Sandstol (left) woos Borgenvik with his rendition of It's All About the Benjamins
Locally it was almost universally held that to afford terrapins any nomenclature at all, let alone Norwegian same, was arrant silliness of the first water, and representations were made to “Uncle Ptolemy” Zang, the beloved regional potentate. Bronze-Age intertribal relations being what they were (the “ras clat babblings” to which Gibbon alludes in Decline and Fall: The Prequel), fatuous nettle was the order of the day, save in such instances as those known to us in our supposedly enlightened times only as “Fetch hither the ineptitude” neap tides.
"Uncle Ptolemy" to his subjects, Giddy Zang was born of eccentric parents into extreme lackadaisicalness
The Cuneiform Crew had shrewdly spotted the chink in the armour of the prevalent orthodoxy and done unto their portfolio whatever it is that portfolios have done unto them while petty and protracted public brawls captivate a frenzied, decadent populace, and long before anyone had the slightest inkling that anything was in any way amiss, all was irrevocably and probably tautologously destined to undergo a roots-and-branches transformation.
Most cryptologists now believe this rare surviving tablet to refer to stock acquisition, though some still interpret it is as the dangerous and fanatical rantings of a megalomaniacal psychopath
Wimple specks, or more precisely the removal thereof, had preoccupied the secessionist baboons of Svalbard since at least the latter part of the early Cretaceous era, Zang announced to a roomful of perplexed journalists shortly prior to his resignation, taken, so the People’s Committee for Truthfulness in All Things assured a second and hastily assembled roomful of aforementioneds, in order to spend more time with his family (and, Zang later curiously insisted, with his pet marmosets, Hector and Mistress Furry).
The formerly exuberant masses were now cowed.