(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.
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