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BOFHen: LART! LART! LART! LART! LART!

Arthur: Who are you?

BOFHen: We are the BOFHen who say… LART!

Arthur (horrified): No! Not the BOFHen who say “LART!”

BOFHen: The same.

Arthur (to Bedevere): Those who hear them seldom live to tell the tale!

BOFHen: The BOFHen demand….. a clue!

Arthur: BOFHen, we are but simple travellers who seek free advice about the administration of our home linux machines.

BOFHen: LART! LART! LART! LART! LART!

Bedevere: No! Noooo! Aaaugh! No!

BOFHen: We shall LART you again… if you do not appease us.

Arthur: Well, what is it you want?

BOFHen: We want…..

(pregnant pause)

A 166 MHz Pentium!!!!

(minor music)

Arthur: A *WHAT*?

BOFHen: LART! LART! LART! LART! LART!

Arthur: No! No! Please, please, no more! We will find you a 166 MHz
Pentium.

BOFHen: You must return here with a 166 MHz Pentium… or else you will
never log in… alive.

Arthur: O BOFHen, you are just and fair, and we will return with a 166 MHz
Pentium.

BOFHen: One that looks nice.

Arthur: Of course!

BOFHen: And not *too* expensive.

Arthur: Yes!

BOFHen (excitedly): THEN… Then, when you have found the 166 MHz Pentium,
you must place it here, beside this 25 MHz 486, only slightly higher
so we get the two-level effect with a little private ethernet running
down the middle.

Then, when you have found the 166 MHz Pentium, you must process ten
thousand e-mail messages a minute… wiiiiiithh… A HERRING!

(minor music)

Arthur: We shall do no such thing!

BOFHen: Oh, please!

Arthur: Process e-mail with a herring? Not even qmail would run on that!

BOFHen: AAugh! AAAAAH! Oww!! (writhe in pain) Don’t say that word!

Arthur: What word?

BOFHen: I cannot tell; suffice to say, it is one of the words the denizens
of alt.sysadmin.recovery cannot hear!

Arthur: How can we *not* say the word if you don’t tell us how you expect us
to run the system fast enough not to queue mail?

(BOFHen are in pain again)

BOFHen: Ahhhh! He said it again!

Arthur: What, “if”?

BOFHen: No, not “if”! You couldn’t write many computer programs without
saying “if”!

Bedevere: My liege! It’s Sir Robin!

Sir Robin and his minstrels “ride” up.

Minstrels (singing): He’s sacking it in, and packing it up,

Robin: My liege! Finally that qmail ftp is done and I could come down to
the pub.

BOFHen: Now *he’s* said the word!

Arthur: Surely you’ve not given up on trying to get foo.example.net on-line
by tomorrow morning?

Minstrels, by way of answering: He’s sneaking away, and buggering off,

Robin: Shut up! No no, no, I’ve got qmail building right now!

BOFHen: He said the word again!

Robin: … I was… estimating the load at which we’d begin to queue mail…

BOFHen: AAAAAAAuugh!

Robin: uh, here — here while sitting on a lawn along the canal.

Arthur: No, there’s a routing problem between the wireless network here
and www.qmail.org.

BOFHen: Aaaaaaugh! Stop saying the word!!!!

Arthur (getting really amused by the BOFHen): OH, STOP MAKING ME QUEUE MAIL!!

BOFHen: Ow! He said it again!