An Old Machine

A worn out machine sat in a brown leather recliner watching a video discussing the future possibilities of human bionics. The machine laughed because it knew the possibilities were already being put into working practice — that humans had turned into machines decades ago. It was an old story.

The machine went to the kitchen and poured itself a bowl of Wheaties. Stacked cans of tuna sat on the counter next to its bowl: Chicken of the Sea. It used to work there on the assembly line packing tuna. It checked each can as it passed by. This position was now obsolete, so the machine was also obsolete. It was sent to its home to rust and die.

It got a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and four fingers of whiskey sitting in a mason jar in the pantry and emptied the contents out over the Wheaties and stirred it with a spoon. As it waited for the cereal to become soggy it went to the restroom and emptied black oil from its false phallus. The oil trickled slowly out of the prosthetic, pushing its way through an un-lubricated prostate. The machine shook the phallus and went back to its bowl of Wheaties.

It drank the cereal and beer and whiskey by pouring it down its clanking throat. The liquor joined the oil in the machine’s tubes and made its way to the central processing unit. The unit exploded in a series of pops and sparks and gave what the machine believed to be pleasure. Then it sat back down in its recliner and watched the busy static on the television machine.