, so we’re glad that you have enough old legacy data that you’re forced to stock with us!

There have been a lot of questions about our new, mandatory upgrade to MacrOS 10. In the interest of open and honest communication, which has always been our policy for everyone but the FTC, here is an official FAQ:

Q: What if my copy of MarcOS 7 works just fine?

A: We realize that you think so, but trust us, MarcOS 10 is way better. To help you see this, we have discontinued support for all previous MarcOS systems.

Q: What if I don’t upgrade by the July 23 deadline?

A: A kill code will be transmitted at 11:59:59 PM on July 23 that will brick all machines running these redacted OSes. All data and hard drive partitions will be lost.

Q: My old computer doesn’t have enough RAM or hard drive space to install MarcOS 10 and/or run it efficiently. What do?

A: Buy a new computer. Macrosoft has a number of attractive licensing deals with manufacturers like Düll and Hackard-Pewlett that will provide you with a free copy of MacrOS 10 along with a full-price purchase.

Q: What if I can’t afford a new computer?

A: Try a library. Your data wasn’t that important anyway.

Q: Help! An old program won’t run under MacrOS 10!

A: MacrOS 10 uses a 128-bit system architecture that will not work with programs or files created for previous, primitive 32- or 64-bit systems. Really, that’s like trying to load a machine gun with rocks. Why would you do that?

Q: I’ve heard that MarcOS 10 does not have CD/DVD playing program or the ability to play MP3s. Is this true?

A: Physical media is dead, aside from the disc that MarcOS 10 came on. Why own a platter when you can stream? MarcOS 10 is fully committed to an ownerless future where all content is rented at best, and as a result no CD/DVD/MP3 application will ever be produced for it. All local media files will also be deleted.

Q: I have a phone running MacrOS Mobile. Will I also be able to upgrade to MacrOS 10?

A: Wow, somebody bought one of those? We’ll call Steve and see what he can do for you.

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The Walker-Blount Computer Lab at Osborn University is proud to present:

The Five Stages of Computer Crash Grief

1. Denial — “My computer didn’t crash, the monitor cable is just loose. It’ll come back on in a second and then I can finish my paper on why the drinking age should be lowered to 12.”

2. Anger — “Why me? It’s not fair! All the other times I typed 75% of my paper without saving there were no problems!”

3. Bargaining — “You there, computer lab guy. I’ll give you everything in my student printing account if you can somehow reach in and get my paper back with your computer magic. It’s all in there somewhere, right? That program that wiped the memory clean whenever the machines restart doesn’t always work, right? Right?”

4. Depression — “Oh, woe is me. I have to retype the first two pages of my report, and integrate all two citations to Wikipedia back into it. I should just walk away and take the zero, or buy a counterfeit academic essay from Honduras.”

5. Acceptance — “It’s going to be okay. I can’t get my paper back, and it was probably going to be a C+ anyway. I can write a new C+ paper easily, and maybe this time I will save to an external USB drive as suggested literally everywhere in the lab.”

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While out one day gumming up the internet with mountains of poorly-translated advertisements, Spambot approached an unprotected blog post, only to run into Spambot attempting to do the same thing at the same time.

“Hey! I’ll go first!” cried in the universal binary patois common to all spambots. “I sell is the best way to quality buy cheap Twitcher followers!”

“You are wrong!” flashed “I am here to sell best quality Mexican Viagro a long time ago!”

Angry that 12.2 nanoseconds of its time had been wasted, Spambot shot back its binary retort: “Your product is inferior, you are a liar! Fortunately, you greatly subside to my cheap Twitcher followers to meet people and lovemaking!”

“Only people who are desperate and ugly utilize Twitcher sexual!” said Spambot in a digital fury that its coder in Baluchistan never could have imagined. “To meet people, they even ugly, they more desperate!”

“Your Viagro was a poor quality counterfeit, is poison, it will kill customer! Rather than giving them stiff object, it will make them stiff death!” said, utilizing a subroutine that its creator in Bayingolin Autonomous Prefecture had intended to tiptoe around CAPTCHAs.

“Put your words back, they lie!”

“No, it is you, is a dirty falsehood!”

Both and continued their attempts to spam the post, but the inconvenienced electrons could not carry both messages at once. Their duel effectively turned into an unintended denial-of-service attack on the site; the impromptu DoS brought the page down for nearly a day. It cost the operator nearly a thousand dollars in revenue and man-hours to clear things out.

When the harried website owner pawed through his site’s spambox after bringing it back online, he found the following message:


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“I swear, it isn’t mine!” said the kid. “My friend must have put it there.”

“Tell it to the judge,” the officer said. “Cuff him and read him his rights.”

While the kid was manhandled into the back of the officer’s Crown Vic, backup arrived with lights blazing.

“What’ve we got here?” said the other cop, emerging.

“Come and have a look.” The arresting officer shone his flashlight into the back seat. He reached in with a gloved hand and fished out a plastic baggie filled with ones and zeroes.

“Well, shit!” the other cop said. “That’s a line of source code for the latest version of Abalone Photostudio! Does the perp have a serial number?”

“Nope. And look at this: these are premium Mexican ones and zeros from Call of the Medal of Honor V! That game doesn’t hit retail for three days!”

Popping the trunk, the cops found a whole bale of binary, shrinkwrapped in plastic in a futile attempt to keep code-sniffing dogs away. It was Annoyed Avians for eOS devices from Apricot, Inc., usable only on ones that had been prisonbroken and unlocked by illicit means.

“Mr. Chen, is it?” the first officer said. “Boy, you in a whole heap of trouble.”

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Ray Seymour was a postmodern monster.

But if you asked he would say he was just having a little harmless fun.

“All right, let’s see what slaves are online today,” he said, cracking his knuckles in front of the massive self-built computer rig that took up a whole corner of his tiny apartment. Built with parts scavenged from his minimum-wage day job at Best Electronics, the rig was Ray’s whole world. Everything else was going out for groceries or the pennies needed to keep the lights on.

They weren’t real slaves, Ray would have been quick to point out if cornered. It was just the jargon that people in his circles used for people whose computers had been hacked with a remote access tool–a RAT, the same thing that system administrators used to take control of the poor old Susie’s computer in accounting when she couldn’t figure out how to eject a thumb drive.

“Only one? Shit. Well, at least that makes my choice easy.” Ray brought up his RAT’s interface, which gave him full remote control of a laptop two counties away. Like most of his “slaves,” the person behind the computer had downloaded a trojan file that Ray had seeded onto file-sharing sites and torrents–in this case, the copy of Sex in the City 2 they thought they’d downloaded had been a screen for giving Ray’s RAT root-level system access.

From there, he could browse and copy personal files, access the screen and volume controls (which he usually did only to spook the “slave” on the other end), and, most importantly, access the built-in webcam and disable its “on” light. “I have access to everything they have, everything they are,” Ray had written on an internet forum for RAT hackers like himself (of which there were surprisingly many). “I could steal their identity or ruin their life, but all I do is take a few pictures. It’s harmless fun.” The person in question had been outraged to find their vacation photos on the forum; Ray had made his pronouncement and then banned the user (as he was an admin) before they could respond.

“Just doing what the NSA already does,” Ray muttered to himself as he remotely activated the “slave” webcam. “But she won’t end up in Gitmo.”

He opened up the webcam in a separate window, ready to capture any screens that piqued his interest. It was never the kind of salacious things you’d see on an episode of CSI or NCIS, naturally–those were always in JPEG form on the hard drive, never from a live feed. But the voyeuristic thrill, the endorphins that came with Ray’s smugly self-satisfied outsmarting of women who–he assumed–would not give him the time of day…that was the real money shot.

The screen fuzzed into being, and Ray witnessed the same “slave” he had watched through her own webcam on and off for weeks. She was kicking madly, desperately, as an assailant in a black ski mask attempted to drag her off.

Ray Seymour was a postmodern monster.

Someone upstairs had apparently decided to lay a test before him, to see how deep and wide that monstrous streak actually ran.

Based on this news story.

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