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

Much Freud and fun owes I to you, 2legs.


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(this would have drifted over to the right as it went down, but I saw this: "The posting contained too many smileys. Please remove some and try again.")

cz

and neigh, the 'too many smiley brigade' attempts to thwart the ritious and devout persuit of grocery shopping and handbag snatching teenages with muscovatt aftershave adrift in teh left hand compartment of the set of drawers, which lines the avenue plodded down by many a marania and to which the path of straight and true, through from the wickett gate leads, and nigh, and lo, and something else too I dare say, and in fact i do dare say, and whats more I did dare say and say I dare I did, and they said,
'oh no not again',
And lo, and yet as they spoke did they remain quiet, and for as they stood there they did not stand at all, for there were not there, and they are not here, and they are not anywhere where be those hallowed words, oh yea, and again the peoples rose, as one, and did frantically blow onto the hallowed carpet that lines the path, and low, and high, and somewhere inbetween wherein probably the answer, if not the question probably resides, maybe, oh yea, and they spoketh again, and they said
'pardon'
Oh yea, a thousand yeas, and a few more for good luck, do I say, and indeed I do say so, for indeed i did say so and say so I did, oh yea.
And, let us not forget Bob, and the floppy disk, and the recipe he did not know, for that too is most wimsical and does say that which it says, even if I do say so myself, and indeed I do dare say so for myself, and indeed I did dare to dare to say so and say so I did, that is for sure

You can say that again.

Have you read my writtings on the religious significence of carpentary?::

There was, not that long ago, a simple man, not simple of mind, by any stretch of the underware elastic, but simple in living. He aimed for good in what
he did, and tried to see the good in the work of others. His name was of no particular significence to his tale, and so we shall not say it here.
He worked, a rather hard, earnest and methodical and tirelessly faithful worker, if I may say, in a factory.
Now, this wasn't a factory concerned with making lots of cruedly recycled animal protein, and neither did It concern the sealing of envelopes or making
of vast numbers of phone calls. He made furnature.
He was a carpenteer.
He lived through his work, and through him, his work lived.
He made chairs, and tables, cupboards, and desks, stools and tool boxs, drawers and all manns of small things, from bowls, to chopping boards, and coat
hanging devices, to coat stands.
In all his work, was clearly evident the forethought and sincerity with which he approched the task; whatever that task may be, from the loness of a three
legged stool, to the grandure of a twenty four seater table and chair set, embelished with a family creast.
He worked for many years, and made much.
And at home, he did raise, and care for his family, and tenderly educate and nurture his children, with the assistance of his whife.
One Wednesday morning, he crossed over the road to wher ehe worked, and got hit by the number 32 bus, and died.

The poor, poor man.

And his life...

Taken from him...

Ten buses too soon.

F

alas for that poor carpenter...

Now what was I going to write? Oh yeah:

The large hovercraft zoomed through the night, little bits of sense getting detached and floating away as the dark figures of the islands loomed furtively against the horizon. The lady sitting inside seemed underestimated, like a pair of socks forgotten under the bed of possibilities on the three days before Christmas. The fish looked at her admiringly, so close to them she seemed and yet so unattainable. Bubbling away, they chattered between themselves and attempted a short-term licensed product that failed miserably on the first run.
The lady cried out for help, and the words flattered around her head in a rather flattering manner, like a flock of irrelevant butterflies, and then faltered. The sky above had remained unchanged for a while, as if none of this really mattered to the destiny of things to come. Rain was violent and reminiscent of little joys in the simpler sunnier days long gone. "Never before" she said to nobody in particular "have I seen such delicacy of thought in a string of beads". Nobody took offence and threw himself overboard. The beads were lost. The words were lost. Before long, she found herself thinking, something will

....will.... It was at that moment she remembered, an ancient Glaswegian legend, wherein it is written, that if ever you encounter a pile of untouched pizza boxes, containing warm pizza, then you should immediately dance a jig on top of the decaying corpse of the neighbours rhodendrium hedge. She knew little and cared less as to why this had so wantonly ruined her train of thought, and it was then she saw the train, inperceptibily, and illogically paddling besides her, and the bride, ahead of the train, splendid in myriad shades of clear.
'Now' screamed the fish, and as such the boat darted upwards and down, resting aloft a pile of pizza cartons, containing still warm pizza.
And therein, the boxes, so unabtrusivly unaware of the bridge, that lay the task and means to which it should be achieved, for behind them lay

the still warm corpse of a little fluffy creature that the lady immediately recognized as her pet marvel. "Continuity! We lack continuity!!!" she cried, and waved an angry fist at the train. The train immediately turned back and gave her a look that could have made a small dog begin to whimper in that annoying way that little dogs so often do. "Saywhat?" it said, and approached the lady silently, like the trailing of lonely sewage pipes under the flooring of a big shiny hotel. She cowered back, tripping onone of the pizza boxes, only to discover that

continunity was standing directly behind her, clutching her skirt in that all-so-famuliar-way-of-small-children, and symultainiously holding out a specimun of fosselised tree for her inspection. She turned, facing back towards the train, the pizza boxes, and another life, and then it fell.
The darkness hit her like a boeing 747, albeit a boeing 747 with no mass and little velocity. This shock her, well it didn't, that was Continuity who was still tugging at her skirt, and this time as she turned, Comtinuiety took a menacing appearnce in the pitch blackness of the black darkness that surrounded them.
And, as if from a far, because it was from a far, they heard the noise, clear and crisp, and noisy, like many loud noises were, and they did all behold that the noise was loud, and it was a noise, and it was

*dammit 2legs, I have to admit you're beating me at my own game... your insanity is much superior to mine Anyway, let's see:*

it was the voice of dawn, which has now stumbled over the horizon like a drunken sailor, holding a bottle of some sort of unknown liquor inside a brown paper bag. The sun shone bright into their eyes, making the darkness hide in an empty pizza box. Continuity jumped up and down excitedly, spreading around her shreds of broken smiles. The train was gone, and an army of nobodies was now marching out of the sea, encouraged by the rude whistles of the fish, in order to sweep all those pizza boxes into the small mailbox that was shining red against the blue ocean. The lady started crying, not knowing why. Her tears made the ground around her a soggy mess, and

the bobbly pavement beneath their feet burbled and bobbled excietidly, like a small dog jumping up and down in a box of cotton wool buds,
'ardvarks!',
Screamed continuity extatically, as a hurd of whalloping lampposts appeared on teh horrizon, immediately behind #Dawn, who was now waving the brown paper bag in a kind of look-at-what-I've-got-here-kind-of-eratic-way-with-a-stagger-and-abumble bee.
The lampposts were gaining ground, and the effect of a hurd of lampposts with ground covering them was insignificent on the rapidly disappearing pizza boxes, which said nothing, except 'zither', a word they didn't repeat.
As calamaty seemed to be looming, continuity held out a hand to steady her, and together they danced frantically aback towards the shrinking darkness, which dwindled inpercepidly, Dawn was almost apon them now, when

out of the blue, or rather sort of aquamarine with spiral streams of brown dirt floating in it from the rapidly shrinking pile of muddy pizza boxes, appeared the sun, hitting Dawn right in the eye.
"Knock out!" cried the lady, still dancing a complicated jig hand in hand with Continuity. Dawn mumbled a drunken "saywhat" under his breath, and the brown paper bag left his hand and rolled all the way to the next point of importance.
"It's not what you do" said Continuity in a voice that was not hers "but how you make things look through the window just when you try to catch their attention". An atrocious figure advanced towards them and snatched his voice back from Continuity. "I am the count of the Castle out yonder," said the figure, "and my name is Often the Maybe". "But what matters that to us?" Said the lady, after she had finished the jig and sat down on the mailbox. He looked at them long, very very long, so long they thought he was just a figment of their imagination, before

...the corpse of Marvel, her pet stood up on the deck of the hovercraft and shouted "I've had enough of this drivel!" Marvel then went over too loom with Calamity. The two of them continued to loom for a bit and began to gather a crowd. The crowd had never been gathered before but it seemed to enjoy the experience. The turned around and on seeing Marvel and Calamity, decided that looming and crowd gathering looked like a bit of fun and joined them. It was then that Count Often, the Maybe, reached into his cape and pulled out a bill. It was a bill for several dozen pizzas. Count Often had no intention of paying this bill and demanded to know who was Responsible. What the lady hadn't considered until this moment was...

that the bottle in teh brown paper bag was about to enter the goings on again, in two sentences time. But for the time being they stood, the crowd crowding, the bobbly pavement bobbled, and the wind wound up the clock that was in the tower of the church at Peter House college Cambridge, but that was of little relivence they realised and ignored it. The brown paper bag, and teh bottle it contained then reentered goings on and

conspired to give Dawn the worst hangover she'd ever had. But the knew better. The bottle and the brown peper bag could try but they had never seen how Dawn would carry on when the lamposts were in town.

Now that the crowd had been gathered, to its most thorough enjoyment, and Marvel and Calamaty had thoroughly loomed, Count OftentheMaybe renewed his rant about the delivery bill. He pointed out that never in the history of the great clan Outyonder had any of the previous Counts picked up a pizza tab and He wasn't going to be the first. With a flourish, OftentheMaybe returned to his castle and opened fire from the parapets.

As the first barrage came crashing through the steering house of the hovercraft, Dawn dropped the bottle and brown paper bag again. Darkness decided it was definitely time to take cover and jumped overboard taking Continuity with him. Of course, no one involved expected...

that Calamity, in her regular anguish, will decide to take the blame upon herself.
She approached the pizza delivery boy, who at that time was muddy and soggy and fired at and very much confused, and from her pocket drew a large quantity of documents documenting the written history of the Outyonder clan. "Will this suffice?" she said, her eyes blazing like a German battleship that has encountered a herd of sheep in mid-ocean.
The delivery boy decided he had enough of this whole madness and started running away, but madness definitely did not have enough of him and started chasing him, only to fall miserably to the ground and break the bottle in the brown paper bag, which, as it turned out, contained tea and the end of all things to come. It was at this moment that

*Well, nobody else seems to care what happens next, so I guess I'll have to revive this story myself! Much less fun, no element of surprise... but here goes:*

it was at this moment that the pizza delivery boy was seen running towards them from the other side, smashing the End of Things to Come to little bits in his determination. As he re-encountered the lot of them he collapsed to the ground like a pile of unwashed dishes that have been patiently waiting in the corridor for the right moment, sobbing and mumbling "how could this be? I was running away, away!"
A voice like a milion voices put together in a jar of olives answered his hopeless question: "You cannot leave. Everything goes in circles. Time repeats itself. Everything goes in circles. Time repeats itself."
Not stopping his sobbing the pizza delivery boy looked towards the nowhere of his future. "So..." he muttered to himself, as if quoting something he didn't fully understand, "so I got stuck here?"
No one answered, but

it was at this moment that the pizza delivery boy was seen running towards them from the other side, smashing the End of Things to Come to little bits in his determination. As he re-encountered the lot of them he collapsed to the ground like a pile of unwashed dishes that have been patiently waiting in the corridor for the right moment, sobbing and mumbling "how could this be? I was running away, away!"
A voice like a milion voices put together in a jar of olives answered his hopeless question: "You cannot leave. Everything goes in circles. Time repeats itself. Everything goes in circles. Time repeats itself."
Not stopping his sobbing the pizza delivery boy looked towards the nowhere of his future. "So..." he muttered to himself, as if quoting something he didn't fully understand, "so I got stuck here?"
No one answered, but

F

Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism! Plagiarism!

F