Here's a funny little story I found (contains some very brief language):

Last Man On Earth

There was a knock on the door. It was the man from Microsoft. "Not you again," I said.
"Sorry," he said, a little sheepishly. "I guess you know why I'm here."

Indeed I did. Microsoft's $300 million campaign to promote the Windows 95 operating system was meant to be universally effective, to convince every human being on the planet that Windows 95 was an essential, some would say integral, part of living. Problem was, not everyone had bought it. Specifically, I hadn't. I was the Last Human Being Without Windows 95. And now this little man from Microsoft was at my door, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"No," I said. "You know I can't take that," he said, pulling out a copy of Windows 95 from a briefcase. "Come on. Just one copy. That's all we ask."

"Not interested," I said. "Look, isn't there someone else you can go bother for a while? There's got to be someone else on the planet who doesn't have a copy."

"Well, no," the Microsoft man said. "You're the only one."

"You can't be serious. Not everyone on the planet has a computer," I said. "And certainly, not everyone has a PC! Some people own Macintoshes, which run their own operating system. And some people who have PCs run OS/2, though I hear that's just a rumor. In short, there are some people who just have no USE for Windows 95."

The Microsoft man look perplexed. "I'm missing your point," he said.

"Use!" I screamed. "Use! Use! Use! Why BUY it, if you can't USE it?"

"Well, I don't know anything about this "use" thing you're going on about," the Microsoft man said. "All I know is that according to our records, everyone else on the planet has a copy."

"People without computers?"

"Got 'em."

"Amazonian Indians?"

"We had to get some malaria shots to go in, but yes."

"The Amish."

"Check."

Oh, come on," I said. "They don't even wear BUTTONS. How did you get them to buy a computer operating system?"

"We told them there were actually 95 very small windows in the box," the Microsoft man admitted. "We sort of lied. Which means we are all going to Hell, every single employee of Microsoft." He was somber for a minute, but then perked right up. "But that's not the point!" he said. "The point is, EVERYONE has a copy. Except you."

"So what?" I said. "If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you expect me to do it, too?"

"If we spent $300 million advertising it? Absolutely."

"No."

"Oh, back to that again," the Microsoft man said. "Hey. I'll tell you what. I'll GIVE you a copy. For free. Just take it and install it on your computer." He waved the box in front of me.

"No," I said again. "No offense, pal, but I don't NEED it. And frankly, your whole advertising blitz has sort of offended me. I mean, it's a computer operating system. Great. Fine. Swell. Whatever. But you guys are advertising it like it creates world peace or something."

"It did."

"Pardon?"

"World peace. It was part of the original design. Really. One button access. Click on it, poof, end to strife and hunger. Simple."

"So what happened?"

"Well, you know," he said. "It took up a lot of space on the hard drive. We had to decide between it or the Microsoft Network. Anyway, we couldn't figure out how to make a profit off of world peace."

"Go away," I said.

"I can't," he said. "I'll be killed if I fail."

"You have got to be kidding," I said.

"Look," the Microsoft man said, "We sold this to the Amish. The Amish! Right now, they're opening the boxes and figuring out they've been had. We'll be pitchforked if we ever step into Western Pennsyvania again. But we did it. So to have YOU holding out, well, it's embarassing. It's embarassing to the company. It's embarassing to the product. It's embarassing to Bill."

"Bill Gates does not care about me," I said.

"He's watching right now," the Microsoft man sa