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

[Morgas]
Please, Mylord, be careful...
or this will result in ladders in my silk-stockings.

[Sir Dragonet]

you 'av ze truth, my leetel English rose petal. Zey are so fine I 'ad been zinking you were already nakedd. Allow me please to remoove these stockings, and per'aps I can just kees 'ere and 'ere, and 'ere and 'ere while I do so.

(Regrettably, the noble knight had forgotten, in his amour, to shave this morning and it is the bristles on his beard, and not his battle hardened hands, that do the laddering)

Oh, merde my vonderful maiden fair, I am zo zorry. A Ladder. I can only take it as a sign zat I must climb eet. With my fingers. Like zis! And if you let me reach ze top I will buy you a new pair next time we are in Gay Paree!

[Morgas]
*murmurs*
'kay

[Sir Dragonet]

(Throwing caution to the wind, now that the damage is done to stockings and, prospectively, to purse, our silly French Knight makes a grave error. Having kissed and tickled with his beard all the way up to said stocking tops, instead of proceeding onward and upward to explore and delight, he takes the silk between his teeth in a vainglorious attempt to elegantly slide them down his fair maiden's long limbs, the intention being to pleasurably postpone the exitements ahead. Alas, dentistry not being what it should be in those times, the silk gets caught in the gap in his front teeth, and the foolish fellow is left, rump exposed to the elements, in a very inelegant pose, and poor Morgas is left with a simple choice. Will she slap the rump in frustration and annoyance, thus attracting attention from other nearby trysting lovers, or will she disentangle her suitor in the hope that he may yet recover his poise and arouse her ardour?)

[Morgas]
C'est très difficile, hein?

[Sir Dragonet]

Aye, hen, its quite a quandary.

[Narrator]

Take some advice, young Morgas. Opt for a thwack. This guy's accent is appalling. I think he cannot be trusted.

Trop difficile...

[Buxom wanton hussey]

*looking for a spare surf*

[Sir Dragonet]

(Having given up waiting for permission to proceed. Sir Drag decides to take matters into his own hands, shakes head terribly, thus rendering Morgas's silken stocking a rather irregular fish-net, and is about to proceed to work his supple gymnastics on her willing/unwilling and aestheticlly pleasing form once more, when he is stopped, mid-seduction, by the awesome sight of a passing bux!)

Zut alors, mein gotinhimmel, I want 'em, I mustaphem!(stutters this crazed European)

*wanders up and down, swaggering, Marilyn Monoe-style*

*flutters eyelashes at Sir Dragonet*

*pulls blouse down a little lower, showing more ample bosom*

[Sir Dragonet]

{Morgas forgotten, our fickle and faithless foreigner is entranced)

Well, 'allo my belle 'ow you zay, bosomous and rarzer wonderful frend. 'ow I would like to rest my little...(At this point our hero remembers his state of undress, realises his interest in this passing buxom babe may be rather...shall we say 'exposed'... and blushes bright red)

[Buxom wanton hussey]

*sniffs*

*wipes nose on sleeve*

Would Sir Dragonet like a quickee?

[Sir Dragonet]

I vood lurrve a slowee, if zat ees vailable, but I fink eet may, given a maiden so amperly hendowed, eet may all be over before...'ere, vy dont you use my hankycheff. (Passes over his shirttail, the shirt having been retrieved to cover modesty during negotiations.)

[buxom wanton hussey]

*wipes nose on shirtail*

*blows nose*

*wipes nose again*

*produces two quickees from under skirt*

Now, would that be a cheese and onion quickee you be wanting, Sir, or an 'am & mushroom?

[Sir Dragonet]

Zut Alors and Merde. To zink I av abandoned such a beauteous maiden as ze luvely Morgas, for a snotty crispy sales laydee, oo 'as not even ze smoky bacon! Alas, alas, I am undone!

[buxom wanton hussey]

*sniffs*

I can see 'es undone me Lord.
And quite well-endowed undoneness it be too.
Never seen such a big 'un in me life I ain't.
I'm thinkin' we could come to some agreement like...
I'll sort 'e out for sixpence & I'll throw in a smoked bacon quickee for nowt, how's zat?

[Sir Dragonet]

(Standing on dignity. - No! not that dignity, there is a limit to even this noble - hah! - knight's endowment)

Madame, if you zink zat I can be bought for a mere packet of smokee bakon you are miss taken!

(Grabs pile of armour and underclothes, and goes to stalk off to the lake, but is stopped in his tracks by passing thoughts of ample bosoms, not to mention the fair Morgas' charms. The choice is clear. Either put down clothes and rummage about for sixpence in his purse (undignified) or drop clothes and rely upon his manly charms interesting the buxom one enough so that she forgets all thoughts of payment (unlikely) or throw clothes in air in charmingly idiotic way and attempt to wangle his way back into Morgas' affections (uninvited))

[Black Knight]

*enters hiding place, looks around, admires the view*

[heavy metal band]

"Black Knight is a long way from home..."

*excruciating sound of guitar, bass, organ and drums all mixed to 11*

je comprend, c'est toujours les riches qui prospere. Don't let them get away with it, they don't deserve the girl.

*walks away under the moonlit sky