Deep within the confines of our claw machines, a race of miniature mole-people operate the cranks, cogs, steam engines, coal furnaces, and circuitry that makes the claw dance across their sky and choose stuffed animals with cunning precision. You see, the mole-people celebrate a grand sacrifice when the most skilled customers finally win a fluffy prize. But when they go days without sacrificing a toy animal? The mole-people weep. Loudly. We know this because we can still hear them.
What the fuck, Dennys.