There are on earth, and always were, thirty-six righteous men whose mission is to justify the world before God. They are the Lamed Wufniks. They do not know each other and are very poor. If a man comes to the knowledge that he is a Lamed Wufnik, he immediately dies and somebody else, perhaps in another part of the world, takes his place. Lamed Wufniks are, without knowing it, the secret pillars of the universe. Were it not for them, God would annihilate the whole of mankind. Unawares, they are our saviors.

(from the Book of Imaginary Beings)

Jim and I chatted about our new rooms, with him especially pleased
by the coup he’d pulled off in securing the big one next door. Meanwhile
Sam was halving the slim oblong ounce of Leb with a serrated knife.
He put a half in each pan of the scales, found one slightly heavier, so he
broke off a corner, transferred it and found they matched. Then he split
one of the halves into two quarters, which matched exactly at the first
attempt. Sam was obviously a real expert at this trade. The two quarters
became four eighths, two of which were passed to Race and Gordon
respectively, and the other two further divided into sixteenths for Fiona,
Sonya and Jim. The other half ounce was split into a quarter for Eric, an
eighth for me, and the rest went into Sam’s tin.

Excerpt from Roger Keen’s book, “The Mad Artist: Psychonautic adventures in the 70s”. Read a free chapter from the book here (PDF).