At that point I'll be so low at the futility of everything, the corruption of all earthly goods and the chaotic nature of all matter that I'll disintegrate in a puff of whimpers. Why go on? I'll ask the cold, unimpressed Universe. It won't answer, and I will float away on a gentle, teasing breeze. But the breeze won't make me laugh. Or smile. I'm a puff of air, after all.
Puffs of air have no need for Macbooks, so I imagine that eventually one of my coworkers will discover that I've imploded and they'll realize I'm never coming back for it. They'll take it, and they can have it, for all I care at that point, being disembodied and most likely already beyond Jupiter (I've escaped, why stick around? Never mind that air can't leave the atmosphere, OK, I'd do it, so help me I would!) on my way somewhere INTERESTING, and preferably sans laws of corruption.
Edit 4-29-10: It was the UPDATES. User error! Stoker fixed it for me that very night and he didn't even have to try. It's good having a hero around for this sort of thing, you know, like pickle jars, bookshelf assembly, hanging drywall and building retaining walls--the usual issues. He's the greatest.