Fools, turn back. In 1908, Tunguska, my grand-grand father, at least so he tells, was involved in a similar happening. Two russian farmers in the area had come up with a new breed of cold resistant potato, and after sucessful tests, they took to a local inn to celebrate. Little did they know that the congregation had just a little too much liquid joy, and how focused the praise would be. After several days of nonstop praise, the hyperbolic density reached critical levels, and the russian authorities were alerted. Realizing the magnitude of the problem, they knew that they couldn't disperse it by themselves. They sent a letter to Prussia, world reknown for its somberness under Bismark, to send a congregation of the most straight faced military officers that they could find. My grand-grand father was within that troop. But alas, they came too late, as by the time they reached the village of Kezhemskoe, a flash was visible and loud explosions were heard, as the inn had reached critical hyperbole. You may not want to believe me, as all signs of the potatoes, the inn are gone, and all records were wiped during the cold war.

Overstatements are hell.