Efnafræðistúdentinn er að spila Lotukerfislagið. Og svo er hann eitthvað að rugla um hvalveiðimenn á tunglinu.

Og þá datt mér í hug ljóð sem ég hef alltaf haft töluvert dálæti á. Það endar svona:

That's the kind of thing that's being done all the time by poets, from Homer
to Tennyson;
They're always comparing ladies to lilies and veal to venison,
And they always say things like that the snow is a white blanket after a
winter storm.
Oh it is, is it, all right then, you sleep under a six-inch blanket of snow and
I'll sleep under a half-inch blanket of unpoetical blanket material and
we'll see which one keeps warm,
And after that maybe you'll begin to comprehend dimly,
What I mean by too much metaphor and simile.