Four philosophers sat under a sycamore tree, deep in argument. “Seventy-nine!” shouted one. “Six hundred twenty six!” countered a shorter, fatter philosopher. One in a bright green tunic emphatically spat out “Three hundred thousand!”
The philosophers continued like this for an hour. Finally, they laid their eyes on the final philosopher, who until this point had remained silent.
Sagely, deliberately, the old philosopher raised his head and opened his mouth. He spoke with a precision and economy that only experience could hone. He spake: “one.”
A voice boomed from the heavens, shaking the sycamores in the grove: “THAT’S NUMBERWANG.”
This is my instance.