Rincewind's eyes bug out. He scrabbles for his order pad. "But, but but," he sputters, sounding like an outboard motor on it's last legs. "That's what you ordered!" he wails. He squints at the pad, trying desperately to decipher his handwriting.
"It was like that when I got it," Rincewind says promptly, eager to absolve himself. "Not my fault."