h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

*Pr. C. Tonks teleports to the Smallcy. He doesn't follow the mini-UFO, but dispatches some of his miniscule probes after them...*

*You'll never guess what he then takes a sip at...*

[The Supreme Counter of Cookies watches through a telescope as Affy's ship enters the atmosphere.]

Gunners! Disable that ship!

[Anti-aircraft guns begin lobbing small rocks at 0.1 times the speed of light]

*holds temples in a meaningful way*
I feel hostility... and a distinct hatred towards rolling-pins... I don't want to alarm anyone, but I think that Supreme Cookie guy is a few issues beyond a sizable Kevin Smith collection!

[YK] Let's see ... looking at this planet's technology, judging the distance, and taking Einstein into account ... it'll take 2.47 years, Smallacy-time, for the missiles to hit where it is now, travelling at a tenth of light speed relative to themselves.

[Appearing on the bridge, looking remarkably sober, considering...]

And, did you notice that the recoil has [Wheeze] pushed the planet out of orbit so it's now accellerating away from the Esirpretne...?

[The Mews yell telepathically]

[As it gets darker outside, the Supreme Counter of Cookies becomes more and more livid.]

What have you done, you idiots? Did you forget to use the anti-recoil systems to prevent the planet being knocked out of orbit?

[He shoots the gunnery crew]

Right, I suppose I'll have to work out how to get us back into orbit by myself.

[He sits down with a calculator and a pad of paper, withdraws a quill pen, dips it in a bottle of ink and sets to work, ocassionally reaching into the jar for a cookie to munch on.]

*Watches the doodles*

[YK] GAA! Okay, I almost did this at Sernpidal ...

[He concentrates greatly. Anyone with any Force-sensetivity whatsoever will know that he's doing something muy bombad powerful. Vast tracts of the Force are being employed, and one of the biggest telekinesis jobs YK has done is being employed.]

[The planet moves back into orbit and stays there]

[YK collapses in a heap, unconscious]

*GL, observing his own thinking, is amazed at the total clarity and focus of his thoughts. Normally, thoughts flicker through his brain at an alarming rate and even when trying to concentrate, his thinking is interrupted many times by stray side thoughts. Now, however, there is a single thought that is occupying all of his brain, except the part that is observing. The observer looks closely to see just what thought could be powerful enough to expunge all other thoughts. He nods in understanding, thinking: "yes, that could do it". As he marvels at the simplicity of that one powerful thought, a portion of the brain comes to life long enough to power the body and voice the thought.*

OW!

*Re-enters the ship through the airlock, wheeling in a trolly full of the custard ship*

Dessert anybody?

[A hole in the air opens next to YK and a woman steps out. She kneels, lays hands on him, and is still. After a while, he shivers all over. She rises, steps back through the hole and is gone. YK wakes up, refreshed and energised.]


[The Supreme Counter of Cookies is briefing a new gunnery crew to do it right this time, punctuating his comments by waving his gun in the air.]

Right! Do it correctly this time!

[The guns begin to fire once more. This time the planet stays in its normal orbit.]

*Twinkle's pokédex starts beeping*
Pokémon *click* Mews *click* Planet The *click* tunnel. That's good, finally some pokémon to-- Mews? as in plural? If i could capture just one of those... *teleports to the tunnel*

*looks about to faint at the sight of several pokémon that don't even officially exist, but then recovers*
Um-- yes, okay...
Oh, hi. I am looking for a powerful psychic pokémon to be a part of my team, as well as to co-pilot my ship. If any of you would volunteer to help me, I would _really_ appreciate it... a lot... Please?!
*tries to give the Mews a look of pleading and awe at the same time, and fails miserably, only managing to look pathetic*

*Wakes up in the mini-UFO with a splitting headache. Looks around and realizes where he is. Sees Affy at the controls. Realizes how he probably got where he is and the probable reason for his headache. With a great effort, holds back his temper.*

Okay, Affy. I'm sure there is a good reason for bopping me on the head. Let's hear it.

*Opens the glove compartment and takes out a bottle of aspirins. Swallows 2. *

[The Supreme Counter of Cookies is becoming more and more vexed with the total lack of skill evident in his gunnery crews. After five minutes with not even a near miss, let alone a hit of any kind, he throws his hands in the air.]

Right, that's it! If I can't have a decent supporting staff I resign.

[He throws his sinister black gloves onto the table. Then walks over to the teleporter and vanishes, appearing on the bridge of the Esirpretne]



Need a new crewmember? That lot down there are a pain to work with. I could do with some people who actually know how to fire a gun for a change.

[Holds out CV]

What's CV?

*The probes previously sent out by Pr. C. Tonks split up, and head in different directions.*
*One group continue to follow the mini-UFO, another fly down the tunnel to discreetly monitor goings-on down there, and another group head over to the Supreme Counter of Cookies' control room...*

CV=Curriculum Vitae. Also known as a resumé. Lists a person's academic achievements, work experience and skills. Great when applying for a job, although long lists of criminal convictions are not normally considered a good thing.


[The Supreme Counter of Cookies waves his CV under the noses of various crew members in an attempt to provoke a reaction.]

The scriptwriter apologises for the error - for "Supreme Counter of Cookies" please read "The Former Supreme Counter of Cookies"

* Takes the CV and peruses it, alternating between wheezing and tutting...

So, you just resigned from self-employment, have no [Wheeze] colleagues from which to obtain a reference because you [wheeze] shot them all, and can't spell "Toothbrushes". I'm in the market [Wheeze] for a vaguely incompetent lackeying toadie, and you seem [Wheeze] supremely qualified for the position. What sort of [Cough] salary are you looking for?