(James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald ja Pablo Picasso istuvat ryyppäämässä suurmiesten vakiopöydässä Kaivohuoneella.)

Picasso: Arse! Arse! Arse!

Joyce: What a lacklustre impendment has been rendered anew down the yandor. Say, are we by rue Jacob again?

Hemingway: Don't talk like a fool! We have miles upon miles between ourselves and Paris.

Fitzgerald: My Gulliver is too small.

Hemingway: Nonsense! Cheer up.

Fitzgerald: It by the damnedest is too small!

Hemingway: Zelda's just winding you up again.

Fitzgerald: What do you know, you pompous ass?

Hemingway: Well. Shall we duke it out like the distinguished gentlemen we are?

Picasso: I must interfere. Scott must get introduced to a proper mistress. Not Finnish, the girls here are too prude. But a debauched decadent Russian cunt!

Fitzgerald: That might very well be the only plausible solution.

Joyce: Attention-hough! Look out the window. Praytell, is that not the famous composer Jean Sibelius fermenting the already rich soil?

Fitzgerald: By Jove, old sport, it most certainly is!

Hemingway: No doubt about it, J.J.!

Fitzgerald: What a noble, titanic, Gargantuan Gulliver.

Joyce: You ought to see Snellman...

Picasso: I must paint that vision!

(Vihainen Eugen Schauman lähestyy seuruetta.)

Schauman: Get the FUCK out of here you fucking shits! Perkele.