???? — Oct 2026 · Tech
Microsoft Publisher
retired
Word got the praise, but Publisher got the newsletters looking right
Word got the praise, but Publisher got the newsletters looking right
First to ACLs, first to love a logical volume, last out the door at 41.
Swiped millions of times, it never once asked for small talk. Rest easy, yellow friend.
Blog on, old friend. Your permalinks outlived the platform.
It survived every drop, spill, and quarterly review. In the end, only a rebrand could stop it.
It recorded everything we loved, right up until the very end.
It taught us, it gave teens The N, and it never once talked down to us.
The last iPhone to speak Lightning, gone to a better port.
It saw everything, including why we weren't ready.
It showed us a better version of the page, then became the version that went away.
Dynamic Island now has an isle of its own.
Small kernel, big heart: it fit in your pocket and ran the world
Good enough for every letter you almost meant to format properly.
The last notch-holding Pro — small cutout, big camera, perfect exit.
It opened the internet for millions, then politely asked if Edge could take it from here.
A thousand songs in your pocket, and twenty years of them in our hearts.
It ranked the whole web so the rest of us could know where we stood.
The budget flagship that made everyone else's phone feel overpriced.
She read the news so Hungary's story never went unwitnessed.
Walkman in our pockets, Ericsson in our hearts.
It once ran the whole fun part of the internet, and it never asked for a flashlight
Checked out every source, never returned late, still missed by every paper it helped write.
All the groups went quiet at once, and the reply-all era ended with them.
Your money arrived; eventually, so did the merger.
It gave Community a sixth season — that alone earns a kind farewell.
Read receipts and the little D — you always let us know you cared.
The big canvas with the little stylus habit, gone but still drawing applause.
Point, shoot, learn. It taught our cameras to read the world.
Ahead of its time by exactly one inbox.
U-H-O — it sought you, found you, and finally signed off.
Dubbed, loved, and eventually absorbed by its own successor — rest easy, senpai.
Snow falls softly; so did the phones that ran it, cameras blazing.
Small in the pocket, enormous in the heart. Rest easy, little one.
The smallest iPod, the first to go flash, and the last to let go.
Gchat by any name, we typed on until the end.
It made us all believe we were directors, one wobbly slideshow at a time.
It gave us the ribbon. We complained, then couldn't live without it.
Aero glass, endless dialogs, and a five-year wait that gave us all of it
Pin your memories to the map; the layer lives on in our hearts
It rang, we answered, and for a while the whole world felt one call closer.
Nine languages, one network, and a front-row seat to the wild early years of file sharing.
Lost the war, won our hearts, and always looked sharper doing it.
It recorded your shows and never once asked for a subscription. Rest easy.
The lobby lights are off, but someone is still AFK there.
It asked who asked, and the crowd voted: rest well, Dory.
It pushed your email so you didn't have to. Rest easy, Magneto.
It gave us Siri, sold by the millions, and said goodnight gently.
A thousand songs in your pocket, and the click wheel still knows the way.
OneNote was born here; the rest is sticky notes and nostalgia.
Swap the shell, keep the memories: the Lumia 820 retired with its colors intact.
It charged without cables and photographed without blur — the yellow phone that punched up.
Google's first friendship machine, loved loudest in Brazil, signing off with its archive in hand
Be kind, rewind — the whole world did, and then the world moved on
It told friends where you were, back when that felt like a gift instead of a leak.
Signed out one last time — away message: gone but not forgotten.
Half-launched, fully loved: the friend who left before the party really started.
Glass and steel, held call until it didn't, and taught us all how to FaceTime.
It streamed your email to tiny screens before tiny screens did that themselves.
Free online play, no fuss — it just connected, and then quietly stepped aside.
Killed to make room for Google+, which didn't outlive it by much either
It synced over Wi-Fi and dreamed in 720p, quietly outclassing the competition nobody switched to.
It turned the whole web into a tidy spreadsheet — order out of chaos, gone too soon
It let every band play their own set, from their own living room.
The first phone we stroked instead of pressed — it never stood a chance of being the last.
It put the future in our pockets, then got pocketed itself.
Free 411, sweet talker — you dialed the world and never charged us a dime
It streamed your songs, shared your playlists, and quietly became the future of Apple Music.
It gave the world headphones as a lifestyle and never once asked us to share.
The serious one in the family, quietly keeping the servers running while everyone fawned over the desktop kids
No HTML, no CSS, all heart — your first website lives on in Google Sites now
It gave every website a margin, and let us scribble in it.
Processed with love, developed by post, remembered in permanent color.
Three thousand owners, one open Linux heart, and a promise that software can dream in hardware.
It talked to us when few PCs dared to say a word.
Clippy's golden age: when a spreadsheet could run on Windows 95 and nobody complained.
It fixed Vista, pinned our apps, and never asked twice.
It streamed, it sold, it spun the dial — then quietly passed the aux cord to Rhapsody.
It flipped open, thumbed its last message, and the cloud quietly took everything with it.
No region codes, no hard feelings — it just lost the war and went home early.
It told the time by FM radio, and somehow that was beautiful.
Three guns, one gorgeous glow, and 280 million living rooms better for it.
It was only ever meant to be a celebration — it stayed for the fun.
Unlimited storage, endless albums, and one heck of a successor to hand the torch to.
It held our videos so its sibling could hold the world.
One filecard at a time, it ran whole offices before Office was even a noun.
The last cat that spoke PowerPC — 300 changes deep and purring till the end.
Engage: it played its last card, but the deltas keep shuffling.
First 64 bits on the desktop, last of the PowerPC greats — gone but still cheeze-grater shaped.
Twelve years, five chip generations, one emulator to bridge the gap - rest easy, old friend.
Built for classrooms, shaped like a friendly toaster, gone but never graded down
It let Linux and Windows share a desk without yelling, then quietly closed the office.
The colorful laptop with a handle, gone but still opening like a lunchbox in our hearts
White plastic, big heart: the people's Mac went home smiling.
Titanium, then aluminum, always beautiful — it left the stage before anyone asked it to.
It left the building the way it lived: first through the door, so everything else could follow.
Sorted by hand, ranked by love, promoted to Zealot in all our hearts.
It looks like you're writing an epitaph. Would you like help with that?
Be kind, rewind: thirty years of Friday nights on half an inch of tape
The operating system that taught the world to click, and never once apologized for it.
The last of the DOS-blooded Windows, gone before its blue screens could fully be forgiven.
Gave the Start menu a serious job, and it wore the suit with pride.
Tasman deserved better, and so did we.
It fed us the internet one feed at a time, until Google decided we were full.
It learned your voice sentence by sentence, then fell quiet.
Spotlight on, Dashboard glowing, gone before the Widgets even cooled
Tagged, shared, and fondly remembered — the book club of bookmarks, adjourned.
Raunchy, rude, and gloriously unapologetic — gone but still stuck in your head.
It really whipped the llama's behind, right up until the very end
A personal supercomputer that finished the classic Mac OS with dignity.
Racked, stacked, and quietly slotted out - the server that let Macs do the heavy lifting
It taught the world that anyone could lay out a page — then let InDesign take the next shift.
It packaged the future, then handed the keys to its own children.
Exposé showed us every window; nothing could hide from you, and we loved you for it.
Kyū-hachi: the machine that taught Japan to type in kanji, retired undefeated.
It bent the rules of ski design backwards and the sport followed.
The first cat brave enough to use its name in public.
Twelve inches of glory: too big to fail, too big to fit in the den.
The table talk goes quiet, but the ambassador's seat is still saved.
The big cat that taught the Mac to purr on Unix bones.
One fast cat, gone ahead to the great keynote in the sky.
The first place your whole music collection fit in someone else's hard drive
Start me up one last time.
Named for a speedway, and it earned it — fast, steady, gone at the checkered flag.
The quiet workhorse that kept the servers humming while Windows 95 stole the spotlight
It booted through MS-DOS and into our hearts, one startup sound at a time.
First of the 32-bit line, it left the DOS crutch behind and never looked back.
One little word, one big mystery — it never explained itself, and that was the point.
It indexed the web before Google told it to; rest easy, FAST friend.
Daisy-chained with dignity, no hub required, still plugged in somewhere inside.
The only cigarette that told the truth - honesty, apparently, doesn't sell.
Rolled into the studio, never out of it
The x stood for 68030, and for a Mac that finally read your floppies right.
Built in Research Triangle Park, browsed the early web, and asked for so little in return.
The ancestor at every modern desk — 29,290 descendants and counting.
It taught the mouse where to go, then quietly closed its window.
Microsoft dialed into hardware once — then let the call go to voicemail for two decades.
It locked the signal, unlocked the 80s, and even its hackers loved it.
The stars were finally right, in 2015.
Dealt a final hand in 1997; the deck was good, the ending was not.
Over 1,100 cards, two point systems, one immortal afterlife on Kickstarter.
It put a print shop on every desk and politely retired once the job was done.
Low-cost by name, high-value in hearts — the pizza box that put Macs in every classroom.
It found the critical path; we just could not keep it off ours
All-in-one heart, classroom soul — it taught a generation and left quietly.
It rolled its last initiative with dignity, then wandered off to a better campaign
The corp may have won that round, but the runners never really logged off.
RIP Microsoft Bob: it turned your PC into a house, and the house stayed empty.
Sixty-eight thousand transistors of pure ambition — it taught our computers to point and click.
Six slots, one stout tower, and the last laugh over the fast young Quadras
The computer left the room, but its ports stayed in every room since.
It taught old software to speak Mac, then quietly slipped out the classroom door.
64 kilobytes, 17 million homes, and one very long goodbye.
Built stores in a browser, wrote in Lisp, left the web a little braver.
The web had a magazine about itself, and for a while that was enough.
Named for the number four, gone by 1994 - even its ending was on brand.
All in black, all in one, ahead of the couch-potato curve.
Enhanced in name, eternal in our hearts — lowercase letters never looked so good.
It put color graphics and VisiCalc in a plastic case, and never stopped being useful.
News in the blanking interval: America typed its answer to Ceefax, then the sets stopped listening.
1250 lines of European ambition, politely ahead of its time and sadly early to the party
Too good to replace, it stuck around until Apple finally found something cheaper.
The middle child of the II family, holding the sound and color line without complaint.
The little Mac that outsold them all, then politely stepped aside.
First of the mini-towers, gone before the tower got comfortable.
Better than dot matrix, cheaper than laser — the sensible middle child, gone in the cleanup.
Graphics and Sound, grace and speed: the last and loveliest of the Apple II line.
It dialed up one last time and nobody picked up
Under $1,000, over-delivered — the little Mac everyone could finally afford.
Fastest Mac of its day, last of the Snow White line — it left on its own terms
It previewed the NES before the NES existed, then politely stepped aside when the star arrived.
Sixteen shades of grey, and every one of them beloved.
The little beige tank that ran out of room, not out of respect.
The first network hung up so the whole world could log on.
Gone in 1990, remembered longer.
It quadrupled memory capacity and quadrupled the future along with it.
First Mac to see in color — and it never stopped looking good.
Aged to Platinum gray, expanded to 4MB, and loved right up to the last beep.
Expandable, snow-white, and quietly dignified — it retired so the Classic could carry on.
One integrated idea, smaller and easier to learn — gone with the dream it carried.
128 KB, three personalities, and one very good keyboard — it left with dignity.
It dialed out one last time and let White Knight take the call.
It drew the line, in water or oil, right to the very end.
First to click, priced to baffle, remembered fondly anyway.
It dot-matrixed its heart out so your Mac could be heard.
A Lisa in Mac clothing, gone before most of us learned to say MacWorks XL three times fast.
Five million keys pressed, one rainbow, endless hours waiting for the tape to load.
Tried to outgrow the Apple II; instead it taught Apple to love it again.
It taught the world what a blank page could look like. Rest easy, old friend.
The motherboard that started it all — it merely needed a case, and a little faith.
Thin body, full voice — it played its set and quietly left the stage.