Arnestine Munkwine, third in line of the Lower Duchy of North Toronto, is accosted one sleepless night in the midsummer by the eigenghost of Pafnuty Tschebycheff:
ARNESTINE: I am a frond of salt! Befriend not my pants, for they are various, and possibly abscene!
PAFNUTY: Why not enjoy one of my polynomials? They are crunchy and go well with dairy products. cos(n*acos(x))?
ARNESTINE: You bleary wraith! I engender no such arch-fleuronffle! My odgeblearns are not for you understomping!
PAFNUTY: Oh, the wind on the steppe is a plural gas, and the astronomers of doom do not protect thee from with paramecium of doom.
ARNESTINE: Off with your obstreperous opprobria, foul ghost. I meander hither and thither and undergo a puncture wound on my foot from one of your unhousebroken polynomials.
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