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

It is surprising how few good things in life are actually runny. Eggs come to mind.

You know, I could really do with an omlette...

Don't Mention Eggs, I can't cope, not with this

Draws me, inperceptibly, to hte point of that to which I earlier refered.
Whilst on the trip in question, I was rambling along a small goat trail, or was it badger?
and, as I turned hte corner, I slipped, dragging four small leaves off a nearby mulberry bush, and sending them hurtling to the valley bottom, where they later formed hte basis for a family home for a small group of earwigs, that had previously been living in a discarded shoebox in the central reservation of the M4.
Anyhow, as I groped hte mysterious women standing on the corner, I found myelf also falling, over and down into the lushious undegrowth of the valley bottom.
Which was the precise momeent, I realised I was hanging over hte edge, but, luckly, the stretigically placed mammalian pretrubances of the mysterious source of my descent, provided a grasping point by which I was able, with much fluster and loss of shoelaces, to crawl back on to the goat path.

The "goat path" leads from Birmingham to Damascus and has marked a line of pilgrimage for goats of all ages and types. You can spot the pilgrims because they wear shells in their hair and shun all forms of modern transport. Damascus is rumoured among goats to be a site associated with cheese.

As a child we lived in a large shell, it wer all our family could afford.
Not that we were always poor; Father used to work in the cheese mine, till the Conservatives had it closed, something aobut polution I seem to remember but what happy days, running freely over slag heaps of spent cheese-rock, and exploring the largely abandoned mine system.
We once found a old disused carpet, hidden under some rocks in one of hte mine shafts. I don't know how, but someone had crawled into the rolled up carpet, when they knew they were aobut to die, the skeleton was still there.
Oh, and the food in them days, I still search for a sandwich, of such consistancey and greesyness as that we used to eat. Father used to use the bread to plug up the roof, so multi faceted stuff
"share and enjoy"

You had a shell, you woz lucky....

in my day all we had was an 'ole in the road, and all we 'ad to eat was the crumbs the birds dropped as they flew over 'ead...

In 1927, in a small town near Dorset, their appeared, on morning, a hole in the middle of the high street. The citizens of this town were not to worried at first, since there had been many repairs to the road in the past and a new hole was nothing to worry about. However, as the days and weeks rolled on, the hole was not filled in and appeared not to have been tampered with at all. Some people wrote to the council and a journalist wrote up a small piece about the hole in the "Evening Gazette". The council, however, appeared to have no knowledge of the hole, and thought that perhaps some townspeople had done it "as a joke". People asked around but no one claimed responsibility. Edith Carmegue of Hind Road claimed it was the work of "the welsh" but since she tended to blame everything on the Welsh, no one was inclined to believe her. Because the council hadn't made the hole, they refused to fill it in. And so it remained in the town, until 1978, when Keith Chegwin climbed out of it. He is reported to have said "At last, I thought I'd never make it" - but these words are forever lost to history as one of the townspeople set about Mr Chegwin with a shovel. He spent three weeks in hospital recovering, and it was during this time he had the idea for "Saturday Morning Swapshop"

An idea which had first raised it ugly head in the cranium of one Noel Edmonds of Berkshire, Kent...

Thus the power of ideas brought the two beings together to form a successful partnership at the BBC, wherein they managed to frighten many a young child to within inches of their poor lives with the power of Knitwear alone!

"The Power of Knitwear" was the early title of a Frankie Goes to Hollywood song. Apparently, Holly Johnson, lead singer of the popular Liverpool beat combo, felt that knitwear in general and jumpers in particular were under-represented in modern music. Trevor Horn, however, disagreed, and claimed they should stick to something more safe and mainstream, such as "Love". Obviously, Mr. Horn got his way that time, as he did with "When Two Tribes Can't Decide What To Wear" and "Relax, Don't do it, When You Think an Extra Jumper is Advisable On Venturing Outdoors."

Of course this trend has been seen in many other combos, such as the Velvet Underground, whose original name, I can exclusively reveal, was to have been The Argyle Underground...

And Kylie herself is known to have agonised for Days over whether to wear that diaphonous white thing, or a nice wooly jumper on the cover of Fever....

Jogging instantly back to a warm may evening, I recall Thelma, stagnently reaching over to the last of the multidue of eccles cakes, as her argile knitwear disturbed the air, I remarked that all things in life were not as bad as the media might portray. She iddly remakred that it was not right, for someone in her position to remark on news events of the day, and we sank into a pebble-like scilence, only interupted by the ocasional twitch of the young boy, from teh local cub group, crouched in teh corner, cleaning the skurting boards with a used toothbrush.
Thelma turned to the lad, having been in the cottage some two weeks, and remarked on the lack of argile wear, at which point the boy jumped up, coming to a momentus desicion and thrust out his hand.
Thelma was not to be messed with, twelve years in the Royal marines had done much for her corrage, and the three years spent in a concentration camp, and later single handly hacking her way through the jungles, where she conversed with teh natives, andlearnt many a local skill, suddenly came to the forefront, as she rapidly sotood, to accompanying cracks of her arthritic knees.
The scout/cub, startled, moved backwards slightly, and in one fatal blow, Thelma excueted a manova that the natives had those years ago shown her, and threw the unfortunate boy some four foot across the room, to where he crashed, with some force into the stuffed Polar bear; one of Thelmas many suviners from her overseas trips.

"Trip the Light Fantastic!!!" said old mrs Brannigan, as she cleaned the Crisp Kettle of its foul left overs. "I should cocoa! We'll be luck to trip over the kerb, as we're booted down into the gutter where we belong". So saying she packed up her Calvin Klein Crisp Kettle Cleaning Kit, and prompltly left this reality for a nicer one next dooe....

"green"
"blue!"
"no"
"Green, it has to be green"
God often argued with his/her conchiouness as deciding the exact nature of particular devices of creation, but we can all relax in the knowledge that grass is indeed green, and kettles blue.
...Having discovered missing scraps of the bibble, Dr Winstone Blubberhouse of Camford University, recently released the missing scraps of the creation of the physical and living world.....
"and on the eigth day god awoke, saw what he had created and changed his mind, and introduced uncertanty, unhappyness and marmite, to perplex and annoy his other creations....... And of man, he saw man, and man was arogent, so he sent down a different kind of cat, so arogent as to dismiss any such ideas of man per sai......."
"On the ninth day, God saw that man still looked to hapy, and decided to make man entirely incompatible with woman, and he created the battle of the sexes..... and he was pleased.... and man and woman couldn't get on, and this was good..."
Meanwhile, in a corridoor immediatly adjecent to Oxford road, a scilent procession of chissels procedes to remove the fourth tile from the floor, adn replace it with an identical tile, such is the concern of man...

"and God saw the light - that it was good.."

Since God made the stuff, why did he have to check it by having a quick look afterwards? I think what we have here is a slip in Biblical PR. It should have read "God, the great, the all powerful, the bit clumsy. God the wise, who made us in his image and who makes all things, but isn't perfect, and sometimes, to be honest, makes a right b******s of things.

"And God saw the earth - checked again - and realised he hadn't put in enough power sockets for the CD player"

And Man took the CDs and stew them upon the ground, and some landed on Rock, and grew not, and some landed on sandy ground, and grew not, and some landed in Marsh, and grew all straggly and Mingy, and yet some more landed on fertile ground and that grew to be a great CD tree, and fed upon the false energy that is Electricity....

Desert train brush at table to gazelle, to the dective chair man followed pertunia for which. No level crossing desertification annoyingly falling up to London, cast asunder fishing pike wardrobe of trout replica. The black sargent, zoot allures, a miracle but innuendo, never say die, for we are out of time when it goes automatic for the people, under the apostrophy. Them or us, he said, strolling lampstand, to the cannions of my mind, where the torture never stops, little ms pinky, and the wet tee shirt competition. Of course we all like cheese, but can blue men sing teh whites? well, father oblivian with the dead girls of London, surely todes of the short forest to the wowie zowie, ahead of their time longued abscently over the clouds of winters tale, wish you were here, but too young to die, he was too old to rock and roll, like a bat of hell, the rapsody continued headlong, to the stelin of the yellow snow. Whilst the trouser press continued we rode teh wild winds, to enter sandman in the local jailhouse rock prize draw. winning the hand that rocks the cradle we are living on a prayer until hell freezes over with the fool on the hill. Bounded by the machines, we got back to humans, and dancing fo rthe devil, rang the stairway, to make the electrical guarentee machine pinapple to drawers of our innuendo didn't fool the man one iota.

Iota get out of her and do some CHORES?