"I still say CCR is probably the best band ever," Woodthorpe declared.
"Are you still on that?" Wankleburn asked.
"It's true. If they got as much PR as the Stones--"
"Listen, more and frequenter PR is effective for a while, but eventually--"
"Does this tundra go on forever?" Woodthorpe asked. "We should have taken a cab."
"Allow me to point out that we're in the middle of nowhere, idiot," Wankleburn replied.
"Every idea I've come up with, you've either reviled it or insulted me."
"Cabs don't come to the tundra. Now quit whining and keep walking."
"Where are we going, exactly?"
"I figure our only hope is to join an orchestra."
"Sure. That's what Greta did. Remember Greta? In Erie?"
"But she played the bassoon, Wankleburn. We don't play anything."
"Nonsense, Woodthorpe, I play the skin flute, and I happen to know you're quite proficient at fingering the organ."
This is what happens when you allow drilling in the Arctic.