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

*JJ walks in, her long deep blue Jedi robes streaming behind her. She pulls off her hood, revealing her striking jade green eyes and stunning (and due to her mint chocolate chapstick, shining) red lips. She purses the latter and winks the left of the former, and rests an errant arm on the back of one of the swivel seats. below her long Jedi cloak she is not wearing the traditional robes (oh no, she could never do that,), but a long blue skirt complete with matching slits up both sides of her legs that go up somewhere near her thighs. Or at least they wouldif they weren't held together with safety pins (in that oh-so-lovely punkish manner. To compliment this, she has added a 3-row pyramid spike belt. Atop the blue skirt and belt, our lovely Jedi is wearing a Weezer baseball t-shirt.*

So. What's happening, then?

*she recieves vague stares from the Evil patrons standing in the room*

What, I'm not evil enough for you...?

* ...and another guy appears too. This one is even deader than usual, with a bleached complexion and absolutely nothing cluttering up HIS eye-sockets. His bony fingers clutch a set of dice *

Good evening, Ma'am. I see you have kept our appointment to play for the souls of Mr Legion and his entourage. The Legion of the Damned, one might say...



...My little joke...Yes, well...



...What are you staring at? I might say that you've let yourself go a bit since 1802. No matter. Kindly whistle thrice and we'll get on with it, shall we?

1802?

Am I to understand that you're calling me... old...?

Legion? How can you allow this fiend to be so insolent to me...?

* the very dead guy looks impassive. Unsurprising really, given his distinct lack of facial musculature *

Yes, Madam, 1802. Have you forgotten the last time we played dice for the souls of albatross-murderers? I certainly haven't. You gloated quite unnecessarily about winning ship and crew, while the only soul I've had to torment for the last two centuries is some unfortunate encyclopaedia salesman from Porlock who got himself cursed on account of frightening off Sam T's supplier.

Come on, Madam. I'm feeling lucky. Shake the dice. It Could Be Me!

* hands over the dice *

Don't touch those dice, JJ. Nice to see you, by the way. You look very e-vil. Ankles covered, luckily, cause I have to keep my mind on business...

God only knows who this creep is, but he can't just march into my boardroom and start harassing people! He has to have an appointment! He has to use the tradesman's entrance!

*Rounds on gaunt, pale figure with malicious gleam in eye*

So, Mr Tall-Pale-And-Interesting, who do you think you are invading my sanctum? Eh?

*The figure tells him. He is Death, the Eater of Souls*

And you have nothing better to do than hang around playing Yahtzee? Isn't there a famine on somewhere, or something?

*Death informs our hero that he is in grave peril of his soul, that it rests on the throw of a dice, and that his levity is unwise*

Phooie. I take good care of my soul. I *sold* it long ago, to Gruppe Drei, a Swiss dummy corporation. So it isn't something to be gambled with. It's property, you dummy. To take control of my soul, you have to get the vote of the shareholders...

*Death asks where he may find these shareholders*

Would you believe, I'm the only one! Like I said, it was a dummy corporation. Request for acquisition of Mr Legion's Soul: Denied. Have a nice day.

*Death disappears in a flurry of curses and black robes, vowing eternal revenge. The curse of the dead dago dodo is broken*

Sorry 'bout that, JJ. Have a Oh look, the slimy things are gone. It's all coming up Legion.
Now maybe I can get back to my original Evil Plot...

* Seal peers into minibar. The slimy things have indeed gone, apparently having been replaced by rather fetching disco lighting *

OK, I give up on the Death thing. I was just trying to get my albatross resurrected, that's all...


* suddenly brightens up *

Hey, we could bring the Killer Whale back, if you like...

Pinny, d'you think you could bring along an animal that won't end up trying to kill me, steal from me or curse me? It's mildly antisocial. I think what with all the pirates and plasticine we've forgotten why we're here - to plot evil, for the ultimate advancement of the Thingite cause. And so I unveil my Evil Plot...bring her in, boys!

*Boiler-suited technicians wheel in a long, sinister-looking cylinder which comes to a gentle point. It has writing stencilled over it, most of it unpleasant to contemplate. Mr Legion hugs self in happiness, hums a jaunty tune *

This is one of the ICBMs the Iranians left behind when they skedaddled. And *this* is Pirelli, tyre manufacturer and publisher of a highly influential calendar:

http://www.pirelli.com/en_42/index.jhtml;jsessionid=P1UXPZUCELIJVFYKH5CSFFA?_requestid=24426

I think you can see where I'm going with this, fellow Thingites - get me Pirelli CEO Marco Tronchetti Provera on the wallscreen. And fetch me my fake moustache...

To Be Continued...

* Seal looks quizzical *

...O-ka-ay...I'm with you so far...not...
More of a Michelin Man myself, all those delicious rolls of blubber...

Anyway, I'm gonna cut out the dead-guys, whales, etc. Here's to systematic, purposeful Evil-with-a-Capital-E, rather than random, low-level, mildly antisocial evil, yeah?

* lies back and waits to see what happens next *

Huh. So.

You have some sort of diabolical scheme involved directly (or indirectly, as the case may well be,) with that thing. Are you planning to take over the universe or something? You didn't tell me that. I never agreed to taking over anything.

Not that complete and total domination doesn't sound like a thrashing good time... *looks thoughful for half a moment, as if contemplating*

OOOOOh all right, I'm in. *jumps up and sits on the top of the table, legs crossed. Her ankles are just barely visible. She es and quickly covers them up again* Hehehe...

Focus, Legion. The ankles do not control you...

Ahem. No JJ, I don't want to take over the universe. It's take too much looking after, and can you imagine the paperwork? And then some snotty little kid would come along and toss me down a shaft. No thank you.

The earth will do just fine. And maybe the moon, if I can find anything to conquer there. Maybe I could blow up the Apollo 11 capsule... But I'm getting ahead of myself. The plan for today involves forcing the CEO of the Pirelli corporation to replace 'Thursday' with 'Thing' in the world-famous Pirelli calendar. Can you imagine the influence that move would have? Smaller calendar manufacturers would fall over themselves to follow their lead - it could be the first step to worldwide Thingite domination! And it won't stop there...

But it wouldn't do if Pirelli were able to trace the threat back to us here at the BoE. Hence the disguise. Mr Marco Tronchetti Provera will think he is being threatened by the nastiest, most desperate ruler in the world...

*Attaches bushy moustache to lip, puts on little beret*

Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be...Saddam Hussein!

huh?

*raises an eyebrow*

legionsy, that's just wrong. Funny, yes, but freaking wrong.

You //are// a diabolical genious. Wow. I wouldn't have expected that...

*leaps lithely off the table and goes off in search of some knee-high jedi boots with which to cover up her ankles*

*comes back some time later with some green and tan knee-high boots with fun little tie thingies with feathers on them*

*she grins*

A Punk Jedi? We MUST be friends! (Which means I will kill you quicker than the others if I ever feel sadistic or bored.)

*concerned* Is there still room in the mini bar for drinks? That is so important to the BoE and our entire cause... it's what keeps us going... if there wasn't a mini-bar, I know I wouldn't still be around (not that I don't appreciate chances to subliminate...)

Hmm, about your bird, Pinniped... according to Jedi, won't it be around in spiritly form to tell you to "use the force" and all that rot?

Legion, take me and the Jade Jedi, we both have mind tricks that can block your rather, interesting, costume... if I can volunteer the great punked one?

Yeah, Coleridge will still be around in spirit form, that's for sure...

You guys a bit worried about this? Or is it just me?

I'm not all that well climatically-adapted for a long tour of the desert...

P.

No-one is going to the desert! Don't worry, relax. And remember, it's just a costume. Just a costume.

*Twirls fake moustache*

And we still have the minibar. No force on heaven or earth could take away the minibar. I firmly believe that alcohol is the root of all evil, so it's only common sense to have some around.

*Mixes and pours () *

Yeees, we now stock . With and if you're feeling peckish.

Perhaps I should explain the plan a little further. I am simply going to sit here, in my faux-60's swivel chair, and call up Mr Provera on the wallscreen. I will then say: "I am Saddam Hussein. Rarr! Change Thursday into Thing on your calendar. Or I'll nuke you. Rarr!"
Mr Provera will then tremble in his chinos and obey my command. No trips to the desert, no mind tricks, no lack-of-minibars.

Is that alright with everybody? Remember: it's nothing that hasn't been done in even poorer taste in South Park. So relaax.

* Quick as a flash, Pinniped pulls a tea-towel over his head to show solidarity, downs a and continues to snore softly *

Can't we add some mind tricks? Pleeese? I've developed a new kind of hypnosis based on our .

Mmmm... .... but before I take a sip, is there anyone still out for my life, job, immortal soul, or eyes (a'la Minority Report)??? Speaking of senseless killing, where did T'mershi get off to? Wasn't he trying to shoot me?

I can try to shoot you, if you like. Ahem.

*Hefts up tommy gun, sprays bullets at YS. Misses*

Happy? I "aim" to please, ahem.
That was a pun, or play on words.

*In order to increase the violence-to-rational-action ratio in the thread, Mr Legion takes out his pet snake Noonan and wallops his head off the floor*

Say hi to Noonan, everybody!

*Noonan yawns, glares at the assembled company and strains towards Mr Legions throat*

The should be perfectly safe - I supervised the bottling myself. Go ahead, take a sip...

Mind tricks, mind tricks...I'll get back to you on that.

*Reclines into deckchair, fluffs pillow, *

*grins evily at Yankee*

If you so much as breathe too near to me, I'll crush your throat. With the Force. And stuff like that. So Grrr.

*mutters to herself on how hard it is to be evil when you're so ed cute*

Leigionsy, I could always just show them my ankles. They would be paralysed, and you could go in all spy econissance mission-like and change the bleeding calendars your own sweet self. *puts on her singlasses and grins like so ----> * Doncha think?