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

Of course Shakespeare has dated a bit.

Othello: "Lend me thy handkerchief."
Desdemona. "I have it not about me. It came mangled from the washing machine."

What light through yonder window breaks?

t'is the

I told you you'd set the alarm off you oaf

you guys ..... on the stage wiv yer ..

(heads back into re-read of The Winter's Tale - oops sorry, not A Winter's Tale as I typed earlier. That's a David Essex Song.

The Winter's Tale. Amazing. Pastoral. And I get the bear. Do so I do.

Then must have a word with my friend the fractal ghost protector who has the fragrant essence of wallflowers, who is infused with a poetry so heavenly that all the words become white light lilies.

Then go do birthday things with the spouse who is 60 today, and is currently walking around going . So have to go tell him that digital clocks don't tick.)

I love the Shakespeare, you guys.

Happy Birfday to the feller who is leading the pack into advanced age and wisdom......all the old hippies rejoice, far out, man, I just spent a hour studying my wrinkled hand......

'The Winter's Tale' is fun. Have you thought about 'The Midwinter's Tale'? (It's called 'In the Bleak Midwinter' in the UK, but Americans are Pre-Raphaelite-challenged.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LSI3sGZM8w

'Hamlet is Bosnia...' My favourite line. Next to the composer Patrick Doyle's Glaswegian rendition of 'Nah is the winter of our discontent...'

Wisdom? I haven't found that yet. I'm aspiring to the state described by Jenny Joseph -

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/warning/

But I would like to know how I could find a fractal ghost protector.

I like that poem, MVP. Although the website tried to 'give' me a gift card.

all the old hippies rejoicethis one's never stopped

hair gone, teeth gone, bell round neck gone, err brain

be cool man! like ice cream

Sorry. I didn't mean to direct you to a dodgy link.

No problem, MVP. Even poets have to eat.

become a poetnew diet plancould catch on and I'll make a fortune

http://theinkblot.com/


Test Results

Sickness Quotient: 72%
Your "Sickness Quotient" of 72% indicates therapy may be useful.

Detailed Diagnosis

* Interpersonal Insights
You have difficulty concentrating or keeping on task, probably because you're an idiot with a short attention-span. You complain about everything regardless of what it is. You wouldn't be happy even if you were hit by a new car. (true )

* Job Performance & Attitude
You aspire to becoming the CEO of a large, powerful company. This is unlikely since you rarely leave your parent's basement. Your attitude towards work is that you could watch others do it all day long. (already a CEOThe Fools Guild)

* Personality Insight
Your personal motto is "Hope for the best; prepare for the worst." Based on what we know about you, you're going to need a lot of preparation. (more or less)

"you're an idiot" it doesn't take a genius to work THAT out

That is a really scientific test, you know? I can tell. It's got graphs and everything. It looks like Nigel's been helping them plan it....

I am only 54% sick (Elektra, only 49%).

'You have a positive attitude towards nearly everything, which is incredibly stupid and very annoying to those around you.'

'Your personal motto is "Be a traveller in Life, not a tourist." But you're the kind of person that can't even get a temporary visa.'

Oh dear. I have a 72% sickness quotient.

"You have delusions of adequacy which are completely unfounded."

Wrong. I have delusions of inadequacy which are completely founded.

I think I'll go away and think about a poetry diet.

OK OK what's going on around here then. .

what???? .

So all the inkblots are jazz chords, 'course they are, except for the one that looks like muzak in a 24-hr supermarket.

So I get 99 per cent, and it says that I am the sort of person who says except, it informed me, that I'm not, and don't even think about it. Again.



So that's alright then. One less thing to remember to say in the mornings, whilst drawing maps of fictional insect kingdoms on the mirror with toothpaste,

So now I'm going to live exclusively on a diet of profound poetry that doesn't quite rhyme, which oozes from the tiny, yet significant scratches on the skin of my certainty.



ahem. s'cuse me. I demand that Elektra re-takes the test.

Elektra refuses. She says she's too dumb for that.

I am in awe of your 99% score.

(Elektra says tell your birthday boy to check his email.)

my I.Q what's your name ? oh! hard questions first eh!

.

Q1. Name .... .....erm ..... erm ..


Q2.Population of a remote kingdom in some undiscovered mountains that aren't really mountains ............. 2,356! Yes!




Too dumb? S'cuse me, I'm after Elektra's 49 per cent here. heheh. I'll trade my one per cent sanity and my pet crow, for the life potential of the 49 per cent.

OK I'm going to re-sit the test. Try for the ten per cent.

Exit pursued by an inkblot.

I'm not doing the inkblots again. Though I did wonder what I'd score if I picked all the sexy answers.

Instead, I've been thinking about a poetry diet and come up with...

Diet Poetry

Remember scrambled egg on toast
where egg came careless from a packet
and a bite encountered yellow powder
dry and tasteless as builders' sand.

Remember pureed swede so packed
with woody chunks it felt like eating
trees, and chicken portions so tough
a knife struggled to saw the fibres.

Remember meat pies where the pastry
settled soggily about the teeth,
while filling slurped into puddles
brown and featureless as mud.

Remember these and eat your fill.

Very poetic. Very, er, Monday-morning poetic.

Thanks Dmitri.

I hope it didn't put you off your breakfast!