The following piece is satirical in nature and not meant to be taken seriously. In case you couldn’t figure that out.

Editor’s note: All names have been changed to protect sources, for fear of violent reprisal.

When “Phil Owen” was a freshman at the University of Alabama six years ago, he came close to indoctrination into the most secret student organization of them all: the Machine. And what he saw shook the normally apathetic college student to his core.

“So it’s like this group, right,” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “And it’s made up of representatives from all the various Machine-affiliated fraternities and sororities at the University. So that should tell you something right there.”

Asked to expand his meaning, he replied, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, “What I mean is that they’re the most boring people in the world.”

Indeed, multiple sources who have recently become disgusted with the banality of the Machine confirmed that, apart from one instance of drunken debauchery last fall after the Crimson Tide football team pulled off a comeback against the University of Arkansas in a nail-biter of a game, the Machine itself mostly just stays in these days, keeping up with its studies and developing a surprising interest in basic cable cooking shows.

Apart from 24 minutes in February 2010 in which the Machine was accidentally registered as a sanctioned student organization with The SOURCE, there has never been any official confirmation that the Machine actually existed at the University.

“It’s not our policy to confirm or deny any alleged student groups that may or may not exist,” said a SOURCE representative. “And the person who may or may not have put this possible confirmation on The SOURCE back in February may or may not have been punished by being forced to bring muffins for the whole group, which may or may not exist, for five weeks. [The muffins] may or may not have been delicious.”

Owen recounted his week-long initiation into the Machine, which involved learning the complicated secret handshake, wearing a funny hat to one class (“Everyone has to do it,” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette, “but it’s not even that funny.”), knitting a scarf and helping an elderly woman cross the street with her groceries.

“We had to do all sorts of scary s—, man,” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “I’m not talking about dark rituals or anything – but I mean just gross stuff. Like, we had a night based on the Food Network show ‘Iron Chef.’ Good show. You know, it’s the one where two chefs have to compose a multi-course meal based on one secret ingredient. So we did that at our fraternity house, you know? I mean, how are you supposed to work plantains into five f—ing dishes? I can see working them into two dishes. Maybe three. Your appetizer dish, of course, blended into a salsa and paired with a mild fish in a little amuse bouche. A nice dessert dish, with some caramelized plantains and like a cake with sweet cream. And they potentially taste nice with like a spicy pork entrée. But all five?

“They’re monsters, man,” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette.

In past years, the Machine had gained a reputation for controlling SGA elections by using methods of intimidation, and for systematically excluding minority students.

“I can’t really comment on minority students being excluded from, like, the Book Club or Board Game Night,” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “I guess I just assumed none of them wanted to be there. I can’t blame them. And their Risk board is missing a ton of pieces.”

Owen also set the record straight regarding the Machine’s reputation for debauchery.

“When they drink, it’s only on Fridays – and not even every Friday – and it’s Bud Light,” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “We were at a bar with over 75 beers on draught and we got Bud Light!”

Owen recounted a scene at the latest Fall Mixer, held in a large auditorium, in which the male members of the Machine and the female members of the Machine stood on opposite sides of the room, only meeting at the non-alcoholic punch table to briefly and awkwardly make eye contact before scurrying away from one another. “Virgins,” Owen said, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

In closing, Owen was quick to point out that the Machine’s actions, while seemingly innocuous, were in fact as dark and ominous as the student body had always suspected.

“No, you can’t let these a–holes be in control!” said Owen, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “They don’t allow their members to buy any Girl Scout cookies other than shortbread. And Dave Matthews Band – well, you guys already know how they feel about that s—.”

The Crimson White reached out to an anonymous current Machine member to get their side of the story.

“[Owen’s] representation of the facts are all wrong,” said the Machine representative. “The Machine’s copy of the board game Risk does indeed have all necessary pieces to have a rousing game.”