The first anthropologist says: “Chi-chi, of course.”

There ensues three days of screams, moans, pleadings, whimpers, then silence.

The chief comes to the hut to speak with the second anthropologist. He picks chi-chi, too.

Three more days of shrieks and begging.

The chief comes to the third anthropologist.

“Which do you choose, death or chi-chi?”

“I’ve heard too much,” says the anthropologist. “I’ll take death.”

“A very wise choice,” says the chief, who then adds with a sad smile: “But first, chi-chi.”

That’s why some of us are disappointed to know of the death of Ken Lay. Depraved as we may be, what we really hoped was that crimes of his super-size sort might bring him just a little chi-chi.