"I've decided!" declared Emma, doing a little happy-dance.

Bob sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes, wondering how long he had been asleep. As he regained focus he found himself staring at his wife's boobs as they bounced around under her ninja suit.

"Good," he croaked, as she leant in for a kiss, "I'll grab a coffee then get things set up."

The Masher, would certainly be one of the messier devices, and so the thought of cleaning it up after use had dissuaded the couple from testing it so far. In essence, it is a fairly simple machine, although completely diabolical of course, worthy of any volcano-dwelling arch-villain.

A large flywheel, about a yard across and weighing five tons, is powered by a powerful, speed-controllable electric motor.

Attached to this wheel is a heavy connecting rod about six feet long, and that in turn connects to a piston.

Thus this forms an arrangement not unlike that in any automobile engine. As the flywheel turns, the piston is driven back and forth over a distance of about eighteen inches. The piston itself is not round as in a car engine, but rectangular, with a width of two feet, and a height which is adjustable by means of adding or removing metal plates.

The piston operates at the bottom of a box, two feet wide to match the piston. Opposite the piston is a grill, made of heavy steel with a grid of one-inch squares cut into it.

This is where the mashing takes place. Above this is a vertical Plexiglass chute, into which the victim is delivered. Thus a fine view of the victim is obtained from all angles, for enraptured members of the audience, and cameras alike.

As the piston operates, the lower part of the victim is mashed through the grill in steps, and after each stroke of the piston, the victim falls by gravity deeper into this terrible maw, ready to be mashed again at the next stroke.

Spectators can enjoy tactile participation in the fun too, as on the other side of the mashing grill is large metal 'slops tray', approximately six feet on each side, and a few inches deep, where the gore is collected. It also happens to be the perfect, if messy, spot for certain activities while witnessing the destruction first hand.

Today, Emma had chosen to make the mashing grill eight inches high judging that this would yield the most fun. Bob make the necessary adjustments, and then gave the machine one last test. He revelled in the smooth shick-shick-shick noise as the piston operated back and forth. Then he checked the numerous cameras and microphones. This was going to be a doozy, and it would be a shame not to capture the action for future viewing pleasure.