The Machine Stops

I knew a guy once. A guy, it has to be said, who was one of the most unique people around. He was in his twenties and sported a goatee without looking like a twat; he venerated the South Park movie for its qualities as a well-performed musical, he told me on various occasions that I was a decent musician, and he was a trombone player to boot, so that kind of proves it. Unique... and a little ridiculous.
This particular trombonist had spent three years at St. Andrew's University, and as such, had had what one may term an 'interesting' educational upbringing. He told us stories in the pub after band practice, and what stories they were.

One of these came back to me yesterday as I was attempting to get some sleep. Trombonist knew a guy at university with the curious name of Machine. Presumably not his real name (although stranger things have happened), although I never asked, so I never found out. Machine, as it turns out, was in the habit of collecting porn. Not porn for use, mind you... he just collected porn to see if he could. And this wasn't your standard run-of-the-mill porn. It was stuff like bestiality, incest, elderly... it was downright dirty. The aim was to see if he could get it - and so he did.

This went on for a while (Trombonist didn't say how long exactly) until Machine's girlfriend discovered that he had a large collection of frankly sickening pornography hidden in the cupboard under the stairs. To be honest, it wasn't too hard to find. The odds were that she wasn't going to go looking in the cupboard under the stairs if she didn't know there was anything to look for. But, lo and behold, in a corner of the cupboard, there stood a small black box, the type designed to hold those 7" vinyl singles, stuffed full of the incriminating items. Intrigued, she opened it, knowing full well what she would find inside.

The clue? On the front of the box, in bright white Tipp-Ex, he had written "MACHINE'S PORN" in huge capital letters.

A word to the wise, my friends... keep it hidden.