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

Very impressive. Mine's a... it's a... um... it's an amoeba!

Two corn statues, standing on the rug along the hall, releaved by Uncle Remus, savagly pinepple do they see, and as the pony rides to the broken larma peg, the rain of pineapple lives on, withe the mystory man, and his poncho, but not for teh pigmy pony does it call 'Bermingham! Bradford!, Pommygrannite!', as it glimers and slimers over the rug in the hall, mostly abscent rendivouz of the fifth part of the cake slicer, partly obscured by the mountain snow.

Colonel Mustard in the armchair with a banana!

nighthoover, in the night, with a featherduster




~jwf~

Fie, fie, fie (and I say again, fie!) on the feather duster. It sucketh not, neither doest it beat with a rotary motion. It hath no Freudian hoses and attachments! Fie I say!

On guard!

oh so thats how you spell en gard!

learn something new everyday

>> On guard! <<

It's a Canadian thing. Part of the national anthem which also says something about the 'true north'. Officially bilingual, Canadians would spell it 'en garde'.


"Oak and a duh!
The true north strong and free.
We stand. En garde!
We stand. En garde! For free."

~jwf~

A carriage runs through the moonlit fields, drawn by two or three horses, sometimes five, sometimes one. "Primal numbers" says a voice from within "are a powerful way of transportation". This may or may not be true, depending on what someone else will write some day in a different post on a different thread. Conversation rises and then falls, shattering on the road like a glass of milk drunk by a greedy child despite the eternal warnings of his mother, scaring away the small nocturnal feelings that have been drawn by the light. This may or may not be true, according to the readings of summertime long gone. All reasons for a sonette are there, but who dares say a word in such circumstances? The tide comes and goes, and so do we all, some more willingly than others, surrendering to the stream of consciousness that our lives make of all that we shall ever say, before or after we finally write the aforementioned sonette. We ask assistance only from ourselves. This may or may not be true.

Meanwhile, Fb is thinking of looking for a choc mini bar

As long as you nighthoover up the wrapper dear.

There wern't any

They'd already all disappeared into thenever ending, chocolate and giraffe shaped paperclip filled hole, otherwise n=known as my belly

Mourns the loss of wrappers...AAAARGH!!


If we don't leave something on the carpet, then Nighthoover won't have anything to hoover up, and may become extinct, leaving us only with *lowers voice so as not to cause offence* dysons...

*quakes in corner*

Just had a scary thought!

What if Nighthoover was a digibox user?! He'll never be able to return unless he gets a library card!

Oh... I wouldn't worry too much about that. SSO is probably enough to keep the true nighthoover out.

But seriously, there is a distinct possibility that nighthoover WAS a digiboxer... Our only evidence of the identity of the true nighthoover is post 1 and 9.

i want 2 cancel this account what 2 do

and

so i got stuck here

Is that txtspk I see in post 1?


Could it be that the son of the one true BoB may never be able to return now???

lettucespry

Oh, I'm certain he's above such minor issues as library cards...

Hello? SON of One True Bob? I though nighthoover hadn't been gender defined yet?

*takes off her scary feminist hat and gets back to being nice Pin*

Listen, let's randomly pick a gender so we don't have to write "he/she" or "Son/Daughter of the One True BoB" all the time.
Maybe if we get this wrong Nighthoover will have to come and correct us.

I stand corrected... I shouldn't make that distinction...


nighthoover... Wibble of the one true Bob!

Is that better?

no, but it might be batter... yep, definitly batter