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

Poor Bridget, for she was forlorn,
her world had been split asunder,
and her heart from it's place torn,
as if for loot and plunder.

But as she sat outside her home,
Watching the stars in the sky,
She knew that she must roam
to distant horizons, where her fate did lie.

So on her journey she began,
Sometimes whistling a little dirge,
Sometimes a sad song she sang,
Always keeping to the verge.

The night wore on and the moon came out,
And still she kept to the road,
Avoiding the pub with the village lout,
And ignoring her heavy load.

She left the village, safe and sound,
And was soon in the untamed wild,
Passed the ancient burial mound,
And the air was pleasant and mild.

After a length she began to tire,
Her progress became painfully slow,
So she got some wood and started a fire,
And sat beside it, her face aglow.

Well, meanwhile back in Shipling Greep
Our hero, feeling faint
Was helping Joice unload her stuff
When his heart felt Brigid's plaint
(Her name with an "eye dee" is spelt
So with a "tee" it ain't.
There's all these different dialects
Which makes it fratefully quaint.)

The voice of Joice rings round the bay
A subtle as a shot
From an artillery battery
Twas breeding, was it not?

"Now where's that ghastly little man
Who's meant to meet me here?
He's sposed to take my buggy back
To my house in Windy Meer,
And no, I don't mean Buggirduck
You're coming aren't you dear?
No not like that, you beastly hound,
Don't stick that in my ear.

"We're booked to take the ship that sails
Out to the Western Isles
Where the Trembling Trees on Blaggerty's
A certain cure for piles.
They're quite the strongest and the best
By far, for miles and miles.

Now if you'd like to come with us
It would be jolly fun
A lovely trip upon a ship.
How are you off for mun?"

Well Dandy had a problem, he
Was somewhat short of bread
There was the hope of loads of gold
And so to Joice he said,

"I know we've hardly met, and that
But you have heard our tale,
I wonder if there's just a chance
Of credit, on the nail?
And you could of our services
As porters oft avail.?"

"Of course, my dears, don't say a word
And here's a quid on tick,
Now off you go and book a berth
But come back soon, be quick.
Now stop that Buggir, stop, get down.
Don't mind him, just a lick."

Eagle and Dandy strolled along
The quay to find the place
Where berths are booked, when someone hooked
And held them face to face.

It is an ancyent Marineer
And he hoppeth like a flea,
"Ere guv," he hopping said to them
"Spare us a bob for tea.
I know a tale to make you pale
Which I will tell to thee.

"I tell a tale to no avail
A tale of days of yore,
Of forrin ways that might amaze
If they don't make you snore.
Just come with me to yonder pub
We'll pop inside that door."

Now Eagle smelt a rat, his beak
Was twitching, as its wont
Was when there was a dodgy deal
It itched and told him "don't."

"Just push off, will you, hoppit, go"
He gave the wretch a shove,
Who held them tight with all his might
As close as a shrunken glove.

His breath was foul, his shrivelled jowl
Flapped in the harbour breeze,
His skinny limbs and his eyes so dim
Told of some grim disease,
His beard was lank and festering
His rags abuzz with fleas.

But Dandy said,"Let's hear your song,
I'll listen if you're willing
To give us just a verse or two
To earn an honest shilling."

The Eagle said, "You must be mad,
And anyway it's time
For us to book our tickets
For the ship, and onboard climb.
Why do you want to listen to
This aged wretch's rhyme?"

But Dandy did as Dandy does
And to the pub he went
Emerging some hours later found
His money was all spent,
The Eagle nowhere to be seen
And his favourite trousers rent.

He staggered to the harbour's edge
And over the side he puked,
His head was split, he felt like sh*t
His stomach had been nuked.

He badly needed Eagle but
Of him there was no trace,
Nor of the horrid Marineer
Nor of his evil face,
Which was a minor mercy, you
Might say, an act of grace.

Though feeling sad, it wasn't as bad
As it was soon to be,
A crashing blow then laid him low -
He was dumped into the sea.

He sank, he drank, but by his flank
A hook snagged in his belt,
A sailor stout then hauled him out
And another blow he felt.

"We've got you matey, no mistake,
Now listen here laddee,
You owe the pub a hundred quid-
I've paid, you belong to me,
So get used to the fact that now
You'll spend your life at sea."

The sailor led him up a plank
And onto the sailing ship,
He'd hoped to take, his voyage make
With Joice on a "jolly trip."

With heavy head, he felt like lead,
Our hero slowly followed
In purple pain he puked again
The seawater he'd swallowed.

But now the sailor led below
And forced him first to strip,
Within the gloom in the forecrew's room
Where he would have to kip.

"You won't need those fey dandy clothes
Where you are going, sonny,
I'll pawn the lot ashore, though not
In the hope I'll make much money."
He laughed the kind of laugh they laugh
When things will not be funny.

"And in the meantime get your hide
Into these seamans' ducks
And in your head, just know you're dead
If ever with me you mucks.

I'll see you topsides right away
We've cargo yet to stow,
Don't linger here, I'll box your ear,
Get on, let's shift, now go."

Hours later Dandy fell down flat
His bed felt more like slates
So hard the boards, so loud the snores
Of his equally shagged out mates,
And scuttling creatures ran around
Their meagre supper plates.

The mice were here, the mice were there,
The mice were all around,
They squeeked and squalled and creepy crawled
Like boys on an outward bound.

Next day at dawn, no time to yawn,
The ship set out to sea,
Poor Alidander asked himself
"What will become of me?"

He staggers about, he feels the clout
Of the bosun's heavy hand,
He hauls on ropes, he hardly hopes
He'll live to see the land,
His fate is bleaker now, it seems
Than he could understand.

Much later in the morning watch
He looked back aft to see
If he could tell was Joice aboard
As she must surely be.
She'd show the Captain his mistake
And set poor Dandy free.

Beneath clear sky, the days flew by
No sign of Joice or beagle,
He worked and cursed, for what was worse
There was no sign of Eagle.

Then suddenly one night he woke,
The mice jumped off his toes,
He felt familiar itchings from
The nest within his nose,
And in the night to his delight
The Antwerp Eagle rose.

"Thank gods your here," at last, some cheer
He felt, he laughed, he sighed.
"I really thought you'd bought it, mate,
I thought you might have died,
Or had been caught in Shipling port
And plucked, and trussed and fried."

"No way, hosay, it's many a day
Since anyone bested me,
So let's just say, a slight delay
Postponed my trip to sea.
It's quite a story, that's for sure,
Is there anyone here makes tea?"

What e'er was said in former posts'
a mystery untold
more verses than the Kubrid Wrax
that told of knights so bold.

My morning brain, my sleep filled eyes
are daunted by the need
to catch up on what's going on
within this epic read.

The Ventral Snaiths, the lamputloofs
stand moaning in the corners
"If it were lip service only paid
you think you could've warned us"

"Apologies to fictions spawn
we have no guide to follow
and so there in this ballads past
you're destinéd to wallow."

"Fair dos" they cried and scuttled off
and stalked the reams of fiction
to see perchance there were away
to get back in inscription"

If e'er you chance 'pon reprints rare
and venture 'pon a Ventral
send my regards and offer him
a staring role more central.

Now while or hero toiled at sea
Without his feathered friend
The eagle sought out Brigid
But misread and found Bridge-End

But quickly back on track was he
And soaring through the air
It can't be hard, he thought, to find
The girl with lilac hair

He soared above the Whistling Wood
He soared above the Snickett
Swooped down on Grimley village green
Amidst a game of cricket

Enquiring of the green-skinned girl
He squarkled "Bloody 'ell"
When vicar told him that the girl
Had gone off with Miguel

The carriage co. were helpful though
Their records quite a mess
Could document delivery of
The girl to Inverness

With barely two beats of his wings
The eagle's halfway there
Half was enough for there below
Was she of lilac hair

You may recall a minor squall
In the very opening pages,
When the Robin downed a beetle pie
That was rightfully the Sage's?

This may seem insignificant
It wasn't so outrageous
But the Sage felt miffed, it was his gift,
His attention it engages
And like a niggling tooth that's loose
It's bothering him for ages.

This Sage was a minor deity
Who had been relegated,
Though very old, no longer gold-
Card, more like silver-plated.

He rarely scored, was rather bored,
He'd slipped right down the league
To the point where he was out of joint -
He mainly felt fatigue,

And it was many moons since he
Had danced the gonad gigue
(Which was to Fat Eeg's great relief,
It had been rough on Eeg.)

It takes him hours to get his powers
On line and fit to function
But he likes to hike on his chronobike
By temporal injunction.

The Sage's mate, ( Saint Appo Staight
Patron of Grimley Kirk )
He understands that rubber bands
Can get most things to work.

He helps the Sage get back onstage
And tinkers with his bike.
He can take it apart, AND make it start –
The kind of mate we like.

Saint Appo's schemes come in as dreams
Inflicted on young Brigid.
Though his desires have lost their fires
He remembers times more rigid.

He is so old that lust for gold
Is the lingering desire
That does the deed, and hence his need
For gold to gild his spire.

[ OK, you think, he needs a shrink
Of a Freudian direction,
Is it not his fate to want to plate,
With gold, the Kirk's erection?

Is it Fate or Will, or just the Thrill
That motivates our choices?
You see, this tale with thoughts profound
Like Maytrickstoo rejoices.]

No matter now, suffice to say
He had motives for detecting
The wandering Dandy's whereabouts,
And Brigid's, for defecting.

This aged pair cooked up a hare-
Brained scheme, it took them ages,
To fire a chronofundulum
And re-access these pages.

If you're the kind who has the mind
That likes the scientific
I'm sad to say we can't display
Its plans, or be specific.

This strange machine cannot be seen
Until the patent's lodged,
But in the meantime it will serve
To keep our plot embodged.

[A chronofundulum, you see
Depends on "black-hole" physics,
Bending the Shwarzchild surface
With bi-temporal fluidics.

The space-time drag, as Penrose shows,
Depends upon rotation
By passing near the ergosphere
There's extra-time dilation,
A feature footballers will know
As "referee's off-station."]

The Sage limped over to his bike,
He kept it in the crypt
Of Appo's kirk, he gave a jerk
As the chronotaxis flipped,
"Good man," said Appo,"don't forget
To keep your trousers clipped,"
And into the suddenly opened void
The Sage serenely slipped.

Miguel was gone, she'd left him on
The road to Aberdeen
With a sixpence for his bus fare home
(He lived in Bethnal Green)

She needed all her pennies now
For to fulfil her aim
To get the map to work she simply
Had to change her name

She'd heard of one who'd do it for
Just two and six per digit
And once she'd got to Loughborough
She'd be no longer Brigit

The eagle told her all the news
Of Dandy and the gold
Of Witchy Waifs and Ventral Snaiths
Adventures brave and bold

- Oops

She seemed to be on top of things
And as she had the map
Which soon should work its magic
Antwerp Eagle had a nap

He soon arose, put on his clothes
Although there weren't many
Just his hat and apron that
He'd bought in Abergavenny

"I must away with no delay,
Young Dandy needs assistance"
And in a jot he was but a spot
So far off in the distance

The maiden once in Loughborough
Must find the man named Bob
Who knows a man who knows a man,
The man to do the job

His name coincidentally
Was Alidander Frume
But just for business purposes
It was a nome de plume

He didn't come from Grimley
Or wear such dandy clothes
Nor did he have the Antwerp Eagle
Nesting in his nose

Nor did his cheek bones sparkle
with illuminescent paint
nor did his voice have qualities
to try a patient saint.

His feet were made of sealing wax
his ears were made of dough
though fearless as a fighter
he was too afraid of snow.

His knee caps formed from jellied Shronks
his navel cleft in cheese
the queerest sight in Grimleydom
by a number of degrees.

He wasn't hard to find at all
The maid was soon to see
The man himself out in the street
Conspicuous as can be

The dough-eared fighter, 'fraid of snow
Surrounded by small children
Who pointed, laughing at his shoes
And the gribbly fellow in them

ooooooOOOoooooo

Somewhere in the troposphere
A lonely voice is heard
But not perhaps by Brigid who
-How shall we spell the word?-
Was not so sad for now she knew
What ventures had occurred.

It wasn't heard by Dandy
Nor yet by Blay or Flea
Perhaps the only one who heard
It over the Beebly Sea
Was a deity called Mages
On his way to Trembling Tree.

"As one who hates the Fellbilg Ayts
And his defaulting glitches,
I'm keen to know what makes this so
Annoying. When one stitches

A piece of text, to copy next,
It reappears with features
Changed, your punctuation
Looks like spikey insect creatures.

It looks so bad and drives one mad,
You'd nearly eat your hat,
Because all your apostrophes
And colons look like that>>>– "

A lonely voice, with little choice
But to get back online, he
Leaves the echoing words to fade
Out over the Beebly briney.

ooooooOOOoooooo

Now in this ballad do I sense
A startling lack of non?
It started out as nonsense but
It seems the non has gone

I don't know how it happened
It was there the other day
Perhaps the Ventral Snaith came back
And stole the non away.

Perhaps it wasn't stolen, maybe
It has merely slipped
Into a plot that's almost followsome
And worthy of a script

A hero her, a villain there
A maiden in a carriage
As long as she can spell her name
Correctly maybe marriage

Now meanwhile in the cybervoid
The Sage was meditating,
Essential discipline for one
Between whose knees vibrating
The crystals of the chronobike
Were time-and-space-dilating.

"Yon robin sitting on a branch"
At first hove into view,
"Oh buggrit," swore the aged Sage,
"Adjust the chronoscrew."

"Young Reynard?" No that's still not it,
Oh damn, the switch is faulty,
There should be seas and a blustry breeze
Where the air is clean and salty,
With basil-flavoured Ratted Wheel
And beer that's sweetly malty."

Try this, "The crocodile remarked
Calmly waking from his doze..."
Oh blast it all, I'll have to call
For help - well, so it goes."

He closed his eyes with weary sighs
And visualised a yantra -
Complex designs - his brain resigns
And hums a modest mantra.

At last a light, a sphere so bright
It dazzles, down a tunnel
Like whirling smoke, and a voice that spoke
Like water down a funnel.

"You called for help? No need to yelp,
There's something we can do?"
The Sage replied, "I can't decide
Quite how to adjust this screw.
I seem to keep appearing
In a scene that's out-of-view."

"Well, first let's see your license,
Is your time-tax up to date?
I see your lights aren't working
And you've lost a number-plate.

Quite honestly, I can't let you
Proceed in such a state.
Unless you make it worth my while,
We could negotiate?"

The Being looked the other way,
So from his pannier lid
The Sage slipped the equivalent
Of a psychic fifty quid.
"That's that then," said the Being,
"Now, what did you say you did?"

Suffice to say, by close of play
The chronobike got sorted
The Sage departed noisily
As space and time distorted,

And aimed to find the verse and rhyme
Where Dandy now disported,
So happy with the Eagle's news
That Brigid him accourted.

oooooOOOooooo

There's nonsense and there's nonsense
And it comes in many forms,
With scrambly names to stretch your brains
And transchronistic worms.

Comical, mythological
And slightly scarey too
With features and more creatures
Than a transubstantial zoo -
Depending on the mental state
Of those who type the view.
Bizzarrely, it's addictive as
I think you'll find is true.

It takes your brains down twisted lanes
Until from time to time,
You work in ballad rhythm
And your words come out in rhyme.

You wake in early morning
And you stay up really late,
But the verses just keep coming
Coz your mind's in flood, in spate,

And you wonder will your episode
Fit in, or just create
Some simulpost confusion
Leaving everyone irate.

But what the hell, we might as well
Enjoy it while we can
before they lock us up and drop
The key down 't toilet pan.



oooooOOOooooo

you sir, are a genius


The problem with her name you see
Is in the final syllable
If it should be E D she would
Become so much more marriable

But as it is I D (or T)
The Dandy wont be wed
As explained in verse five hundred and twelve!!
His bride must be Briged