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

I'm glad you find it funny Discreditably, the author again finds himself drawing out a further instalment of the exciting series to which this introductory text is attached, and not by a long shot for the first time, being suitably amazed at its continuing level of inconsequence, for, yes, but no, strongly different from previous times, is a new instalment of the increasingly elongated to breaking point saga of the Detective…
And so we return, well, we actually haven’t left, but having neither gone right either, it is quite proper to say in exactly the same position, and we find, rather unexpectedly, the Detective, laying again on the lake bed, but, yet, strangely, but rather inexplicably, or at least as inexplicable as anything until the improbable explanation is eluded at, this time no water does cover the lake bed…
The lake, shattered by the obtrusive arrival of the Detective at the lakes surface, is still, increasingly at times maliciously, taking an unbridled path of eloingatedness through the air, leaving, a suitable window of escape for the ‘Detective: but will he take his opportunity to discover the truth behind the newly shaven park keeper, the twitcher, bird watcher with two broken legs, or indeed Espresso herself?
The detective was, to say the very least, rather shocked by the complete absence of water from the lake, which did all simultaneously decide to follow its shattered fragmented companions in the arc of excruciating elongatedness to the green grass.. It was at this point: as the water did all shatter and adopt its myriad of individualistic elongated arc’s through the thick morning air, that the Detective, not being able to swim, not being able to remember how to drown, thrashing around hopelessly in the water, did, suddenly and without so much of a please-could-you-go-outside-if-you-are-going-to-do-that-now, fell once again into unconsciousness, falling to the dry lake-bed, with a startled expression of complete non-understanding drawn over his face, as so often has the frown of unparalleled insignificance..
From his position on the dry or at least, or perhaps most appropriately, not wet, lake bed, the Detective does something so amazing, so incredible, that it deserves its very own line of text:
The Detective regains consciousness…
The newly shaven park keeper, does, at this moment, arrive at the side of the lake, absent mindly brushing some dust off his armour plated jacket, and notices the absence of water from the lake. This takes the park keeper by supprise and he immediately springs into saction, and grows a fresh beard, and then, having not yet noticed the shattered water arcing through the air, notices the Detective, at the centre of the dry lake bed, regaining consciousness…
The Detective, slowely stands, and begins, in a elongated way, so plesently seen, begin to walk around the bed of the dry lake, finding and pocketing, a small stone.
The Park Keeper, newly grown fresh beard in situe, removes his shoe, and throws it at the Detective, but, before the shoe can contact the Detective, the park keeprs sock does leap from his foot, and strangle the park keepers beard!
The Detective, does not notice the approaching shoe.
The white socks, strangely, ignored till this point of proceedings, do now stand, directly behind the park keeper at the edge of the dry lake, as the biscuit quietly quivers on the bone china plate.
The shoe finally makes contact with the Detective, and as the Park Keepers newly freshly grown beard, lies, on the ground, choking as it is strangled by the park keepers sock, the glass pony, leaps through the air, and eats the final biscuit.
The Detective, is so supprised to be hit in the head by a flying metal shoe, that he doesn’t notice the event, and instead keeps exploring the dry lake bed.
The Park Keeper, hearing the sound of a clock chiming in the far distance, suddenly turns, over and over again on the grass, almost but not quite noticing the pair of white socks. And then, once the turning is finished, the Park Keeper runs over to the glass pony, and hands it a mint.
It is back.
Its here, and it’s a pig of a cow?
The long awaited return of this episode of a long elongated storey involving an acorn, the dusty dustbins, iron iron gates and loads of stuff like disappearing squirrels.
We continue.
Meanwhile::
In a laundrette, far far away, a pair of socks randomly wind their treacherous path through a spin cycle and mingle, with scant disregard with other items of clothes. Two sentences from now the cycle will terminate.
The washing machine in question is one in a bank of four, the second along from the left to be precise, and is a rather old machine containing a quantity of clothes which have been placed within the machine along with some washing powder and a few pieces of loose change.
The machine stops.
The door is opened.
The damp, but now clean clothes, including the now separated pair of socks are removed from the washing machine and placed in a similar, but larger machine.
This, second machine is a tumble dryer.
The clothes, and the machines may be of little interest, that shall remain to be seen.
However, the person, thus far not mentioned, but perhaps hinted at through the presence of his clothes, will now draw our attention for a good deal of the following text, do not let this dishearten you.
He is in his mid twenties, tallish and of a medium build with a thoroughly annoyed looking expression. He always carries this expression, and it has not yet, in twenty odd years, done much to further the aims and objectives of the man in question.
He sits down, after placing some silverfish pieces of metal in two slots on the dryer, the dryer begins to slowly, but rhythmically spin and heat the clothes.
It will be a full 45 minutes before the clothes are dry, and this will require the insertion of two further sets of silverfish pieces of metal into the two slots in the machine.
The man sits, looks annoyed and idly fingers the rubber sole of his Para-boots, which dangle off the bottom of the boots, in agreement with their great age and lack of repair and attention.
It seemed a good idea at the time, for, two days after doing his washing the man enters the park through the iron iron gates, past the fallen flirting leaves, and past the dusty bins, to a point not exactly where, but rather close to, where the detective stands.
++ ++ ++ ++ ++ ++ ++ ++ ::
The detective, after rather suddenly and unexpectedly not fainting at the end of the previous episode, examines with close scrutiny the man, which stands before him, wearing the same old worn boots, the newly cleaned socks and several other items of clothes probably too dull to even be discussed here.
He glares at the man.
The man glares back.
And, then without either speaking, they head off into the middle of the area where the squirrels, now disappeared were playing soccer, and where a space craft of some indeterminate colour may, or may not have hovered.
The proceed to the acorn? And between them are able to pick it up, they carry it back to the park bench and sit in quiet contemplation looking at the round acorn-like object of approximately 30 CM in diameter.
“its larger than an acorn” comments the detective.
“its smaller than a BMW III series” replies the man.
“it is larger than a small piece of fluff I found one morning between my toes” counters the detective.
“it is smaller than a small stone” answers the man.
“it is larger than a large rock” the detective says.
“it is smaller than the Italian restaurant on Norfolk Street” says the man.
“it is larger than a crumb from a desiccated water biscuit” says the detective.
“it is smaller, certainly, than the space craft I did not see appear above the site where the squirrels were playing football just before the squirrels disappeared” said the man.
“it is larger than this segment of tree” says the detective holding up a segment of a tree.
“it is, quite probably smaller than Mr Theadopalopadosuses intergalactic party manifesto” says the man.
“I would imagine that it is larger than that there thing on the grass yonder” says the detective non-comitidily.
They pause for a few seconds.
“But” says the man, “do you know what it is”? The man sits back on the park bench and fiddles again, absently with the loose sole of his left boot.
“Who are you” replies the detective in a burst of sudden apprehension and delighted swanny whistle blowing.
The detective stands, swanny whistle aloft and begins to play, and continues to play, and still, in deference to the presence of his long awaited companion, continues to play in a air of total delight.
He suddenly stops playing his swanny whistle, and as the last few notes continue over the park, he again sits down.
“quite perverse if you ask me” said the man.
”can we continue” asks the detective and coughs loudly.
“the last tin in the cupboard has no label and is pineapple” continues the detective after his cough.
“I am the man called Pedro, the password is fruity pondweed”
The detective suddenly looks up at the man, and in a state of shock stands up and begins playing the swanny whistle once again.

The detective then takes the acorn? From the man with the clean socks and examines it more closely.
“it is a football” he proudly announces after a long and elongated pause, only punctuated by the chirp of a blackbird.
“yes” replies the man with clean socks and currently crumples up into a small ball and vanishes.
“Well, finally we have that sorted,” says the detective to himself, and turning is so surprised to see the woman standing in front of him, he promptly collapses and falls unconscious.scc
Waz what my mind said, and, quite frankly, I thin I'm mad with worry and something

And yet that was Good Sorry if i sound surprised... it's more a surprise that bothered to read all that

...And, et there is more, incorrectly types, incorrectly spelt and incorrectly placed, c**p and, then again, suddenly findinourselfsexactlywherewewereyetwithoutthebenifit of spaces the sarga continues.#
Way down deep, in the middle of the jungle, we find a parot a small piece of scrap paper with the words/"garlic bread" wirtten on it, and two empty empty single scotch wisky bottles, curiouser and curiouser said Allice, who the fig leaf is alice?

Just bookmarking ...

just copying what shea did


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Just thinking for myself

RhoMuNuQ

Well as I'm here...

...and following the trend, I find myself, alone atop a large greenish-blue silverish cloud, floating high above the limit of sanity, but within the normal limits of alcoholic indulgence. happy? not yet the lack of punctuation hindering our souls, passing through the multitude of interconnected ethernet connections, to find that one sort for, but lack luster and ill gotten end of fighting the final cause of reality in time and dimensions. laying iddly on a string theory as the particles of infinate improbablity pass into a dimension only hitherto previously occupied by small furry creatures from under the bed. we find a alltogether inexplicible reversal of fame and fortune as yet again, that* voice echo's from the void, calling us to our destony and saying;
"Jim will fix it for you" what was this thread about anyhow? anyone heard of the duck recently? more <?>

ZAK!!!

And, still no news

*burp*

Eeeek!

Oh my oh my

what kind of ghastly type of responce from the kidnappers is that?


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Not very helpful Maybe talks have broken down, and we need to restablish communication and talks to resolve the issue

is there any chance of a group of armed trained pie throwing clowns could be sent in to release Zak if we can figure out where he is being held?


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Already been done mate. Sorry.

www.park-college.co.uk/fractalplanet/wm2k3/12zaktheduck.jpg

For explaination - go to www.fractalplanet.co.uk, and log in.

UserID: h2g2
Password: dna

oh this must not be true there was a ransom picture dated later then this showing Zak aliv...erm unharmed


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Or was it a faked one?