Pray, lend your attention to this delightful comedy of errors unfolding in the corridors of the great Oil Society! Imagine, if you will, the scene: a gathering of shareholders, each one a gentleman of considerable greed, awaiting news of their dividends with the anticipation of a starving hound eyeing a mutton chop.

And then, steps forward Mr. Bogdanov, the head of the enterprise, wearing an expression of such profound tragedy that one might have thought he had discovered his favorite pocket-watch had been stolen by a street urchin. He informed the assembly, with a sigh that could shake the very foundations of the Exchange, that the company has suffered a loss of some 251 billion rubles!

"You see, gentlemen," he lamented, waving his hands in a gesture of utter despair, "the ruble grew strong! Oh, the horror! It ascended beyond the hundred mark, and then, in a fit of sudden vigor, it strengthened so violently that our overseas profits vanished like mist in the morning sun!"

Indeed, the poor fellows had built their castles in the air upon a rate of 96.44 rubles. But alas! The currency, in its capricious nature, decided to thwart the plans of these speculators. One can only imagine the scene: the lead merchant, discovering that his anticipated 'barysh' has evaporated, perhaps turning a shade of pale green—much like a moldy piece of Stilton—while frantically clutching his promissory notes to his chest.

Thus, the grand oil lords discovered a most bitter truth: that when the ruble stands tall, the pocket of the export-merchant becomes most distressingly light. A tragedy for the shareholders, perhaps, but a capital joke for the rest of us!