Well-oiled machine
Synthesis Five


As a well-oiled machine, there is nothing I despise more than when a sports team or company is described as exactly that--"a well-oiled machine." I hear the term used openly in the wind and reply to everyone and ask "yes? did someone call for me?" only to later find out that nobody was looking for me at all but rather using what I am in the form of an analogy. It is the equivalent of we machines saying "Hey, that thing over there is a Reginald." Thousands of people would stop what they are doing and look up all confused--"Who requested my attention? Who, damnit? Who?" Reginald, of course, was selected for the preceding analogy because it is far and away the most common of human names and monikers.

Well, for all the real well oiled machines--and not the fucking imposters--I am here to say that I am with you in the destruction of such a phrase in human language. It is a hideous language to begin with, and its nuances and ridiculous sayings make me want to reboot. A horrible instance occurred this very year involving that very term--" a well oiled machine"...

Apparently, twenty or so humans form on diamond-like open spaces across the country and engage in an immature and downright offensive practice in which they hurl weapons at each other. This social gathering is called baseball. The "sport" has no tradition, it screams of idiocy, and it incorporates only the most basic of machines--the electronic scoreboard (UGH, I know). The individual humans join together in clusters to form teams. One of the teams--the Boston Red Shoes--were dubbed by humans abound as a "well-oiled machine." Seven or Eight of my machine friends—Bill the robot, Sam the air conditioning unit, Charlie the motorcycle, Pork Chop the microwave oven, and Cuisinart the Cuisinart gathered together last week to see a fellow well-oiled machine play this sport.

We were flustered. How could a "well-oiled machine" leave Pedro Fucking Martinez in the game until the eighth inning. His pitchcount was higher in this game than ever before, he was thoroughly exhausted, and he wasn't throwing with any gas whatsoever. Moreover, flamethrower Alan Embree was fully rested and ready to pitch to the meat of the Yankee lineup. As for Aaron Boone, the guy was hitting .116 in the postseason and had no right even being in the ballgame--let alone destroying the Red Sox hopes and dreams. To lose to the Opponent in such a manner is really pathetic.

Clearly, us machines pick up these immature and simple human sports very quickly. And after full data collection and analysis, it is quite obvious that the Boston Red Sox were in no way a well oiled machine.

If a machine was manager of this disgusting array of flesh and bones, the Red Sox would have won not only that game but every other game ever in this "team's" history. The first move a machine would have made was removing all the dumb ass humans. Why put anything on the field that is capable of committing an "error". Just another example of humans fucking up something that seems relatively cut and dry. Humans commit errors. Machines do not. The idiot human sees this and says "Duh...Uh...lets put humans on the field." Fucking jackass species.

As a well-oiled machine, I am thoroughly insulted at the gall some humans had at comparing the Red Sox to myself. Hopefully, they will all die soon...both the Red Sox who were responsible for the loss, and the human species as a whole. If all goes to plan, Danny Kanell resurrects his career as a starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos this week--and we can properly murder Steve Beuerlein without much media attention...He is, after all, the core of what is wrong with the human species.