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

Fresh mackerel? I might have known. The senior partners are going to be *so* pi$$ed off...

*Whips out epée, strikes dazzling pose and dives into river, settling gently on the sandy bed. Several fish lok on, bemused.*

Let's make this quick, or I'm gonna die. I neglected to bring any oxygen.

*Makes daring lunge at Pinniped...*

* Pinniped parries 12 hours later. Possibly not quick enough... *

Oh bugger. You seem to have gone home and left a hole in my stomach...

...Dr Clooney?! He-elp!!!

I've had Dr Cloony liquidated.

I'm here with news from the senior partners.

This leter does not make happy reading! It's full of evil phrases like "down-sizing" and "Negative par increase"

People we must raise our game if we are to conquer the world.

Oh and Mr legio please put the away!

*Yelps , tosses into the Alph*

Apologies, Mr. Ostrich. Things have gotten a bit in the Boardroom. We had a bit of trouble with an albatross, a little shooting spree, then we decided to pack it in and take a recess. The senior partners should try having my job, it's all stress... You won't let them downsize me, will you warlord?

I thought maybe a little quality deckchair-time would get the evil juices flowing, y'know? Care for a ? We could even take out the ...

*Knocks back drink, worries about job security*

If there are going to be cutbacks, I guess I won't be able to use as many smileys - this post is especially crammed.

Mr.Ostrich... finally! Things have taken a definantly weird turn... not enough pure evil to fill the toaster oven in "Time Bandits".

*Grabs board with nails in it, seeing as Mr.L isn't really using it anyway and takes a swing at a small bunny hopping about* Sheesh, a perfectly good weapon going to waste! What's all this then? I step out for a moment of superhero torture and come back to find walrus guts and a distinct lack of drinks... no fair partying while I've been off Sublimating. If we got some e-vil plotting done, we would be rolling in dough instead of making cutbacks.

Pinniped... stop bleeding on me *nudges aside with nailey board*

G'digh, folks!

Yep, it's Rolf here...
Listen, dont'ya think it's a mite irresponsible to do awigh with bighsic medical facilities in a Conversightion such as this?
We found this little fellah bleeding from a gighping stomach-wound only yesterdigh.
He's right as righn now, though...

* Pinniped glowers at aging Auntipodean. Mouths "Shoot him, Legion", or something similar with additional syllables *

Can y'see where I'm coming from yet? I hear you chaps have some budget-cuts to fret over, but there's a small matter of the End of the World too, y'know. Shighm it's not violent enough for this Thread.
Mighbye some heroic type should pop off to sort it out, leaving these happy little fellahs here to innocently slaughter each other...

* a crazed seal snatches for T'm-D's elephant gun, bursts his stitches again, and faints *

Happy to oblige, Pinniped



HARRIS! You have some nerve coming HERE, of all places! You've cooed over your last puppy!

*Claps hands*

Security! Tie me Aussie prat down!

*Faceless minions tramp out of lairs, grab the protesting Rolf and truss him up on a rope over a tank of ravenous duckbilled platypusses...or is it platypi?*

Rolf: "Might! What are you doin', might? Oi only cighme here wif a bitta friendly advoice!"

*Saunters over to control panel, cackles madly at Harris*

So long, Harris - or should that be 'G'day'? Mwahahaha...

Harris: "Nah, that means 'hello', might. Just FYOi. An' wot's all this in ide of, anyway? D'you ixpict me to talk?"

NO, Mr Harris, I expect you to *shut up*.

*Pulls lever, rope snaps, platy(pusses/pi delete whichever is inapplicable) feast, water boils and bubbles*

Mwahahaha....ahahahaa..AHAHAHAHA! Good job leading him here, Pinniped. Oh...you've fainted.

BTW Yankee, it has not escaped my notice that you recently offered your services to a different band of super-villains (who style themselves 'STUMPED'), in return for which you promised them 'valuable information'. I can only hope that this did not pertain to the BoE, and note with satisfaction that you left before completing their initiation. The atom bomb was a nice touch

...Ahem...

* A familiar (and ample) figure rises from the Platypus Tank *

I wonder if your Warlord might be interested in Consultancy Services?

* the SYWM steps over the writhing Pinniped and sets up a flipchart, bearing the heading 'Corporate Evil : Maintaining Low Standards in Tough Times', and begins to scribble furiously below it *

Even corrupt organisations such as yours are finding it difficult to make ends meet these days. What chance for the rest of us, when it seems that even Bushy-Boy himself can't just go and invade Iraq on a nefarious whim any more?

Never fear. Here are a few practical ideas to improve your efficiency and ensure that World Evil still gets perpetrated :

1. If you're in the market for high technology weapons, employing an Israeli buyer seems to be a winning formula these days. Can't imagine why.

2. Have a good clear out of your top-dollar bent professionals, since many of them are no longer worth the premium. For example, have you realised that your favourite accountant, Arthur "Back" Andersen, has taken a bit of a tumble recently?

3. Offer the entire Saudi Royal Family non-executive directorships of your subsidiaries. If you don't have subsidiaries, invent some. With a little creativity, you should be able to get them to bankroll you almost indefinitely. (NB - it may be necessary to support a few slightly dodgy causes in order to win them over, in which case it might be inadvisable to go to Guantanemo Bay for your holidays)

* The SYWM pauses, and peers intently at his audience. He seems to realise a possibility that he's making his pitch at the wrong level. Tearing off a flip-chart sheet, he prints a new heading : "Running a Combat Thread on a Budget", and continues to scribble *

1. Introduce money-saving schemes, such as leaving victims to decompose naturally, or starving prisoners.

2. Use "found" objects for weapons. Throw stones, or beat each other with fallen branches. Contrive poisons from the natural flora. If you must set light to things, strike the spark by rubbing two sticks together.

3. Better still, try shop-lifting cigarette lighters.

* The SYWM pauses once more. The audience still look somewhat bemused. He tosses them the box of marker-pens *

...Here, you can sniff these. That will be $2500, please...

Here you go, SYWM.

>THUMP<

$2500 worth of fresh mackerel. It was just lying around for some reason. I'm sure you'll enjoy them, but better make it quick - they're getting a little fresh.

Turns out out money troubles are over! I've made a few phone calls to a few old friends, and the upshot of it is that we now have the financial backing of a friendly government! Thank you, thank you. Of course, there are going to be some changes...

*Through the French windows, a gang of Arabic-looking men can be seen manhandling an ICBM launcher onto the lawn. Swarthy guards with Kalashnikovs patrol the perimeter wall. The swimming pool has been converted into a chemical weapons plant.*

Yes, from now on we shall be known as 'The Boardroom of Evil, Plotting and General Mayhem: Sponsored by the State of Iran'! Isn't that great news? I just hope they don't try to take away the minibar...

Now, they've given me these black robes that we have to wear, and at the end of every sentence we have to say 'if it please the Ayatollah'. Okay? It's only temporary, if it please the Ayatollah.

*Two soldiers enter the boardroom, make menacing moves towards the minibar.*

*Toting sawn-off shotgun*
I wouldn't do that, boys, if it please the Ayatollah. Go play with your missiles,if it please the Ayatollah. Yeah, run along, if it please the Ayatollah. I am getting SO sick of saying that, if it please the - no sod it, I won't do it. These guys have got to go...

release the hounds!

I can't abide freeloaders. I turn my back for five minutes to go and plug in the esspresso maker and you've sold the swimming pool to a bunch of trigger happy chemistry teachers!!

I mean honestly, you could at least have suggested some unmolested bueaty spot - or better yet a National park.

Somebody is not thinking out of the box. I'll give you a hint. It's coffin shaped.

Now somebody get a mop and bucket and get that green glop out of my pool or I'll start distriputing straws!!

* the blotchy one reappears, criss-crossed with fresh needlework.
Pinniped appears to be accompanied by a very large and angry seabird, which smells even worse than the seal. It wears a patch over one eye *

Hello, everyone. Don't let me stop you pumping that stuff out of the pool. I just wanted you all to meet Senor Diomedes Cauda-Epomofora. He's from Uruguay. He's a bit upset about Mr Legion shooting Coleridge, and he says he going to keel him.

...I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I?

Keeling is so much nastier than simple killing!!! Being keel-hauled is one of the most unpleasant ways I can think of to die.

FYI Mr.L... I was only consorting with STUMPED to bring down the illustrious Demazed. She is a denizon of good, and we had an, um, embarrassing conflict in Brazil having to do with the pantyhose uprising. It's still too close to speak of. More recently I was trying to bring her down directly through CHOPPERS... but as she is my roommate outside of cyberspace it's a little difficult. Hmm. Maybe someone else would give it a go? If only we could get her to join the Thingites and the BoE... her power is "chaos factor" and can be pleasantly random and occaisionally violent. It's that "Uncle Heavy" that has muddied her brain with e-vil phrases like "for the common good", and "all for one and one for all". *shudder*

I can't allow him to "keel" Mr.L though... seems I "owe him" one or two... it's against my best nature to stop a little carnage, but it can't be helped... *steps in front of Legion, brandishing sword with a Bergerac glint in her eye*

* Latin albatross hops forward, curling wingtips above his head and snapping beak rhythmically *

Ole!

* brushes away a tear with a pinion *

Si! I weel keel Legion! He keeled Ms Colereedge like she eez a minor character. But she writes forty thighs and words of ze Entries, many of zem coherent, and two Smileez. She eez no so good at Smileez, but steel she tries, si? Zat is why I weel avenge her. It eez ze crime to go round go snuffing well-rounded avatars like zees.

* Dio evidently relishes an opportunity to keel YS by way of a leetle practice, before keeling Legion. He rises gracefully into the air, circling to a great height, before beginning his descent. Faster, faster...until Dio is plunging straight down towards YS at breakneck speed... *

I'll just, ah, step outside and see how the pool drainage is going, OK? Your explanation is satisfactory, YS. Keep up the bad fight! Give that Senor Diomedes Cauda-Epomofora hell!

*Sidesteps outside into the garden with great speed*

Can't have some dago seabird go keeling me...far too much to do. Miles to go before I sleep, etc.

*To Iranians* HEY YOU, effendis! Get yer gear an' sling yer hook, por favour, toot sweet! Your lease ran out! Go on, amscray!

*Dark mutterings from Iranian scientists and soldiers*

*Cocks ear* Say, what's that I hear? Hmmm...sounds like the Americans are invading some little Middle Eastern nation...gee, was that a presidential palace exploding...?

*Iranians exchange nervous glances, rush out of gates*

Hehe...they even left their ICBMs behind... I feel a money-making plot hatching... Wonder how things are going back in the boardroom?

*Sounds of frenzied squawking and bludgeoning*

I'm sure they're doing alright without me...

*leaping gracefully aside, letting Dio splat crunchingly* Did you say something? I couldn't tell through that ridiculous accent! Fortunately no one tried to save my life this time... I think I need a ... too bad Legion left, he would love to see the carnage of whatever that Dio thing was. Is Clive around? I'll pour him a while I'm at it, add a little oleander extract while I'm about it (special occasion... he is the nefarious warlord).

* Clouds broil menacingly. Dissipated Man o' War reappears in swimming pool, sending remaining Iranians fleeing at high speed. Dead-Sailor-Guys begin recovering remains of yet another albatross, looking slightly p***ed off. First Mate breaks off (at left forearm this time). He's coming this way. Heavens Mother Sends us Grace *

Aaah, bejabers...I demar-nds to see the Guv'nr of this 'eer thread...we un-dead haven't been paid in two-'undred-and-and-seventeen years, Jim Lad, and now we're bein' required to retrieve corpses on an excessively frequent basis, while at the same time bein' presented as a bunch o' stereotypes who talks like this...
Look ye now; do ye wants us in your thread, or no-rt? Ye only has to say so, and we'll go and join the Zaphodistas, that we will, an' then where will ye be when ye needs Avian Hygiene Services?

* Pinniped appears, grinning brightly *

Yep. Just thought I'd confirm it. The thousand-thousand slimy things are indeed back in the minibar...

* looks thoughtful *

You know, Mr Legion, what we really need is the services of an Albatross Re-animator...

* looks even more thoughtful *

...and we could always placate the Warlord by strip-mining your Pleasure Dome too, yeah?

*Re-enters boardroom with and bemused expression. Glances at bloody smear of feathers on the floor*

Someone left a silo of nukes in the garden...oh, nice move, YS. But next time I think we should try to keep the stupid bird alive. Do you see what he's done to my carpet> Tsk...

The Pleasure-Dome remains un-stripmined. We reserve that treatment for Dronfield and other ashtrays of places.
There better not be any more albatrosses, though - may I point out that I didn't kill this one? Shouldn't the curse fall on YS? Shouldn't these decrepit creeps be hanging around his Personal Space? Doesn't seem fair.

So First Mate, is there any way I can persuade you to leave short of actually giving you anything? As for Avian Hygiene Services, well, I have this shovel in the potting shed, and it scoops up dead birds like nobody's business... How do I break the curse of recurring sailors and slimy things? I'm taking suggestions from the floor on this one...anybody?

*Goes to minibar to fix drink*

Slimy! This curse has to end...

* First Mate fixes Legion with his glittering eye, at least until it falls out of its socket *

Well, Mr Leg-Iron, if ye wants rid of us, then we ain't stayin'. I'll just be takin' this nice shovel, and we'll be orf. What's to come arfter us is your look-out...

* A limb belonging to the look-out plummets from the crow's nest as if to emphasise the point *

A sadder and a wiser man ye'll rise the morrer morn, that's for sure...

* Dead-Sailor-Guys shuffle off, cackling manically and shedding appendages. There is an eerie silence, broken only by sickening squelching noises from inside the minibar *