and what about over-fucking-population , they bellowed and so , bereft of shiny stick and made crampingly aware of the tininess of they tiny voice amid all they steel-heeled pontification , they circled the tavern from they outside and they made they , they good old uniform faithful people with heart and god in that heart , some god at least , bring forth they biggest cannon on they smallest wheels , and on they command they dropped they biggest iron ball in they biggest gray cannon , and they plugged they ears while they lit they fuse , and they would have liked not bearing to watch but in fact couldnt drag they eyes off they sad trajectory , and the iron ball tore through the taverns wall and collapsed a great swath of tavern roof and landed miraculously almost in the exact centre of the well-lit circle , taking a pair of heads of angry speakers ( there were about sixteen of they at that exact moment ) with they .