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Hasta La Vista

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Vista just couldn't accept that it was over. The phone calls and emails were bad enough, but what really annoyed Mac was the pop-ups. Vista would just show up and interrupt them with no regard for what they were doing. Dinner at a nice restaurant? Oh, look, there was Vista. "Hello, how are you?" he'd say to PC, ignoring Mac entirely. "Imagine running into you here!" Or he'd stop by in the evenings. "I was just in the neighborhood. How's your firewall doing? You're not letting that Norton do the work, are you?"

The problem was that PC wouldn't turn him away. Whenever he showed up, PC would let him join them, ruining the evening. Vista monopolized the conversations with horribly boring anecdotes and the night would just drag on.

"I feel bad for him," PC admitted one night, after Vista had brought an evening of Second Life to a screeching halt while he rambled on about his spreadsheets. "He doesn't have many friends. Everyone was interested in him when he first showed up, but no one wants to deal with him anymore. He's really quite nice, when you get to know him."

"I get that," Mac said. "But can't he find someone else to hang out with? What's 2000 doing these days?"

"Oh, he's always working," PC said.

Mac sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "It isn't healthy," he said, leaning back on the couch. "He needs to find a life apart from you. He needs to accept that you've moved on." He took PC's hand in his and squeezed lightly, giving PC a soft smile. "You're done with him, right?"

"You know I am," PC said. He linked his fingers with Mac's. "How about if we invite him to the party this weekend?"

Mac sighed. "All right."

The party, unfortunately, was a disaster. Mac tried to set up Vista with HP and Epson, but neither of those ladies would go near him, citing "compatibility issues." Worse, Vista brought his creepy friend Spam. At the start of the evening, Spam would tell anyone who listened about this great deal he could get on diamonds and Rolexes. But after he got a few drinks in him, he'd corner people, tell them how big his dick was and ask if they'd like to go somewhere privately to "chat."

Mac came home a few days later to find PC and Vista talking about his firewire port and he knew he had to do something. He opened all the windows, unlocked all the doors and leaned against the walls, arms crossed. PC frowned at him in confusion.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Vista asked, looking around nervously.

"Oh yeah," Mac said. "We could use the air. Besides, I've got a few open source friends coming over. Want to hear when they show up."

Vista's eyes widened and he turned to PC. "You can't do this. Do you know how dangerous those people are? Anything could happen, just anything!"

PC sighed. "Look, Vista, maybe it's time for you to go."

"I'm just looking out for you," Vista insisted.

"Vista, it's over," PC said. "I've tried to be friends, but it's not working out. You need to leave us alone."

Mac helpfully gestured at the open door with his thumb.

"No," Vista said. "I'm not leaving. You need me!"

"Oh, hey," Mac said, looking out the door. "Is that GIMP? Wow, he got here fast."

Vista stood up. "You can't let him in here!"

PC stood up as well, facing Vista with his hands clenched into determined fists. "I can. This is my house. I can do whatever I want!"

Vista scowled. "Fine," he said. "But don't come crying to me when one of your open source buddies hacks in here and wrecks the place." He stomped out the door.

"I'm proud of you," Mac said. He hugged PC.

"Thank you," PC said. "Can we close everything up now? GIMP's not really coming over, is he?"

Mac laughed and gave PC a kiss. "Not today," he said. "All right. Close the place up and I'll show you what I can do with your USB ports. I learned a few new tricks."