I was a strange man in a strange town with a strange name ("Hairy Corners") on a strange mission. I walked into the town hall and asked to see the mayor. This caused some consternation, and the civil servants all gathered in the corner, muttering and gesticulating and occasionally laughing or staring at me in a rude yet endearing way. While I waited, I observed the intricate stonework before me, suddenly realizing the there wasn't a piece of wood in the whole place, that the entire building was a single piece of stone. The knowledge made me uncomfortable, and I warily adjusted my hairpiece.
The civil servants, having sacrificed one of their number in a small portable propane altar, seemed to have come to some sort of decision. One of them (who had the head of a pelican) approached me, and said, "The mayor's out. We can give you a list of the local extrema, however." He offered me a damp, smelly sheet of paper that appeared to contain a map of the town with some sort of contours drawn on it. "I need the mayor," I said insistently. Pelican Head twitched. "No can do. You want the local extrema, that's fine. Fifty dark souls and a gram of pocket lint for voodoo insurance purposes. *Your* pocket lint, no fakes. We have ways of detecting fakes."
I was thwarted. I didn't have any pockets. A terrible thing, not to have pockets. Dejectedly, I stumbled out of the town hall. As I looked back, the civil servants seemed to be arguing over the map. My hairpiece was itching me, now, and I decided to see if I could find some ointment.