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

Die Katze im Sack kaufen.

A hot cup of coffee and a sweet free twiglet,
Got me in the mood to buy a nice baby piglet
If I couldn't get a piglet, then how about a rabbit.
I could keep it it in a hutch, that's an English habit.
But I was in Germany in the town of Laufen,
Where the traders will convince you Die Katze im Sack kaufen.
When I got back home and opened up the sack,
I found a beautiful pussycat and couldn't take it back.
That wicked old trader was just having a joke.
My beautiful new friend was a pig in a poke.

My pretty new pall was a pig in a poke.

Every poet in the nation
Appreciates Alliteration!

Our God is a lizard with frills on his gizzard: though he may be a wizard we've made him our God.
We started the courtship by building a warship: now it's Him who we worship; our scaly old God.
Our thoughts may be muddied, and scientists have studied the way our cold blooded friend became our God.
They show total disdain , yet they cannot explain why our faith we sustain, we still trust in our God.

When from midge bites I feel better
I shall write their boss a letter.
Itchy lumps don't melt my heart!
E'en though toxins from them dart
'Cos they love the way I smell -
Nasty midges ~~~ go to h***.

There lives a maid whose face so rare
It never should have been left bare
She sought solace in the sound of birds
She also loved the poet's words
That tempted her to stroll through trees
To examine flowers, and on her knees
Grub in the forest floor to see
If butterflies or moths would be
There with the bees she loved so much
Or other wonders she could touch
And as she wondered on high ridges
Was all at once beset by midges
That radiant face so much admired
By all her boyfriends, who desired
To caress those soft and lovely features
Was now attacked by these dreadful creatures
Her face (and here I tell no lies)
Was swollen now to twice its size
Back home the doctor, nasty man
Just laughed, as down his cheeks their ran
Tears of derision. then some of these
Splashed on her own cheeks, if you please
The salty balm it did the trick
The saddened maid, no longer sick
Went out again, down to the sea
To see if she'd bump into me
But no; I was tucked up in bed
With these great lumps upon my head
Midges get our general vetoes
But I'd been bitten by mosquitoes.

She rubbed the bites with lots of ices,
Smarting from her midge-life crisis.

First she was spotted by you.
Then she was spotted by me.
Now she's been spotted by midges,
Who came to her face for their tea.
These insects have no sense of beauty.
How they choose whom to bite, who's to tell?
You don't have to be meaty or fruity.
You just have to have the right smell.

F&S and Paul for midge life crisis

Clapping Paul for the magnificent midge live crisis gag of the week!
As for that frankandsense, he's had far too much red wine to speak!

Thanks .

Good work, Frankandsense.

She poured herself another glass of wine ,
And told exotic tales
Of flocks of lofty soaring swine ,
And tall ships with fine sails.

And when her last tale she had told ,
Another glass she drank.
Her mermaid's tale she'd then unfold,
And in the sea she sank.

On my washing line my gleaming white sheet billows
And now I ask you, how does one wash one's pillows?
I am the almost perfect fifties washerwoman mother.
My neighbours envy my smalls, and whisper to one another,
"How does he do it? so clean! and never a stain?
He spends all his time washing them, again and again,
Until our greys are surely put to shame.
What is the secret? is he on some game?"
My secrets of success I'll ne'er disclose,
And I am certainly not one of those....
Who uses mother's brush and scrubbing board.
My secret washing powder, none of them can afford.
I wash for angels, their gowns, gleaming white,
Spin in my tub, and I must get them right.
And how I do it? (I'll give you the nod)
I get my washing powder straight from God!

A nun I met, a convent daughter,
Does her washing in Holy Water.
None of the nuns send her work back.
It never looks dirty, it's always black.

My dainty body - pale and pink
From tips of toes to my head,
Is warm in spite of adverse weathers
Due to the warm luxurious feathers
I found on the shores of the Med.

I wove a garment when time allowed,
And lined it with thick swans-down,
Now whether I sit with my book in the snow
Or the cold Arctic winds round my body do blow
I'm so warm in my gossamer gown.

What's more - there's none like it in town.

Hot or cold, whatever the weather
I like a bird to be in feather.
Not naked, and with string all trussed
Up like a supermarket chicken! My disgust
Is evident, I like one that's groovy
And covered all over by a 15 tog duvet.
That way she's not
Just warm, but hot!
Would I pluck such a beauty?
I think not!

The peacock struts his stuff, the more to engage,
But can't because of too small a cage.

I'm feeling a right clown
'Cos my fake-tan's let me down
In spite of what it promised -
"For a real authentic sun-kissed
Golden St. Tropez skin."
Now it sits inside the loo bin!






PS I haven't really used any fake tan!

The frog sat sullenly, gorging on booze,
Because he damaged his open-toad shoes.

He toad me a tale about tadpole and snail.
In France much admired for the length of their tail.
The lizard was Wizard (he read from a comic)
How the mushroom makes much room, it's truly atomic.
The ode the toad toad was too old to be told.
Unlike a dog the frog likes his blood cold.
The newt is quite cute but sadly quite rare.
That's how I like my lamb, my beef and roast bear.
I love the pig for his bacon and crackling.
Pig's trotters are nice, but they do take some tackling.
Partridge and pheasant, venison and quail.
A cartridge gun, pleasantly blasting a snail.
A long bow and arrows will bring down house sparrows.
Use an air gun, a fair gun for pumpkins and marrows.
Bring not a sling shot if you're hunting peas.
For the rest, a big bucket is best, if you please.

The foods that you've mentioned are tasty, no doubt,
But high in purines, so one might contract gout.

What's a boy to do when the screen on his laptop goes black?
Take it to the menders and run all the way back.
See if that old desktop can remember me.
No but I kicked it; so what could I see?
Lots of wires and discs and a whole load of dust
When I took a look inside it was full of rust.

Still, you can just about read this, I trust.