My entire computing life has been spent on a PC.
Last Thursday morning at his regular 7:30 wake up call and after 3 grease and oil changes in 18 months, my lumbering dinosaur, sweet Peter Crumpleton, died his final death. By midday that same day he'd been replaced, the bed still warm and my heart lost to him forever by the sheer glorious 24 inch high definition beauty of this...

I feel no shame or regret. Does this make me a monster?