Around him, the party was beginning to pick up speed, yet the quiet man knew that, without food, it might well slow down. Picking his mobile phone from his pocket, he flipped it open.

"Scotty? Beam done two or three tonnes of archeopteryx."

"Soitenly," replied the answering voice, in a Scots accent.

"Cleaned and plucked. Mario shouldn't have to do all of the work. And include some good barbecue sauce. Out." And he closed the cell phone.

Looking around, noticed...no! It couldn't be! Some fool had been writing tennis scores on a piece of paper -- 6-0, 6-0, 6-0 -- and had rolled it into a tube which was now being run through a pencil sharpener!

Quickly, nearly instantly, the quiet man yanked away the paper tube.

"Watcha do that for?" asked the grinder, belligerently.

"You fool! You bloody, stupid fool!" whispered the quiet man, loudly. "Do you want to end this, this...orgy...party...good time...drunken brawl...folk festival...whatever this is? Think man! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT OCCURS AT GROUND ZEROES????????????"