"I wish I had a fancy Tūl pen!" cried Olaf as he wrote a short story. "The ink is so distinctive, and it glides over the paper like an albatross on the air currents over the sea."
"Where would you get a Tūl pen?" asked his fiancee, whose name shall remain undisclosed.
"Probably at an office supply store," Olaf deduced, and he got up from his writing desk. He called for the chauffeur. "Chauncey, would you bring the car around?"
"Which one, sir?"
"I don't know, one of the Oldsmobiles." Chauncey nodded and disappeared down the corridor. As Olaf searched for his top hat and theatrical mustache, his fiancee disappeared. When Chauncey brought the Oldsmobile, Olaf could not find her. So he got in the car, and Chauncey drove him to an office supply store which, unlike Tūl, shall not receive a random endorsement.
When Olaf sauntered into this office supply store, he searched for minutes among the pens before asking an associate for help. "Excuse me," he said, grabbing the man's attention. "Do you not carry those blessed, glorious pens produced by Tūl?"
"Sir, haven't you heard?" the associate's eyes boggled. "Tūl was destroyed in a paramilitary action yesterday. They are making no more pens."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Etc. etc." cried Olaf, dropping his monocle. It hit the floor and shattered.
Dejected, Olaf returned home and slumped at his desk. On a whim, he opened his Internet browser and navigated to eBay. Browsing the entries, he found that Tūl pens were being grabbed up by other noblemen in large quantities at exorbitant prices. Even Olaf's small fortune would be of no use.
The door slammed against the wall, leaving a handle-shaped dent in the fancy oak paneling. Olaf's fiancee strode into the room.
"!?" Olaf cried. "What on earth?"
His fiancee looked at the hole in the wall, then dismissed it as unimportant in comparison to the news she brought. Striding to Olaf's desk, she drew a slender case from her trench coat. Presenting it to Olaf, she took a step back.
Olaf opened the case and gasped. It held a Tūl. "Where did you get this?"
"I'm actually an expert on corporate espionage," she explained, "not a violinist, as I have led you to believe. Tūl has indeed been destroyed, but not in a paramilitary action. Actually, it was bombed by a close European competitor, called Lūt. They also make violins." Gesturing to the pen in Olaf's grasp, she said, "This is the last Tūl pen ever produced."
Suddenly they both found themselves standing before the pearly gates of heaven. "What on earth?" asked Olaf.
"I'm afraid your house was bombed in a paramilitary act of corporate espionage by the European pen and violin manufacturer Lūt," St. Peter explained.
"Drat!" said Olaf.