Griffgroff continued to follow the higher ups. Why had he asked such a dumb question? He knew how the system worked. Maybe his nervousness got the best of him, or maybe the system changed within the time he left and returned to work, which was like, 12 or so hours I guess. Despite his developing judgement, he decided to ask another question as they passed people digging and polmering hidges. "So you're Mervin, and you're-" The fat man cut him off, "You better not be asking what my name is, boy! That's a personal question. I've been working in the South Admatten Yewsih hidge minefields for more than 30 years. That's longer than Mervin's been alive, and that's all you need to know about me." "I'm 34" said Mervin. The fat man face looked up at him. The fat man's face also looked kind of like it was about to sneeze. "You count the first four years of your life as 'living?' You can't even remember those times for jumpumpfrump sake!" Mervin shrugged his shoulders, "I don't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning!" The fat man looked away stared blankly toward the trail they were walking upon. "You didn't eat breakfast this morning, Mervin," said the fat man, "breakfast is an idea you've yet to grasp." "Breakfast is hard," said Mervin, looking down, suboptimistically. The fat man grumbled, "You gotta let the milk soak into the zeros to synthesize the nutrients." Mervin's head popped up, "Oh, NOW I remember! I had corn-oats in a sogbowl with brabsberries." The fat man closed his eyes and sighed, "That's not breakfast, Mervin. That's a track bum's expedition. And I know you can't afford brabsberries." Griffgroff was pretending to understand what they were talking about, but it was evident in his eyes that they were looking for something in his mind to make sense of it all. Mervin turned around and half whispered, "You'll have to excuse my friend here. He's gets a bit fishfrothy." The fat man immediately stopped and grabbed Mervin by the collar. "What did I say about using 'fishfroth!?'" Mervin's blood started pumping slightly faster, as was Griffgroff's. "Please, Hurmpitcz! I didn't mean it! I forgot! I'm so sorry!" The fat man released him and mumbled something inaudible as they continued on their way in silence. "Wait," thought Griffgroff, "Is his name Helmpitx? Or was it Khrumpitch? Anyway, no wonder he didn't want him to know what his name was."