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

4.

In the almost total darkness of the warm loft, motes of recently disturbed fibreglass strands gently floated downwards, illuminated rather prettily in the specks of sunlight bursting through the gaps in several chipped roof tiles.

In the far corner, next to half a roll of Kingfisher Contour and a 1950s television aerial, the box that contained a selection of old toys and broken bits of Action Man glowed, equally prettily.

The box crumpled slightly, causing the pretty glow to fracture as the ancient cardboard flattened under the unseen weight.

The pretty glow, not content in crushing the old games and bits of Action Man, expanded.

Joists creaked and plaster fell. Tiles slid noisily off the rapidly bowing roof, crashing noisily into hundreds of pieces as they smashed into the newly washed and gleaming motorcycle below.

The bellows of the occupants, thankfully clear of the house as it collapsed under the pretty weight, echoed off the dense cloud of what was left of the 1930s semi.

The dust cloud settled.

Bits of flattened furniture and house peeking out from under the massive marble sphere that now sat where number nine once stood.

5.

If it would have been physically or metaphysically possible for the Light to blush, believe me, It would've been positively crimson.

The Light held out the offending utensil to the Dark, an unspoken question on what we'll call a face.

*You bloody knew that would happen didn't you?*

The Dark flicked it's black forked tongue over the unbelievably nightmarish upper teeth in what we'll reluctantly call its mouth, flicking sticky, slimy pieces of black walnut onto what passed for a floor in this dimension.

*And you didn't, love? Tsk, tsk, what have you unleashed on the monkeys in your irritating desire for cleanliness?*

*Cleanliness is next to Go…*

*DON'T!* Hissed the Dark, *You know I'm still touchy about that! Big time!*

*Ok, sorry, how many times do I have to apologise over a stupid joke, eon's ago, get over it!*

The Light swirled the two remaining Kerplunk marbles around the colander, watching their ever decreasing circles until both fell out of the suspiciously large hole in the base.

*You did this, just to avoid another thrashing! Go….Erm...Heave….ah bugger it! Who knows where or when the other bloody balls have or will end up down there?*

The Dark grinned a hideous grin.

*And Who knows what they'll end up being? Atoms? Raindrops? Melons? Planets? Oops!*

The Light threw the offending colander into the nearest black hole, cursing the Dark, and giving a happily retired, rather unassuming, man from Delaware a rather unexpected toothache.

5.

If it would have been physically or metaphysically possible for the Light to blush, believe me, It would've been positively crimson.

The Light held out the offending utensil to the Dark, an unspoken question on what we'll call a face.

*You bloody knew that would happen didn't you?*

The Dark flicked it's black forked tongue over the unbelievably nightmarish upper teeth in what we'll reluctantly call its mouth, flicking sticky, slimy pieces of black walnut onto what passed for a floor in this dimension.

*And you didn't, love? Tsk, tsk, what have you unleashed on the monkeys in your irritating desire for cleanliness?*

*Cleanliness is next to Go…*

*DON'T!* Hissed the Dark, *You know I'm still touchy about that! Big time!*

*Ok, sorry, how many times do I have to apologise over a stupid joke, eon's ago, get over it!*

The Light swirled the two remaining Kerplunk marbles around the colander, watching their ever decreasing circles until both fell out of the suspiciously large hole in the base.

*You did this, just to avoid another thrashing! Go….Erm...Heave….ah bugger it! Who knows where or when the other bloody balls have or will end up down there?*

The Dark grinned a hideous grin.

*And Who knows what they'll end up being? Atoms? Raindrops? Melons? Planets? Oops!*

The Light threw the offending colander into the nearest black hole, cursing the Dark, and giving a happily retired, rather unassuming, man from Delaware a rather unexpected toothache.

6.

Tom Devereaux, Professor of Veganism and Temporal Ethics, sat crossed legged, munching on an ethically produced and sustainably resourced carrot stick.

Between mouthfuls he was enthralling the students with his latest feats in Temporal Retroactive Interventional Protection of Ecology.

*So I convinced the dudes that meat is murder and by inventing cattle farming, they were destroying our future dudes..* He paused to soak up the righteous appreciation from his young acolytes, flicking his ponytail in a dramatic gesture, before continuing.

*So, as soon as the Temporal Flux stabilises, we will see how my brave intervention has benefited and blessed all of Humankind. Millennia of meat eating obliterated, the Dawn of a truly just, caring, vegan societ…*

At this point, this particular reality was truly blessed as a marble sphere, the size of a very large cow, landed squarely on Prof. Devereaux, instantly turning him into what looked very much like a vegetable flavoured meat patty.

7.

In the butter and crumpet scented trailer the P.A. set the laptop down and beamed up at her hero.

*Oh, Mr Letterbox, it's simply wonderful! This will be the best autobiography ever published!*

Henry ignored the gushing intern and checked that the Ts and Cs section was completed to his personal satisfaction.

*It'll be a bleedin long wait for the fans darlin!* Henry bit into another crumpet and hit send.

'My Bleedin Wonderful Life by H.E.Letterbox' winged its way through the ether towards his publisher's offices.

Henry had chosen to stipulate that his autobiography was only to be published one hundred years after his death, this to 'ensure the birds mentioned in here won't get embarrassed or sue him and the bleedin snowflakes in the FA dont get their knickers in a twist over the truth about his soccer career'.

It was also a ploy to ensure maximum publicity and advanced sales.

*Let's hope that the bleedin hundred years countdown is a long long bleedin way off eh, darlin!*

Henry made a crumpet toast to the young lady just as a very dense marble sphere came through the roof of the trailer, it totally failed to stop it's descent as it passed through Letterbox's bleedin thick skull.

*Shall I ring your Agent or the Ambulance Henry?* Asked the P.A.

But, by then, the countdown to publication had already begun

8.

*Di tower, she has a 296 or 294 steps; da seventh floor she has a two less a steps on the norde-a-face staircase.

De tower, she began a leanin' durin' da construction in de 12th century, due to di soft…." Marco's well rehearsed script faltered to a stop.

At this point he usually rounded the corner, revealing the iconic view and declared a ten minute break, allowing the group of tourists to take hilarious photos of each other apparently holding up the campanile of the Torre di Pisa.

As he gestured theatrically to the tower, he dropped the yellow guide's flag (and the fake Italian accent).

*What the bloody hell…?" His native Mancunian failed to be noticed by the group however, they were much more shocked by the numerous gaudily coloured plastic poles that some idiot had threaded through the building.

Two discarded poles lay on the plaza, along with seven gigantic marbles.

This is a marble-lous saga.

Yesterday, I drove through the unincorporated community of Marble, PA. (population: 381, ///originates.ears.songs)

I second that .

I used to love marbles, hence my ecstasy at images of large, white gorgeous marbles in every post in this thread.

(I will not live long enough to read Henry letterbox's autobiography. Al;so, I don't trust him to tell the truth in it

If you're wondering where the beginning is Paul, daydream journal for the start

The beginning bits:

The horrifically powerful claw slowly contracted. Huge steel-hard fingers carefully grasping the long pole.

Painfully slowly the claw moved backwards, the stick following.

The Dark cursed as several marbles fell loudly into the tray.

The umpteenth billionth game of Kerplunk lost to the Light.

1.

The Godfather of Heavy Leslie glared out of the window at the enormous hole in Main Street.

A hole that was growing at an alarming rate.

Twenty feet from his studio the horrifically powerful claw contracted. Huge steel fingers closing as the guy with the funny boots and the long pole guided the operator via radio.

Painfully slowly, the claw moved backwards as the gaudy yellow JCB reversed.

The guy with the comically large boots dropped the pole and cursed into the walkie loudly as the bucket opened and several head -sized, marble-like spheres fell noisily almost to the ground.

The GoHL glared at the spheres, now hovering several inches over the hole.

This was going to be (another) weird day….


2.


Two o'clock.

The scruffy biker-type guy pushed the cold coffee away. Another hour and he could stretch his aching legs and have some dinner. Steak pie tonight.

He glanced out of the window, raindrops blurring the view of the car park and his bike.

At least three times per shift he would state at the big Yamaha and muse that if he just walked out, he could be in Scotland for the dawn…

Instead of walking out , he answered the over-excited voice coming through his radio.

*Have a look at screen two mate! Need some advice on this one!*

He swivelled around, grimacing as the chair screeched, the CCTV screens showed relatively clear roads, rain keeping most people at home. A old heavy goods struggling up hill, roadworks flashing orange on the approach and….

The chair screeched again as he jumped up, grabbing the hi-viz coat, all thoughts of sunrises over Scotland vanishing as surely as his chances of enjoying his steak pies any time soon.

On the second screen, glowing eerily in the darkness, several grey spheres, each the size of a bus, hovered several feet above the Eastbound carriageway.

He cursed as the cold rain hit his face, this was going to be a weird bloody shift!
3.

In the Cafe of the Musee D'Orsay, smartly dressed tourists mingled with even more smartly dressed Parisians.

Smart cutlery clinked quietly on smart plates, as very smart pastries and very very expensive drinks were sipped from equally expensive and smart china.

Through the smart windows, the moon shone smartly down on the tables on the balcony.

The lady looked up from her battered and worn notebook, scratching her forehead with her trusty biro, as she tried to think of a suitably smart reply for the heroine to make to the rather caddish Frenchman who was attempting to seduce her.

The moon was beautiful this evening, if a little strangely coloured, almost marbled.

So was the other moon...the third, however, was the normal silver and grey moony colours.

She knew that most research trips tended to be slightly on the weird side, enjoyed and immersed herself in the weirdness usually, but three moons?

That was way too weird, even for Paris!

Oops, forgot one!

*What you doing up there love?*

My wife addressed the legs dangling rather precariously from the hatch in the landing ceiling. My legs actually.

*Looking for the kids old toys, sure they're in a box up here?*

I mumbled through the dust and fibreglass insulation, trying not to scratch now I had been forced to admit I'd spent the last hour or so crawling around the hot loft with a feeble torch, searching for a decade old box which may or may not contain a battered old game of Kerplunk.

*Dog ate it years ago, remember?*

*The box?*

*The Kerplunk, bits of plastic and marbles in his poop for weeks after?"

*Ah, yup...oookay…*

My itchy body followed my legs down the wobbly ladder in a cloud of fibreglass particles and disappointment.

*Another photo idea?*

I nodded dustily, saddened I wouldn't get the chance to play with plastic sticks and marbles before work.

To be continued......

"The Godfather of Heavy Leslie glared out of the window at the enormous hole in Main Street."


I wonder who that might be.

And, yes, I wouldn't be surprised to see Rod Serling standing in a corner watching with glee.

Does this story have a future as a Post article?

Of course it does. I've already got FWR's illustration in storage.

I'll probably work this one in there, too, wot I just wasted a Saturday afternoon writing: A87947996

You might want to correct your Latin. Near the end you have "reduco ad absurdum." It should be "Reductio ad absurdum."

Apart form that, it's .

Marveloso DG, that's my kind of tall (short) tale.

PS. Who is Harry Potter?

Paul.....don't correct the Latin...at least not whilst standing in a salt circle, obviously with the correct glyphs in place....you'll get a demonic pigeon ...you have been warned my friend! (Or was it only a story?)

A87896380

A87896380

See, probably demons stopping that link from working....

Gotta love that demon with the waffle-iron ambition.

As touched as I am that you tried to make sense of that mishmash of Potterese, Latin, and Whovian, Paul, I really did mean 'reduco', 'I reduce', as the professor was allegedly doing the reducing.