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

Hard feelins?
Is it possible?
::checks::
Naw, thought it unlikely...

I'm glad to see we are allback here then,present and correct.I spose we ought to hold elections what.Let me see-Club chair,sec,treasurer.All last years are still alive I take it? Lurchers,Legers,Delicia,Wrinklers,Red Dog,Ekkers.Wheres Redders,thats not him under the table is it?

One wants to know, why it is, that Wrinklers knows what the inside of a Sumo Wrestler's Jock Strap tastes like!!

Hurrrruuuummmmppphhhh!!

On second thoughts.... he must have got the name Wrinklers somehow!! (think about it!!)

Gafffaaawww



Bassers.

Now listen here I like you but thats the lingo of the snooker hall isn't it?

Oh I say, Questers here, and I believe I may speak in abstentia for old Redders, off on a mission and all that sort of thing you see - now, what have we here, some sort of mutiny, what's all this bally nonsense and rot about elections.

Good lord, lady, have you forgotten our traditions; we live in a monarchy. I'll drink to that, by the way, a loyal toast then ... to the Queen! long may she reign, rule Brittania. Bottoms up!!

Well somebodies got to be the demmed club sec..who will remeber to order the wobble sah?

~dozing quietly underneath a copy of the Times in his beguilingly soft and comfortable armchair, Redders sleeps off the effects of several bottles of Les Chien Rouge Claret liberated from Ekkers personal cellar~

*wonders whether it's the done thing to inform Redders that he'd swapped the labels on the old Chien Rouge onto some bottles of decidedly average Mouton Rothschild to foil rapscallions and gypsy sorts who may be inclined to pilfer said Rouge*

*decides it's probably not*

Dash it all to blazes, Redders, you knave ... imagine pilfering a chaps claret all in the name of kippage ... if it weren't for the fact that I don't appear to have any sensation in my arms, I'd have you flogged ...

You've got sensation in yer mouth haven't you old boy.... Tell Hogg to do it!

I'm sure he'll be able to sind a stout birch twig out on one of the fairways



Bassers

Dash it all.... Not enough at lunchtime to steady m' hand. I meant find!!

Huuurrrruuummmppphhh



Bassers

Find a birds *ick on the fairway? Damned fine eyesight I'd say!
*slips a bottle from under the armchair* Ta, da'ling! Need a good few swizzles to freshen the breath, you know. But I'll give yer a good gobsmacker when my tongue feels a little less like a Chinese Mandarin's flip-flop!

*Wrinklers retreats behind the ornamental bamboo potplant and takes a mouthful of Glen Wobble to gargle off the plaque and tartar build-up* GAAAAAHHHHRRRRR!
*swallows and repeats twenty times*

~ a shambolic mound of a man appears through the Club Portico* shedding bits of grass, mud and leave detrius all over the chequered Venetian marble tiles of the vestibule ~

Oi 'eard farm sum o the other sarvants that ee' wuz looking fer sum o these fer the garden sorrs.

~ leaves some stout birch twigs on the hall table and shuffles out ~



* The Portico was "liberated" ** from a well known ancient monument by the 1st Club Secretary

** stolen

*the combination of an abominable smell coming from the Club entrance and dark mutterings from Ekkers wakes up Redders*

What what what !!! Have I been rumbled about the bally Claret already !!!

*makes a break for his kite but his monocle becomes entangled in his cummerbund and whilst distracted he falls over a recumbent filly in the anteroom*

Confound it all Rambling you've had that hangover for a year or more !

Thgemminy Splotrace, I'm a tree!

I am. I'm a tree! I'm a tree.

Artichoke.

* Fades back into senile dementia unconciousness.

*retrieves Monocle and screws it back in*

Good Lord .... is that you Pollers ? Thought you'd bought it old man ! I appear to be having a spot of bother with some of the newer members at the moment what !!

Harrumphs !

Clap 'em in irons, what!

Feed them peanuts 'til their ears bleed. Surgically remove fourteen of their toes, join a kibutz and staplegun a large herring to your door while shouting 'Two dollars for a full body massage, Mrs Chamberlain'.

That's what I do. Never fails to impress.

Fnoooooooooooort. Pardon.

Pollers

Dammit! Wheres that gardner chappy,can't he do the honours for a bit till we emply some proper staff? Wheres the club treasurer man needs a good horsewhippin',simply can't understand what he does with the money.In me fathers day one didn't have to get up to get ones bally glass filled.OI whisky wallah! Anyone take that chair while I'm gone and I'll suspend them from the nearest yardarm.

Dunno where you been sittin old gal, best chair by the fire is mine, and i'm sittin' in it, and my store of Glen Wobble is under it *pats the bottles* ever since dear old whatshisname was transformed to a higher state of bein'...cheddar you know, and there appear to have occured a few more transformations lately, to judge by the quiet and erm smell in here.
You'll find that there's been a thingummibob in the whatyoucallit to that effect, not about the cheddar i don't mean, but one of various acts of parliament concerning colonies and armchairs.
*looking slightly worried.* now where HAS the dear old pet been sittin' ... i wasn't really asleep i swear...

I've a fancy to thrash someone to within an inch of their lives anyway and it might as well be the club treasurer

This haunt has a treasurer? First thing i hear. Does it have a treasure too? *now fully awake, well maybe not quite fully.*