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

*Lord Admiral RedFish sits on a barrel, staring at a painting of the ACFNS Crimson Shark, the flagship of his fleet, his pride and joy, his life's work, his only love.... occaisionally he makes a noise which sounds a bit like "meep"*

*Hands him a *
Well, you can always rebuild...

*stares numbly at ex-rambling*

*pats the disconsolate Admiral on the shoulder in a comaradely fashion*

We'd have saved her old boy if it wasn't for the damned toons and that Top Cat wallah .... a nasty character by all accounts. Dibble didn't make it as well - we had to bury him next to Fudd

I blame myself

Dont be disheartened, Red Dog, you arent alone.




I blame you too.

...Ahem...
The Speak-Your-Weight-Machine at your service...

* the floorboards creak alarmingly *

...Pinniped has asked me to convey his sincere regrets for his actions viz-a-viz the Crimson Shark.
I fear that remorse has unbalanced him somewhat.
He says that he was impetuous in those days. That he hadn't then realised that gung-ho RP could desecrate the lovingly-crafted reverie of others.
That all changed when poor Coleridge was shot...

He wants to atone for his affront to you, Admiral Red Fish.
He says you can have the pick of his possessions.
As far as I can ascertain, these would be :
1 Pier, collapsed
3 bottles of cod-liver-oil (full)
875 bottles of cod-liver-oil (empty)
Ice, a very large quantity thereof
Coleridge's curtains (though I doubt that he really means to part with those. He does spend rather a lot of time entwined in them, sobbing gently...)

He also insists that the Dogs are welcome to take control of his private army. Unfortunately, he doesn't appear to have realised that all of his animated entourage deserted some months ago.

Not quite all. Pinniped can still call upon the following :
Miss Zsa-Zsa (+ litter), all of whom have sworn to castrate Hector. Yes, she's a cat. Good point - we'll forget her, then...
Captain Scarlet. Still indestructable, but has developed rather alarming (and repetitive) suicidal tendencies.
Pooh. Well, actually not really, but we do continue to receive correspondence from his solicitor.

There must be more than these, surely. Odd ones still turn up, now and again. On reflection, though, perhaps not many more...

Yes, I concede that this number is a little deficient. I should add that Pinniped also claims to command an army comprised of Heroines of 19th Century Literary Fiction, and another one created by animating Armitage's cigarette-card collection, but I'm afraid that I've seen no hard evidence for the existence of either cohort.

There is Orchid, of course. This would mean enlisting the services of an incontinent 3-foot killer whale with a lisp, who believes herself to have been saved from certain death by Sergeant Mushroom.

And there's Roofle. Species and racial extraction indeterminate; possibly a Glaswegian limpet. Apparently permanently inebriated. Deeply misanthropic. Never observed to move...

And then there's me...

...This isn't working, is it?

I did have a couple of alternative ideas, though. First, there IS a ship, and it was more-or-less Pinniped's once. It belongs to Ex-R now...

* bows deeply *

...Howdy Ma'am! It gives me the greatest of pleasure to meet you again. Might there be the slightest chance of loaning the Revenant to the good Admiral? Could you be persuaded to whistle thrice?

I see...still, perhaps my other idea is a better one. If anyone can re-animate the albatross, it must be you, Ma'am. We still have the plasticine. And her Sanity Certificate, presuming that one needs a cherished possession of the deceased in order to perform these rites.

Could we re-awaken Coleridge, do you think, Ma'am? She would be a diligent servant. She would commit herself unreservedly to the cause, if only to get away from that disgusting seal. She adored Commander Red Dog. And I think the evidence speaks for itself; she was the only one around the Pier with Dog about her. Dog in abundance. Absolutely barking, as a matter of fact...

*stares*

Please tell me schizophrenia isnt contagious?

Hang on...I'll just ask him.

Where'd my honeyboats go?

He ate them.

The gang led by the thrice cursed Top Cat sailed away in the last of them I think.

Hi, Commander...

Pinniped thtill doethn't dare thpeak with you himthelf.
(perhapth all thith ith a bit confuthing for the Admiral?)

Do you thympathithe with thith thuggethtion about rethurrecting the albatroth? In the thpirit of the Chienth Rougeth, tho to thpeak.

I hope tho. It'th tho thad, theeing Pinniped tharing dithcontholately at the curtainth like thith...

Orchid x

You appeal to my better side with that melancholy picture of the unfortunate Pinniped. I surely know that this will end up in tears but by all means commence the resurrection.

Should I take out more insurance ?

But Thir...it'th not ath thimple ath that.

(Ooh, thorry...you're all wet...)

I mean...you can't jutht rethurrect a dead theabird becauthe you think it'th a nithe idea.

There'th only one Rethearcher known to have thucethfully rethurrected a detheathed avatar...

No, not ditheathed...that'th jutht a bit thick...I mean detheathed...DEAD...

And who ith thith Rethearcher? Ex-R, of courthe. I mean, rethurrecting yourthelf thcoreth double. Real expertithe required.

Can you get her to help? Only Ex-R doeth'nt much like Pinniped either...he wath a bit rude to her about getting walled up thomewhere...

(Oooh...thith ith THO exthiting...)

Orchid x

Actually, I am a major Pinneped fan- I'm just off line most days.

* begins the spirit shimmy, then follows it up with the specter shrug. As she launches into a fit of free-style poetry, the gathers. Power drenches the atmosphere, and the earth trembles a lot, or something. As she works up to the Ressurrection Rhrumba, a skeleton band accompanies her.*

*She dips, she dives, she lets her back bone slide; Pinniped's body is healed, but lifeless. His spirit is deep in the dead zone. A river of power erupts from the ground to head straight for Pinniped's soul. It hits his soul, dragging it from the underworld and back to the land of the living, slamming it into his body with a vengence.*

Oops: strike Pinniped, insert the albatroth. It was him I ressurrected. Yeah, that's it.

Lo and behold:

The Albatross Cometh!!!

Ma'am, we are forever in your debt.
I am deeply moved.
Orchid has wet herself.
Pinniped is going to be...somewhat surprised...

* the Elephant Seal bows gracefully. High over the Pier, a familiar squawk is heard above the icy wind... *

What have we done !

My Profoundly Dear Ms Rambling (Deceased),

I scarcely know where to begin, but since you will presumably begin to read at the top of the page, I propose to write this paragraph first.

In this one, which I will, indeed am, writing second, I will thank you for bringing me back to life. I haven't actually finished doing so yet, have I? Writing it, that is, I mean. Thanking you, yes, I did that. Sorry, no, I didn't. But I do now. Unreversedly. Reservedly.

Please do forgive me, my dear. I still feel a little dazed, what with all the hysteria at the Pier, and with having been but recently dead, and with everything else. Particularly that last part. That part there, yes, that one. You know, once I came round, I took a couple of long slow laps of South Georgia, just to pull myself together. To feel the wind in my pinions. It was...uplifting. And then, after that, and just before what I did after it, I went home.

The Speak-Your-Weight-Machine was quite emotional. And little Orchid - such a dear, for a Nemesis, isn't she? And Pinniped, of course, yes, well...

He isn't himself, you know. Sometimes I suspect that none of us are.

I hope that you won't consider this question impertinent. This one, the one I haven't asked yet. That one there. No, I know you won't, dear. Consider it impertinent. Or not. I mean, the SYWM has told me so very often that you're such an exceedingly gracious lady. And so very understanding of those who are experiencing crises of uncertainty concerning their corporeal status.

You see, I remember wheeling above the Pleasure Dome, and I was feeling a little trepidation - concern, if you will - about the amount of shooting going on, and then I don't remember anything, not until I found myself passing down a long tunnel. Orange. Not orange like a cement-mixer, no, not this time, not really. More like a corporation dustcart, like the ones they had in Oldham, circa 1965. You remember them, dear? No, I know you don't. They didn't have streetlights in those days, you see, at least not in the places where they weren't there yet. You knew that, dear, didn't you? Of course you did. Good. Good...

Where was I? Oh, yes; in an orange tunnel. And I thought I was a seal for a moment back there, my dear. Yes, quite. Quite horrible. Quite. It was, indeed. Indeed it was.

What I mean to ask, is, was I dead then, or am I dead now? Or both? The SYWM told Pinniped that, in spite of appearances, I was, or indeed am, quite dead. He excused this as a devious ploy to stop Pinniped killing me. I know he means well, the SYWM, not Pinniped, who doesn't, not even remotely, but I do still find it all a little disturbing. Well one would, dear, wouldn't one?

Oh dear. I am deeply confused. I'm sure that I didn't used to be as confused as this. Even the letterboxes confuse me. I'm sure that the hole used to be in the other side, didn't it?

Orchid told me a strange thing. At the very moment that you brought me back to life, my Sanity Certificate burst into flame. It was totally consumed, followed immediately by the wardrobe, and then by part of the Pier. But it was only the part above water. The bottom half, insofar as I am able to tell, is still perfectly sound.

Pinniped was terribly rude about it. The Pier, I mean. Particularly when I explained that the Certificate was more important to me than his recreational edifice of a seaboard tendency. As soon as I've finished this letter, my dear, meaning the completion of that paragraph over there, I propose to write to the Gas Board, to beseech them to issue another one. Certificate, that is. I don't think that they do issue Piers, do they?

And now, my dear, I must embark on a journey. A journey to find that inspiring and erudite Champion of the Canine Cause, the Illustrious Commander Red Dog. I feel sure that he would not have left my thoughts for a single moment in all this time, were it not for the fact that I was a little distracted as a consequence of being dead.

Whether he will have me or no, I know not. I know only that I am not welcome here, at the Pier, or at the Two Rows of Ice-Bound Stumps, as we must all now learn to call it. My dear, I fly South, and do so with a hopeful heart...

Once again, my dearest Ms Ex-Rambling, I can never thank you enough. Until we meet, in whatever context Fate contrives, please remember that this is the last paragraph, and that it comes directly under that one up there.

Yours etc.

Alberta Coleridge (Ms)

P.S. I haven't found my pills yet. You didn't happen to notice them, by any chance?

XXX-R was laughing so hard she had a stroke and died a SIXTH time! I had to resurrect her. In case you don't know, XXX-R is my mother, Pinniped.