This is a deeply disturbing story, one that is as disquieting as it is hideous. It is the story of one man's lonely battle with recurrent parasitic infestation and, unfortunately, there is no happy ending.

Nonetheless, we feel compelled to chronicle the all-too-real sequence of events which occurred nearly six years ago, beginning on a dark, wind-swept Friday night in October - in the bathroom, over the toilet, under the large travel poster of Argentina. The transcript of comments and questions offered by the Hungarian man, Artov, and Sara, a 3rd-year anthropology student at Texas A&M, have been included in this manuscript with permission.

I have told the T-story many times. How many times? Why, I've lost count - 50? 500 times - what difference does it make? Let me say this - I used to gnaw the raw flesh of fish in eating establishments that were conducive to this type of behavior. I'll be the first to confess: I wanted to be cool, to be popular, to be just like everyone else. In the beginning, I would order the teriyaki with rice, but, after a while, the hungry pressure of peers coerced indulgence. Initially I was hesitant ["c'mon, man," they chided, "swallow the sucker - this shit's too expensive to keep under your tongue like that ..."] . But then it wasn't long before I too was scarfing the stuff, woofing down the slimey slabs of fish like a crazed penguin.

Now, I no longer continue this practice. Why? A friend cared enough to share the repercussions of such unsanitary digestive ritual. The violation and degradation of the sanctuary of one's intestinal channel by a voracious 40-foot worm is ... ... nightmarish and, most certainly ... grotesque. I was lucky - spared such a twisted fate. Not so fortunate was the poor ravaged rascal depicted in this true account - who ultimately became a veritable worm hotel - all from a one-night sushi binge. For this reason, I feel obligated to recount the sordid details, now in print, soon on audio-cassette, just one more time. I come to no conclusions and render no judgements about various lifestyle choices. Ultimately, you are the one who must - conclude and choose.

IT BEGAN LIKE THIS:

the wife found him standing in the bathroom, over the toilet, with one pantleg down to the knee (other one just above the ankle); and he was just moooaning ferociously:: "Oh-whooaaahh, whoh, ahh, god help me.." But she was not god, so she could not help. She was just the wife-person, now staring at, well it looked like, 10 inches or so of some sort of WworrrrrmmmmmM creature protruding vigorously out of the husband's trembling, frightened hind. And from the way this worm fellow was flapping and gyrating, banging to and fro against her beloved's buttcheeks, it did not appear overly thrilled to have escaped from, what one might imagine as, the dank, quiet sanctity and nurture (?) of a spongey, fully nutritious colon.

Full?? Well, this was the crux of the problem, of course - as cruxes go. It seems: the guy (husband with worm attached, see above) had been radically constipated, 'K? I mean, for quite a while (two months?). How do I know? Ask Joaquin Mueller, she was the one who told me. In fact, her dad, an internist in Century City, 's been doctoring the dude for a long time. How long? Geez, I dunno, you'd hafta ask her. But when I say 'doctoring the guy', I don't mean for worms per se. More like the usual stuff - a 'roid or two, nasal polyps, planter worts -- then a couple months passes and it's clear that this fellow hasn't had a regular bowel movement, nada primo peristalsis, for quite a period of time. So they, eventually, decide that this is not good - and go through the usual battery of tests and so forth. But everything comes out negative an' he's just not responding to any of the various medications prescribed. Which then prompts a ration of Metamucil and supposedly that doesn't do much either. On the other hand ...

It's 2 weeks after Christmas - and all through the house -- no-one is stirring -- except for this poor louse, who's screaming his guts out cos some extra-massive dinoworm is slithering out of his hiney, 14 inches (notice that an additional 4 inches have emerged since the first paragraph - this is not to be construed as overly eager narrative license; in fact, the worm's rate of protrusion is about 2 inches per paragraph as we speak). And it's flapping about wildly, undulating and writhing, contorted in shape - dripping and slickened with, well, it's host's intestinal juices from someplace inside - a warm worm lubricant nevertheless. Making a splashy messy texture on the poor man's quivering flesh, easing its way out from a dark abyss. There was stench too. You just can't have 15 inches of tapeworm, slick with digestive juices and related intestinal gunk, and not have stench. So there was that, to be sure. No doubt a sensory picnic for the wife as she happened in on this grim bit of performance art. And the worm? Way pissed off. Now has major anger issues to deal with - much more at - playing the role of a well kept parasite deep deep deep within. Errr, just how deep are we talkin'?

An appalling thought, but it's all she can think of. Her pulse rate adequately amped, wife runs to the phone, legs scramble through the den to the kitchen. Lunges for the phone, calls the doctor. Answering service. Oh my god, oh my god (cascading groans of revulsion now suddenly more vibrant from the bathroom). Hangs up. Hospital? No, try service again, dr.'s on call (worm-ridden hubby moans: "Ohhh, dooo something -- Helen! " [the wife? is that her name?] - "it's getting BIGger, oh shit, it's on my thigh I think .." ) .

Helen finally reaches the doctor. It's 3 AM - or 4 AM, something like this. He tells her that this is a serious matter, not to be taken lightly, must do something pronto. So then .... what? C"mon, Sara, what're you making a face about?

"Oh, sure ... like the doctor's gonna say: 'hey, don't sweat it, go back to sleep and in the morning if it's still a problem make an appointment'! Right! This whole thing didn't happen, gimme a break."

No, in fact, you're ahead of me - if you'll let me go on? OK? Ok, so the doctor was way freaked - and insisted that they both meet him at his office w/out delay. Do not pass go or collect .. whatever. Come straight to the office for worm extraction. And - he'd arrange for some assistance, but the pressing matter was to de-worm a.s.a.p. High priority to get the entire critter out before ....

" Before what ? "

Well, before it retracted back into it's original living "space".

" Gross. So how could they be sure that wouldn't happen? "

Well, that's the point. They didn't want that to happen. I guess

it's easier to remove the entire thing when there's some part to grab hold of and tug. I mean, otherwise .... anyway, here's what the doctor told the wife: get some tape and try to tape down the flapping end to the butt. That way it can't go anywhere!!

"No way! You're making this up! Cos that's really disgusting. "

I am an investigative journalist. I do not "make things up".

"So you're tellin' us, what you're sayin' is, that there's this guy with some sort of gargantuanoid wriggling worm comin' outta him, out of his back end, like a house on fire - taped down to his butt so it won't go back inside; and he's headed for the doctor's office in the middle of the night to get it yanked?"

Pretty much.

"And you're saying that the doctor's there, with nurses and stuff waiting for this guy, and they're gonna tug the sucker out? "

Right. They needed to determine if it had "subdivided," or deposited any eggs or that type of thing. Whether it's one single worm, or, uhm, part of a worm cult . Maybe a whole cub scout troop of invading parasites ...

"So then what happened ?"

So, if you give me a chance, I'll tell you... They pulled it all out, they got it all.

"All what ?"

Well, all 46 feet of it.

"No fucking way!"

Yes, fucking way. It was like one giant worm thing. Had been living in the intestines for a period of time - I don't think they ascertained just how long - but for a while. Apparently intestinal waste and related eliminants traveling through the digestive tract are steak and eggs to a hungry tapeworm.

"So what did they do, just reel it out like fishing line?""

And carefully, I suppose. Didn't want it to snap (or tear?).

"Did it ?"

They put it in a pail - or whatever could double for a large enough specimen jar, and packed if off to a lab.

"Wait a minute, why did this happen in the first place? Why'd he have a worm? Did he like not ever wash his hands before ... or after ... ?? "

Well, I don't think it was a hygiene problem. Bad sushi, they're saying. Lots of parasites thrive in the (raw) flesh of fish. In most cases, the hydrochloric acid in your gut kills the buggers - but , evidently, not always.

"Now hold on, pleez excuze me vun zecond. I have been zitting here lizzening to ziz - politely, I might add - vhile Zarah she talks and azks of you. But I muzt comment, I am vrom ze eaztern part of ze continent - and vee do not have ze problems zere, zuch az you dezcribe, vith ze vairms. Vhere do ze vairms come from, pleez? And vaz ziz poor man infezted? And only from ze anuz? And vaz zere puz? Ja, I vould be interezted to hear of ziz; oh , and vhat about ziz bucket you zpeak of. Ziz bucket for ze vairm. Eez it zpecial bucket? And doez ze doktor alvays have ze vairm bucket around for problem zuch as ziz ?"

These are good questions, but I can only tell you that once they got it out, they put it in a pail. And after it was pailed, they sent it off to the lab. So I really don't know about these other things - remember I'm just relaying to you guys what Joaquin told me. And - well, I wasn't there - in the office, y'know - when they were pulling the thing out.

"Well, so what about the worm-man. They got it outta him, took it away - and so now he's standing there, suddenly, with a clean bill of health? Did he wig? Was he relieved? Is that the end of the story? "

"Ja, I, of courze, vonder of ziz myzelf. Ziz iz quite dezpicable, no? Vat doez ziz man do now zat ze vairm iz gone? Eez he ok? Deed it, I zpeak of ze vairm ven it vaz zere - een him - deed it eat anyzing vrom inzide - I am zinking of ze rektum or zome zing like ziz ?"

From what I understand, he was ok, everything was still intact - do tapeworms have teeth? But apparently the major problem at this stage was his mental health - or lack of it. He, uh, wasn't doing too well with, what did they say it was?, letting go, I think. For example, in the days that followed, there were these massive anxiety attacks. He would imagine ze vairms, err worms, coming out of his eyeballs, worms suddenly erupting out of grape-like purplish blisters on the skin of his back and arms. Brainworms! He dreamed his skull was a planter box, the folds of his brain devoured by hundreds of thousands of tiny, pin-sized crawling things - and (in the dream) he lived the remaining balance of this worm-encrusted existence, with a hollow head. Just a worm-gnawed shell.

"Ziz iz vot he had dream of? Zat vairms zay ate his brains to nossing, and he leeved ze rezt of hiz life like a pazetic cockroach or zomezing zuch as ziz? But zay deedn't really do any of ziz, yes? Ven he voke up, he still had his brains? Zay vere ztill een hiz head?

There were a series of nightmares that repeated - and then the visual hangover of this apparently burrowed into his thoughts during the day. So for the first few weeks after the tapeworm had been extracted, he was more than mildly tormented, borderline dysfunctional. The wife, for instance, one morning - we're talkin' maybe a week post-worm - discovered him alongside the shower stall in the bathroom, taking his pants off - putting the pants back on. Taking 'em off, then putting back on again. Off -- on. Off/on. Offfff .......................... then on. And so finally, with persuasion, he finds his way to a stress shrink and psychopharmacologist. Cos at this point, he can't really work, won't eat, semi-catatonic - maybe too many cognitive wormoid intrusions throughout the day (there was this one time, about a week after he'd been de-wormed, when he and the wife are driving - & they decide to cruise Dunkin' Donuts - she orders this raspberry jelly-filled thing, but he grabs it and starts pulling down his pants, and, well, I'm off on a tangent here, but I'm told it was pretty revolting). Anyhow, they drag him over to this woman specializing in posttraumatic stress disorders. The wife called to make the appointment.

THE CALL: "Hello, Dr. R. O'Fiss? - hi. This is Helen Beckman. I left a message on your service last week, describing the problem. You got it? Oh, great - ok. Well... No, the worm has been removed...... Right. They got all of it. .... Yes, that's correct, 58 feet. .... No, I don't believe there was any, as you say, degradation of, well any part of the lower intestinal tract. No... . Uh, no... the intense itching has subsided and the phantom food-worms are apparently gone also. That's right, he can even eat my spaghetti again.... Well, ok, so the problem now is that even though he's free of worms -- or worm - he can't let go of it. It hangs over him like a swollen, black raincloud. He's morbid and dreams of small, antlike things, call them worms if you will, eating his brains out. He gets panic attacks during the day, and can't go to work.... Right, no that's right. He's been - for about a couple weeks now. .... No, as far as I've been able to tell, he has no unusual rituals or compulsions.... No, well I haven't seen him examining his, that place, since the other night ... What's that?.... No, I don't think he's done anything like that again or -- tried to insert any other types of objects in there. Right. No, that's correct. In fact, I was behind the shower curtain watching and ... I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. ... No - that wasn't the time with the bactine, that was the time before.... No, I agree. I think you're right, that'd be the best way to proceed at this point. Ok, so we'll see you next Thursday at 2? ... Ok, great. I'm sorry, what's that? .... No, I will. I'll keep a close eye out and, I mean, I could watch behind the churtain again if you think .... No, no I don't keep any of those around the house anymore - ... right, nothing that would fit in there. ... There too ??...Well, ok, I guess that makes sense, it wouldn't hurt to be overly vigilant about this. ... Right... Right, I see what you're saying. Ok, thank you for the time doctor, and we'll see you on Thursday."

"Now, vait vun zecond. I am trying to azzimilate ziz phone call you zpeak of, but didn't you zay zomezing before about a, vhat vaz it, a pump?"

A what?

"No, you know, a devize. An inztrument of zorts to eradicate

ziz vermin, ziz horrible peztilence, forever. An enormous pump- vith tremendous zuction or hydraulic capability, ja?"

But they got all of it out, all 62 feet of it. Why would they need additional equipment or, as you say, devices?

"But zats ze point, I am zaying. Ziz phone call indicates ziz man, ziz poor unfortunate vairm infezted bug-trough of a man, to be haunted, no? Tortured vith ze zpectre of living out hiz life az a vizzeral vairm farm. A human hotel for zings zat infezt vun'z kishka - and zen protrude out and vriggle. Zo that perhaps a pump, I offer, might convince him zat ziz iz not nezezzarily ze case? Ziz doktor on ze phone, ja, maybe haz vun of zese types of pumps zere in ze office like ze ozzer doktor had ze bucket. Zo zay can pump him, for a long period of time if nezezzary, and vhen I zay pump him , I mean to zay - pump him good - zo zat zen he believes, or I should zay agzepts, zat hiz vairms are all gone."

Well, the salient point here is that none of this turns out to be necessary. They go see the psych - and the tact employed is one of acceptance. You know, I'm ok, you're ok, the worm's ok too! Heal your inner tapeworm - or at least, heal the shame that binds it, err, or bound it - I guess.

"Did he buy that?"

Well, not to begin with. But after a while, the trauma seemed to diminish. I think they got him on Zoloft - and after a few weeks he appeared to improve considerably. Went back to work - and the peak episodes of anxiety and nightmares were fewer and farther apart in frequency.

"Cool. So he was all better just like that?"

No, I mean, c'mon, he was still pretty tweaked. But at least functional - and not suffering to the same extent. Feeling somewhat more in control, I suppose. I was told, for example, that there were still problems with, uhm, binge bactine buying - and scissors.

"But vhat doez a problem vith ze baktine could it entail? I vould zink zat ziz indicates, no?, zome continued mental devizit. After all, ziz poor man, he haz been abominated , contaminated by ze underbelly of life'z more lowly evolved creatzures ... ze kind zat vriggles zrough his feziz, no? Zo I cannot discount ze impact of ziz, nor ze aftermath and ze ztrange behavior you allude to. Could you please, zen, find out vhat it vaz, zat he tried to do vith ze zizzors? Could it have been, for inztance, zomezing involving blunt or zharp trauma to ze rektum area? And if ziz iz ze case, I would have to encourage ziz concept of ze ... pump ..once again - because I feel zat zat vould eliminate all of ziz rotten buziness, no?"And alzo, ziz iz of important ze most, have I already zaid zat it muzd be a very big pump? Zo zat ze appropriate pumping action may, zen, occur."

"Hey, Artov, chill for a sec, dude. You'll get your pump, just ice it, OK? ... Now, lemme get this straight. So they've yanked the thing out, but he's still frying. Does he get better? What's the story?"

The story is that after a month or so -- he gets better. Well, sort of. An essential component of the therapy has been to get him to accept the worm. To embrace it as something to which he is now intimately related. To feel close to the worm. To understand its point of view, if you will. To feel flattered, in a sense, that it chose him - not the guy down the street, not even the president of the United States. And to realize that one is bound to have issues of separation anxiety - that that's perfectly ok: postparticus wormus. And, they told him, any such longing to have the worm back inside, missing that "feeling of fullness," well, to understand that this is perfectly normal and will subside over time. That it always does.

"But zo maybe zen zay zhould've put it back een him, no? Zen he can have ze feelings of ze vullnezz all zat he vould like, ja? Or could zay give him inzted, zay, lotz of ze rice or how do you zay, ze bananaz, to make him ziz vull? Or vrom a different tact, maybe zome, vhat do you zay, depozitionariez, inzerted in ze ozzer end.."

Well I think that at this stage everyone was well beyond this kind of ... I mean, the idea was to promote some sort of acceptance of what had transpired. A worm type of zen, if you will. And anyway, to allow for this, they let him visit the thing in the lab, in

"IN ZE BUCKET???! HE VENT BACK TO ZE BUCKET FOR ZE VULLNEZZ?!!?"

No, nooooo! Well actually, yeah, he went back to the bucket, the pail, the specimen container, wherever it was they kept it. He had some sort of visitation privileges. Basically they were through with the particular tests they'd run - and by the way, he was given a clean bill of health. Apparently everyone was satisfied that it had not subdivided or depositied any worm eggs. So I guess they figured that permitting him to visit the bucket - for psychic mending, if nothing else - was a humane gesture. For worm closure, I suppose. But then it got out of hand. His mental state was making strides, but the emotional bond to the worm became worrisome. He readily told all of his friends what had occurred, that he was PROUD of his worm - proud of how large and feisty it had become. Oh, he would insist, how they would love to see it swishing around in its dark blue little lab-pail. He named it Fred, because he once had a Dachsund named Fred. This was back when he was a kid, 12 years old. Found Fred wandering around an abondoned warehouse and, previously, had never had a pet - not a cat or a goldfish or a parakeet. But then, just three weeks after adopting the four-pawed orphan, the dog was mangled by a car. The front door of the house left open, Fred just fed - and then suddenly bolts out into the street. "Fred come back," he had screamed, "FRED COME!" But Fred did not come - and instead was mashed to a coarse pulp against the fire hydrant on Mr. Scarver's curb.

"Ja, madged like a shkveezed puztchule .."

Eventually, they even let him take the worm and the glop that it lived in - the entire specimen pail - they let him take it -! And he put it over the headboard of his bed, getting way carried away with this adopted worm son or daughter thing. But, on the other hand, he's functioning and back at work. And he seems to otherwise be settling down, with the shockwaves of the entire affair having more or less settled.

"So wait, like how long is this now after they'd yanked the thing outta his butt?"

I think we're talkin' three or four weeks.

"And that's the end? He lives happily ever after?" Is he clenular now?"

"Ja, I, of courze, vonder of ziz too - hiz vullnezz and zo vorth. And ... oh ja, and ze tweezer problem, did ziz, how do you zay, rear-end it'z faze again? Zere are of courze many troubling azpectz ztill zat ve muzt conzider and I muzt vun more time recommend zat eef, and I zay ziz zen quite conditionally, eeeef, eeef zere iz ze trauma obzerved to any one particular orifiz on ze trunk of hiz body -- vell, zen zat it iz prudent to prozeed vith ze zuctional hydraulic route, ja. You, I zink, are avare of vhat I am referring to."

Well, here's how it all ends - it's rather grim.

"Ja - grim. I can imagine grim."

Another week, ten days passes by. The entire episode, this whole thing, it's all beginning to look and feel, you know, very past tense. When ...

"When what?!! Gimme a break, don't even say it ..."

Well, I guess he came down with a head cold -- or some sort of severe allergic episode. In any case, he was congested and sneezing and nose-runny, bad headaches. So they script him some decongestants and antihistamines - but all of this doesn't summon up considerable relief. So, what was it, oh yeah that's right, he goes to the market and buys one of those giant nasal sprays. And he's sprayin' and sprayin' -- until ..

"Until ... ?"

Ok, so this time the wife, I guess we're all close enough to call her Helen at this stage - so Helen finds him face-frozen to the mirror back in the bathroom in the middle of the night (she was behind the shower curtain). And, uh, this time's there's one worm coming out of the left nostril - it's about six or seven inches long and another worm's jammin' out of the other nose hole, it's even larger. And, although it initially appeared to have been 2 distinct worms flapping around his now-catatonic face, it turns out it was just one more giant worm -- been living in his sinus cavities.

"C'mon, you're making this up! How long was it living there? How did it get there? Was it part of the same worm from before? "

This one was close to fourteen feet long and had devoured almost half of the tissue lining the sinus. Supposedly this dark, moist, bacteria laden cave ranks number one on a parasite"s vacation wish-list. How it got there in the first place is anyone's guess. If it subdivided from the original worm you would think he'd notice the migration up through the esophagus and throat.

"Ja, you vould zink zat. But zo now ve are zpeaking of ze vairmz in ze nose. More of ze vullnezz - more of ze orificial trauma. Ven vill eet all ztop, I azk of you? Ven do ve ztop ziz inzanity? Ze human body haz juzt zo many holes een it, if you vill. Holes zat can get to ze inzides of it. Ve could glue zem zhut - zen nossing could get een. But zat cannot be practical. Ok, zo zen ve could employ zertain chemical inzectizides, but zat may not be practical alzo. Zo you zee vat I am getting at vunce again. Ze route of hydraulic invazion is vell documented and undershtood. Ze doktor juzt inzerts many zmall tubes and zeveral big - and they must be quite large - hozez. Zese are zen attached to ze orificial entry points. Finally, ven ze pump iz engaged, ze vairms --- ja, ZE VAIRMS DO NOT ZTAND A CHANCE. I have zeen ziz zo many times. Ze vairms zay all die like ze mizerable vairms zay are. Zay vill never abominate or, how do you say, putrify, ze gut linings again. And ze zinuz --- eef you keep ze tubes up zere for a vile, I mean maybe zat ve zay for a number of days -- but I could have predicted ze zinuz vairm he had. Eef zere is no hydraulics to prayclude zuch a zing, ze vairm alvays gets to ze zinuz from ze anuz - eet just makes zenze. Eets a natural migrazional pazz from ze body's exit hole to ze entry pointz.....

Ja, before I ever hear your tapevairm ztory, I long zuzpected zomezing zuch az ziz might occur. Ven I vaz little boy, I noticed ze vairms in ze garden. And I zot to myzelf, vat if zese vairms vanted to go elzevhere. And az little boy I zat down zinking about ziz -- and I vaz almost zertain zat zay crawled up in my anuz. Zo I took ze hoze, and, vell, zat vaz a very crude type of ze kind of pump zat I zpeak of zo often, but it neverzelezz vorked. I ridded my lower trunk of ziz problem vunce and vor all and ze vairms zey never came back. I know ziz becauze I have often checked my feziz for ze vairms - for ze lazt many yearz zince being little boy - late at night, in ze morning, on ze holidaze, avter ze zex on ze dates on ze veekends - and I can zay zat zere have never been vairms..... But I muzt zay, dezpite ziz, ze zinuz vairm iz inzidious and vun muzt conzede zat it iz, no doubt, unusually grim ....

You might azk of yourself, vat could be vurse? Perhapz a PENIS vairm could be vay vurse. But how could you zay zat vor a vact? Vat vould zuch a zing entail, I azk of you? Ziz, you zee, vaz anozzer zing zat conzerned me ven I vaz young boy. Unvortunately, it eez zometimez nezezzary to entertain all ze pozzibilities, you know, of what COULD be ze case. Vor egzample, how do you know ze Father, zat he does not have ze vairm coming out of zat place vile he eez zleeping in ze night. ZO, az young boy, vat do you do to be zure of zuch zings? Do you check ze Father vile he eez zleeping? And if zuch a zing, eet turns out to be true, vat do you do zen, at zat moment in time? Vould, vor egzample, ze Father undershtand ze route of hydraulic remedy and appreziate zat you are good zon for pervorming zuch zpontaneous eradicazion of penile peztilenze? Eef you zay zat ze Father vould be grateful for zuch an heroic act, I muzt beg to differ. You vould zink zat ze Father vould be eternally beholdent - and proud, ja, zat ze zon acted zo prudently. Ja, you vould zertainly zink zo. You vouldn't imagine zat ze Father vould vake up and become horrible ungrateful beasht and not undershtand vat you vere trying to do. Zat in a ztate of zuch confuzion, he could beat ze young boy who had only ze good intentions of ridding ze vairm from ze Father's reproductive organ. Zat ze Father could hav ze fit of inzanity - zat all hydraulic apparatus and related hozez and zuch zings could be zrown down ze ZEWER - and zen az little boy vat do you do to rektify any orificial invazion zat might zen pozzibly occur to ze Father at ze later date?? VAT DO YOU DO ZEN?? Vat kind of zurgical technique muzt you lairn to remove ze vairms if you do not have ze appropriate hydraulic eekvipment? Vat kind of nighttime zurgical prozedures must you zen become eekvainted vith ven ze Father haz, vunce again, ze vairm in ze zame place?

Ja, I zay good riddance. I undershtand it all - ze vairms and ze vullness. Eef ziz man vants his vairms, I zay let him keep zem. Let 'em all keep zem. Zose who vant ze vairms - zay are eentitled to zem. Zat eez ze lezzon learned. And eet iz a cruel von.