Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. There is absolutely no room for debate. Your PC sucks. It blows. It bites. You are losing a battle that you can’t win. You can’t sway me. My Mac eats your sniveling wannabe Pee Cee for lunch.

My world is a Mac world. It turns around Macs. That big glowy thing up in the sky that you’re not supposed to stare at too long or you’ll go blind? Run by a Mac. The Mac user shall inherit the earth. In fact, we already have. Your stinking, decrepit PC has simply not caught up with the news yet – it’s that slow.

You say your Vaio beats my MacBook Pro? Obviously, your Vaio has a lithium dispenser – because only the severely medicated could ever believe that Japanese compact could ever hold a candle to my American designed roadster. When I open the top, people notice. I’ve got the muscle machine; the big guns. My sleek hot piece of computational hot rod makes that Vaio limp over into the slow lane. My Mac makes me look good at any table, any time, anywhere. If someone dumps a coffee at the local Starbucks, the liquid purposely turns away from my Mac – it wouldn’t dare mar the finish.

And Dell? Dull. Put them in as many different colored covers as you can find – and they’re still out of the race. Washed up. Has-beens. There’s no inspiration in that Inspiron. In fact, when that coffee turns away from my Mac, it rains all over your lowly Dell.

Hewlett-Packard? Nice printer. Don’t bother with the rest. Take your Pavilion to Pavillions, and feed it something to bulk it up a bit. Try the vitamin isle, or, better yet, order it some Viagra on-line – and if it can sustain itself for four hours or more, don’t call a doctor – give it some applause, because it can finally be successful at something.

What? You say you’re phone is better than an iPhone? You haven’t a clue. Go ahead, keep using your clunky, “ooh, the keyboard flips out” peice of junk, with its weak selection of ringers and teeny tiny one-inch “screen,” its lowly game selection and the ability to drop a call at a moment’s notice: go use a pay phone. You’ll get better reception that way. And have your mommy pick you up, while you’re at it, ’cause your insight and wisdom are still back at home in your childhood bunk bed. Please grow up before attempting to live in the real world. The Mac world.

You say my iPod is overpriced? Do you think I really care? It’s freaking awesome. It’s the best .mp3 player on the planet. Apple owns this market. iPods made .mp3 players household appliances, right next to the toaster and the dishwasher. If it weren’t for Jobs whipping up one of these babies, you would still be trying to play music with your stinking, outdated, gasping for breath Palm. That’s right, you’d play a little Bejeweled, then listen to the six songs that fit on your rinky-dink SD card. Don’t bother turning on the optional equalizer – it kills the battery before the first song is over.

You see, Steve Jobs is the ultimate creator. We’ll leave God out of the equation for the moment. Jobs is a lowercase god. He’s a technogod. If the Greeks had electricity when they were creating their gods, Steve would have been one of them. He would have given Adonis an iPhone. There would have been songs written about him. Venus would have wanted to shack up with him.

Don’t tell me Steve doesn’t make great stuff. That’s a lie. He beats those designers with lead pipes and sends them back into the dungeon until they get it right. And they like it. It’s in their contract. Nothing leaves that place until its all shiny, pretty and full of performance. Why bother if it isn’t? Why make something that looks like all other manufacturer’s garbage? Why did tens of thousands of people buy the black MacBook for fifty extra dollars, when it had the exact same specs as the white one? ‘Cause it was pretty, baby. We all knew it was a ruse, but couldn’t help ourselves. It looked sweet. Steve got his extra fifty bucks and we thanked him for it. That’s why that big, ugly brown Zune thing had to go back to the drawing board: They could have gotten Jesus to promote it, and it still wouldn’t have sold.

My Mac is the best because Steve says it is. And he should know. He knows plenty of smart people who back him up on that claim. He’s got Al Gore on the board of directors at Apple. Why? Because Gore knows that Macs are an inconvenient truth. He knows everyone should have one, but there is a great cloud of misinformation belched out of that Bill Gates guy like some sort of toxic waste. Windows is the reason for global warming. Al knows. That’s why he’s on Steve’s team. The winning team. The Mac team.

And you may say, “Vince, this is a load of crap. You’ve made no valid points, cited no corroborating facts. you’ve got nothing here but your opinion, and it’s ridiculously biased.”

Well, you would be absolutely right. Ask the faithful of any belief, any persuasion, and they’ll tell you: They just know. They know they’re right. They feel it in their bones. Beat them until they bleed, but you won’t change their minds. Once they have experienced the epiphany, there’s no going back.

Yes, my Mac stomps on your ugly, slow, clunky, foul-smelling, horribly outdated sorry excuse for a computer. I know for a fact that you are lucky your sad, computationally-challenged instrument managed to bring this page up at all – because I know it barely has the horse-power to turn itself on, let alone actually surf the web. And I know that you are really sad, deep down inside, because you actually know it’s true. You’ve backed the losing horse. The also-ran. You are lost and unfulfilled in ways that you can barely imagine. Your existence is lessened with your sad choice in computer hardware. You should have got a Mac. You walk by the Apple store and turn your head in shame. Your children glare at you and ask, “why? Why must I be so embarrassed by you?” They know the truth. And no matter what you do – what story you tell – they’re going to want an iPod. And an iPhone. And finally, an iMac. It’s inevitable. There’s nothing that you can do about it. It’s Steve’s plan.

Give up.