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

and try to start up a new story? It doesn't HAVE to include weasels..

"A long long time ago, in a glaxy not too far away there no jedis nor any lightsables were ever involved, a little mouse was sitting on the top of his computer crying his eyes out...

For his tail had come unplugged from the socket and her was feeling very detached...

This is the story of how it happened..

You see, her tail was a very magical tail and was saught after far and wide. This tail could project her into anyone's thoughts or dreams, as long as it was plugged into the socket correctly.
This kind of control was badly wanted by unnamable members of the Galactic Government.
One perfectly innocent day...

A fabled user had attempted an unusual Combination of Clicking and typing, only to have the computer BSOD on him, in frustration they had replaced the Mouse with an optical Trackball, leaving the to rot behind the Monitor...

In the dark recess behind the monitor was....

...Rolf Harris, several bottles of whiskey, and a badly painted wobble bord. Rolf, whose career had taken a nose dive since advances in modern medicine meant that few animals ever got sick these days, had taken to dark recesses like a vole takes to cheese. This particular dark recess had been Mr. Harris' unofficial address since October.

The wobble bord featured an aborigine design, cleverly re-worked by Rolf into the words "What's the point?". Last Wednesday he had ventured out to the shops for a Snickers bar and a pot noodle. He took the wobble bord with him for protection, but people just thought the words "What's the point?" advertised Rolf's latest new show. Small children came up and asked the harrased celebrity, "Well, what is the point, Rolf?". Poor Mr. Harris had to do without his pot noodle that day. He fled back to his dark recess and was reduced to a diet of of fluff and cable wire.

However, just recently, Rolf's brain had decided it had had enough. It decided it would form a purpose for Rolf. "Rolf.. you have a meaning and a purpose".. his brain whispered .. and that purpose is..."

"....To annoy everybody using your total lack of musical ability"

Rolf jumped to his feet, in a fit of excitement!

"I know!" He said to nobody in particular, "I can take over the world! Bwa ha ha ha haaaa!"

He picked up his wobble bord, and with a few clever manipulations, changed it into...

tactical nuclear warhead.
Then..

...Decided to run for American presidency...

His first move was to telephone the White House.

"Bush, Rolf."
"Rolf. Bush."
"I am phoning to inform you that I am currently in a telephone in the high street. I have a tactical nuclear warhead with me, in my shopping bag."
"So, you have a nuke?"
"That's right, Bush."
"Well, gee, Rolf, I have two hundred and thirty seven thousand of them. You want to swop notes or something?"
"I think you should treat this seriously Bush."
"I am Rolf. Tell me, you make this nuke out of an old egg box and pipe cleaners or something? I wouldn't ask, 'cept Colin Powell, well his little girl made one at school the other day, and he was wondering how and all. Course, when I told him they used plasticine instead of plutonium he relxed a bit, but still, he had his little notebook out - which is always a bad sign, Rolf, believe me - and he was askin' "Whose idea was this? What freakin communist dirt-bag goes and tells our kids how to make things out of freakin junk?" And of course, your name came up, in discussion, and so, Colin, well, you know Colin, he decided to re-target all two hundred and thirty seven thousand nuclear missiles on your house... so, you see the situation here..."
...

"Ha" laughed Rolf scornfully.
"Once again intelligence reports have misinformed you. I'm not even in my house."

As he spoke, Rolf was thinking quickly. His bravado served only to cover his inner disquiet at the president's words.

Could it really be true that using plasticene instead of plutonium would affect the capability of his missile? Maybe he should have read the instructions more carefully. Rolf considered his next move....

which was
(a) very rapid
and
(b)
to Tierra del Fuego,

where he spent a couple of months hiding out with the local bushmen. These men, who were persecuted by the government for dressing up like bushes and sitting in corners saying nothing, felt a strange affinity with Rolf, who came up with some very creative and unusual bush costumes during his time here. However, luck was not on Rolf's side this time. He should have guessed, of course, but the local bushmen's great leader was, naturally, president Bush himself. And it didn't take long before FBI agents were dispatched to Tierra del Fuego. When they found him, he was..

...seated among the bushmen, now almost indiscernible from them, and preparing to entertain them with his story-telling abilities.

Now the FBI is very insistent on the continuing professional development of all it's agents. The particular agents who had been charged with the responsiblity of eliminating the Rolf Harris Threat had been hand picked for the task because of the specialised training they had recently undergone in the Policing of International Terrorism.

Unfortunately, due to a couple of typographical errors, the training course they had actually attended was mainly concerned with how to be a polite tourist when travelling around the world.

Unaware of the mix-up, the FBI Agents, according to their training, decided to respect local culture and allow Rolf to finish his story.

Rolf told a moving and uplifting tale of two brothers who stuck together in times of adversity. He told how their mutual loyalty, as men fighting side by side for their country, was learned back when they were little boys playing together in their nursery.

This story had an enormous effect on the world-weary agents, striking at the very core of their being. They looked at each other and recognised that same deep loyalty within themselves and their organisation. In an emotional and joyful exchange of ideas, they declared that all of their FBI colleagues should be made aware of this tale.

While they were busy changing the FBI motto to Fraternity, Brotherhood, and something beginning with I, Rolf saw his chance..........

He quickly emitted a series of strange breathing and grunting sounds, whipped out his wobble board and dashed off something on blank sheet of paper. The FBI agents, the bushmen and one or two tourists, on overcoming their initial shock, quickly became entranced, as Rolf began to paint something on his pad. Something ... but what?
"Is it the Queen"? asked on of the FBI
"Uhh hoo la hoo gruu" said Rolf, shaking his head.
"Is it a kind of squashed octopus playing a guitar shaped like a pig"?
Rolf just winked slyly.
"Is it a Citroen Xantia"?
"Is it a bush"?
"Is it an upturned pot of yoghurt on an aubergine"?
"Is it a tactical nuclear warhead"?
"Is it a wooden horse"?
But, it was none of these things. For Rolf was finished. And he held up his picture, which, of course, depicted..

the Helter Skelter at the end of Brighton Pier.

"Astounding" whispered a bushman.
"Well it doesn't look like a pier to me" muttered one of the agents.
"Look" explained a colleague helpfully. "That wiggly line is the sea. This is the end of the pier. That curvy bit is the slide going round. See? This squiggly line at the top is the roller coaster in the background. Look, there's a kid just about to throw up."
"Nope, still don't see it."
"Try closing your eyes for a minute and then opening them slowly" suggested a passing tourist.
The agent complied. "Hmmm, is that thing at the side a donkey or something"

"No no no!" snapped Rolf, becoming impatient now. "It's not a donkey. Look, just forget about that, right! You must think about what I'm trying to tell you. What does this painting represent?"

There was a thoughtful silence for a moment. It was broken by..........

the sound of one of the bushmen falling over.

"Don't worry", said another one, "He always does that. Its the silence. It confuses him."

"Well?" asked Rolf.

One of the F.B.I. put up his hand.

"Yes?"

"Sir, are you askin' like, what does it represent, pictorially, or more on the conceptual plain?"

Another agent, behind and to the left, quietly talked into a secret transmitter.. "Yeh, we're keeping the birdy talkin' ... usin' all the big words, like you said. Yeh ... artistic type ... probably ex KGB ... in disguise ... not sophisticated ... just some dumb glasses and a beard..."

"Well", said Rolf, "What does it say to you?"

"Sir, I don't know if I can hear anything much, but you know, back in Idaho, I grew up on a donkey farm, and not just any donkey farm, but "Don's Original Donkey's" Donkey farm - best Donkey's in all of idaho, sir, and like we grew them from genuine genetic material, so they were like real life donkeys, you know, "More real than any donkey you seen" was our motto and I, like saw, these donkeys, every single day, you know, like I was brought up by them, they looked after me, sent me to school, welcomed me home every day, and in my bedroom I had, like one hundred pictures of donkeys, and all we watched on TV was "Donkey Life" and "Discovery Channel interviews Donkeys", so, like, I know what a donkey is, and that thing there - well, it sure looks like a donkey to me.."

"Then how do you explain the beak?"

"Beak?"

"Yes - look, here, you got donkey legs, donkey body, donkey head, and then, this - the beak."

"You mean, that's not a cigarette?"

"No, its a beak, this is not a donkey, its a donkidna, an animal that I just made up which is only found in certain parts of Queensland."

One of the F.B.I. agents wrote down the word "Donkidna" in a notebook. Another one wrote down "just made up".

Then one of the bushes suddenly produced a loudhailer and several bushmen fell over all at once.

"My name is Colin Powell" said the Bush, "and you are all under arrest"

Turning in supprise and in a frying pan, the FBI agents immediatly dropped their weapons, and surrended to teh bush-man claiming to be Powell.
"Lay down your weapons
Take up the beat,
move to the left,
Stamp uyour feet"
Screamed Powell over the crouds of people gathered about, and as he shouted, Rolf, produced forth a wobble board and began to play, whilst the FBI agents, and tourists, and FBI agents who thought their were tourists joined in.

Thus it came to pass, that the bushmen, seizing their oppertunity whilst the sing-song was evolving, and they quietly...

exploded, which

resulted in a rather inexplicible and unwarrented, not to mention rather embarasing loss of tempo in the song being sung by the remaining, unexploded tourists, FBI agents, and FBI agents who believed themselves to be tourists.
Rolf, noticing the explosion of the bushmen, rapidly turned, and lolloped over, saying
"Oh, deary me, poor little blighter, didn't stand a chance",
Which was strange, because, at the precise moment Rolf uttered the word
"chance",
The FBI agents seized the chance to take a small ice-cream van that was passing by to one side, and delibratly and with horridness of fore-thought proceded to

...drive around in circles playing "Greensleeves" on the tannoy.

Meanwhile, a small hedgehog...