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

Dear Uncle Dreadful,

My boss says his wife doesn't understand him, he keeps asking me to sit on his knee and says he could help me a lot if I was nice to him.

Should I cook turkey or something more exotic such as duck a l'orange for Christmas dinner this year?

Dear Jazzhag

I dont know about Mr Dreadful, but you can sit on my knee anytime and tell me all your problems

Dear Mr Dreadful

Two years ago my wife ran off with my best friend, and I really miss him.

What should I do?

Dai

Dear Mr Dreadful,

Your cunning plan worked a treat. You are very clever. As part of my rehabilitation programme the nice wardens, in their tight tee shirts and mulberry coloured moleskin trews, whoops there I go again digressing, showed me how to use the old gun barrel turning lathe. Well I can tell you it wasn’t long before I’d whipped up a passable imitation of a medieval jobby wheeker. The formula for the amount of gun powder may have been a tad generous but matron says the pins in my ankles will do the trick. The other surgeon says it’s my own fault for not wearing a crash helmet and the skull fracture should heal, if the plates aren’t rejected.

The old trick of whistling The Great Escape rather back fired as the nice wardens kept removing the string I had tide around my ankles. This in turn let the big, long tailed mice escape from there new cosy home in my trousers. Yes they did nip a bit at first but needs must when the devil drives or so they say. I do miss my ferrets, sigh.

Sister says that Thursday is colonic irrigation day and that will wipe the grin off my face. I find this difficult to grasp as I haven’t been able to use a keyboard what with the traction and everything. Please advise.

Yours sincerely,
Albert Ross Esq
VD, CDM and Bar
HP Prisoner 1212
Ward 10
Hospital Wing

Dear Ged,

Upon achieving the speed of light a hamster will transcend and become a chartered accountant.

Dear Jazzhag,

I would go for the duck a l'orange, while duck can be expensive to buy there should be an abundance of free ducks at your local water park.

Invite your boss and his wife to spend Christmas with you, if you spend a lot of time having 'private chats' with his wife your boss will think there's something going on and help you anyway to stop you blackmailing him.

Dear Dai,

Get a new best friend and do all the things that your old best friend liked to do. Make sure you tell everybody you know about your new best friend and how he's so much better than the old one.

Eventually the news will reach your old best friend and in a fit of jealousy he will return and kill your new best friend. Try to get yourself implicated as an accessory to the act and you will both be sent to prison, and if you ask nicely you will be allowed to share a cell for the duration of your 'porridge'.

Give my regards to Mr. Ross.

Dear Mr. Ross,

Tell them you cannot have a colonic irrigation as you lost most of your digestive tract 'during the war' (no need to specify which war) while single-handedly defending 300 weeping nursery children from an enemy death squad. If they ask why you still eat and go to the toilet just say "it's amazing what modern science can acheive" while tapping the side of your nose.

You will be branded a hero and allowed your own duvet.

Dear Mr Dreadful,

Well what a to do and how precision of you regarding my digestive tract. Sister is, I think, one of those ‘no nonsense with you now laddie’ types of woman. She’s bl**dy strong too. Despite my polite refusal of a colonic or even a semi colonic, I was hauled, screaming, into a most undignified position. Unbeknown to me my favourite long tailed mouse had been lurking around my jimjams. Well, I ask you, what would you do faced with a stirrup pump wielding harpy. The poor little thing headed for the nearest dark orifice.

Once the queasiness had passed it was quite pleasant but the interfering old bat insisted it was against hospital rules to conceal a rodent about or within ones person. I ask you, what ever happened to civil liberties. The speculum wasn’t nice but judging by the comments very effective. ‘Yes doctor I can see the little b**ger’ was cut short by a muffled explosion.

Nigel, one of the secure unit nurses, the one with the kind, grey eyes and a lovely bedside manner especially when he straightens your bottom sheet and plumps your pillows, but I digress, told me a spark from the porters pipe had ignited some gastric gasses and my long tailed mouse was ejected like a rocket propelled grenade. That’s the last time the harpy will be so quick to interfere, certainly until her broken nose heals. Nigel says he’s sure they’ll find a donor match soon and then I can come off the drip

p.s. The duvets are much nicer in here.

Yours sincerely,

Albert Ross Esq.
VD, CDM and Scar
Prisoner No 1212
Secure Medical Unit
Belmarsh

dear mr dreadful
i have decieded to take your advice and write a novel.
i am struggling to think about my first line.
any suggestions?
hnicky

Dear Hnicky,

Unfortunately all the best opening lines for novels have already been taken... this shouldn't be a problem as imitation is the best form of flattery. If you have trouble with the rest of the novel try copying other people's work for the whole thing; changing names, dates and places as appropiate. Make sure the novels you copy from are out of copyright otherwise you'll get told off.

Amateurs copy, artists steal.

(not up to my usual standard, but I've just found out that Dimebag Darrell's been shot dead.)

dear mr dreadful
who has been shot?
hnicky

Dear Hnicky

Dimebag Darrell, former guitarist with Pantera.
And as of last night former guitarist with Damageplan.

dear mr dreadful
still unaware of your problem but oh wel

another question, if i finally write this novel, will it actually get published?
hnicky

Dear Hnicky,

Not into metal I take it.

Anyway, getting a published nowadays is easy as long as you follow these simple rules:
1. Include a conspiracy that could change the world as we know it.
2. Set it in Europe or Asia but make sure the main character is American.
3. Make pointless pop culture references wherever possible.
4. Blow s**t up.
5. Set s**t on fire.

Even if these things don't actually feature in the plot make sure the publisher thinks they do (hypnosis works well for this).

Over the initial shock, back on form... Ooh yeah!

Dear Mr D

I went to lunch, ate me sarnies, had a cup of the old rosy lee, read the paper (the Sun, natch) scratched me bum and went back to the building site where I am cheif hod carrier where I was disturbed to find on the walk back that my manly figure had suddenly developed 32HHH breasts.
That was a 6 months ago and I am bored playing with them now. Will they go away of their own accord?

Yours,
Cuthbert Algernon Smythe

dear mister
i've managed to get in the loo again with the door locked.
he seems to have gone out...
the others are still drugged in the sitting room.

we're all alone in the house...semi naked, and there's over half the baby oil left...

(12 woodbine close,alkinham 36ZZ 24U)

can you send someone quick?
someone that would be sympathetic to 4 gigantically large busted women wanting nothing more than to keep their appointment with married man on Sunny palm and dress in slutty tarty underwear while doing unspeakable things with a gallon of baby oil

Dear I.B.

A team of sex-starved commandos will be with you within the hour. I was going to command the operation personally until I saw the look on Mrs. Dreadful's face.

dear mister

you have done us a great service... or you would have had you not seen mrs dreadful's face as you were about to leave......
darn it

anyway, commandos did you say....

now.. there has been some confusion regarding these fellows...are they the ones with the red berets that move mountains to save humanity

or just men with no briefs.....
cos that guy that has us here, he has no briefs and went out earlier to snag himself 2 with his tranqualiser gun....

ooooerrrrrrr


if it's the former, please tell them to hurry....we need assistance.... i can hear a key in the lock....


yours frustratedly

IB

Dear Mr. Dreadful,

I'm subscribed to a strange thread somewhere, full of imaginatively peculiar people, and although my better nature tells me I ought to unsubscribe before I give in and come to think of this as normal, I'm so full of morbid curiosity I seem unable to do so. While I still retain sanity, should I seek psychiatric help, or commune with the fieldmice?

Yours,
RFJS__.