Good luck with the machines.
They are here to watch us and attack without warning:
The sewing machine was laying in wait for it's prey, it's bobbins salivating multi-colored thread in anticipation. It's speed control pedal quivered nervously as it's needle moved impatiently. Suddenly it spotted an unsuspecting shirt laying peacefully on the 'mending' pile.
*It sprung!*
The shirt was caught! It struggled mightily, but was overpowered by the 'active grip' dogs on the sewing machine's plate. The needle hummed to life and the shirt was done for. The thread stitched viciously in and out of the shirt as it twitched it's death throes!
Victorious, the sewing machine hummed over it's gruesome booty. Then waited for it's next victim....
WOW! That sounds like my sewing machine! Woo-hoo! Twins!
*snort*
Ahh, yes, but I am the Master Machine Controller, High Priest of Power, Guru of Gasoline, and Exalted Keeper of the Most Holy Switch. The ranks of the mechanized bow before me, for I, alone, stand as intermediary between them and The Infinite EMF.