Turns out the blood of the workers is a pretty lousy oil substitute.

“I told you we should have used their fat!” fumes Dagny.

“They don’t have any fat,” snaps Olga, “they’re all on Atkins, remember? Fourth Estate! More blood!”

Fourth Estate cranks the hose-pump enthusiastically, but Dagny knocks the nozzle out of her hand. “You’re only going to gum it up more!” she says.

“You–you Rawlsian!” Olga tackles her, and they collapse wrestling into an ankle-deep blood pool.

“This is hot,” pants Dagny, struggling, “I bet we could sell tickets.”

“Fourth Estate! Get the camera!” shrieks Olga.