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

"Grrrrrr!"exclaimed Old Nick.
"All this chattering that goes on up there is spoiling my concentration."
He frowned,"There's only one thing that will silence them, call in the Chief ."
The Chief entered followed by his horde of


Nick frowned, " I see you are one dragon short?"
The Chief dragon grimaced apologetically, "Just can't get him to stop harrasing the English in Wales."
"No matter," exclaimed Old Nick," Go and terrorise those babblers. I have a boo-boo on my botty that I want Betty to treat and there's no chance of that while.......

...up in Heaven, Angel Reginold was sweeping up the Current Events Hall after the Christmas bash. Several large mounds of confetti, molted angel-wing feathers and suger-cookie crumbs later he was giving the dance floor a final going over when he bumped into the Current Events book. The bookmark fell out and the pages started to turn with the speed of a waterfall bounding over a cliff. Reginold grabbed the bookmark and shoved it into the book. "Oh dear, now my supervisor will REALLY be mad at me! I sure hope they don't need to refer to the original page they had marked anytime in the near future!" As Reginold started to walk away from the book, a movement on the opposite page grabbed his attention. "What? What's this? Oh dear! Nurse Betty has been abducted by Old Nick! And he's sent his legions of out!" Angel Reginold rushed off to find his supervisor, hoping that the importance of the information he had would outweigh his clumsiness around the book. He raced down the Pall to the Future and found his supervisor scolding another angel who had not polished the silver lining around the clouds to his satisfaction. Reginold burst upon the scene and shouted...

"Hold the front page!!!!"
Ooops sorry, I can't seem to forget that I was a reporter for the Guardian."
Everyone rolled their eyes. "And you never let us forget either." retorted the supervisor. "not to mention the typo errors that you leave in the current events book.
The last entry should have read; the angels whizzed over the whole of Britain. Thanks to your typo, the angels are now responsible for wholesale flooding.
"But, but..." stuttered Reginald.
"...but it's the year of the goat!" retorted the supervisor as his minions fell about, ing
Reginald was about to confess but he was interupted by.....

...the sound of thousands of angels
whizzing over England, causing torrential
rains.

Nobody in England noticed, however, because
rainy weather is the norm there, even when
the sun is shining.

Suddenly an angel messenger raced toward them,
shouting, "God is awake, and he's pissed off
at you lot because..."

"...one needs to fulfill one's duty to society" stated the Duchess of Dingleberry. "And society needs designer shoes. You can't expect people to trudge through life wearing old worn-out shoes all of the time. Sometimes events dictate that you trudge with style. And where else would the "common man" get stylish designer shoes if not for us?" The other ladies of the Saturday Women's Auxillary nodded their heads in complete agreement as they sipped their tea. Thank heavens they had someone with such dedication and wisdom as the Duchess in their little local chapter. Of course the Duchess wasn't the only asset to the group, they also had Myrtle Murkwood, who was a darn good Fundraiser Chairperson. What with the bequest they had received from the Duchess's late Uncle's (Sir Humphrey Figgleschnidt) estate, and the money the group had raised during the year from various fundraisers, they were able to send more French and Italian designer shoes to the needy than ever before. "As I've always said, one may not be able to help if one is poor or not, but that shouldn't deter one from..."

...taking tea with Mussolini. Why I remember like it was yesterday that Il Duce looked at me with those piercing Italian eyes and said,
"Duchess, I am-a beeg admirier of a-your Eenglish taste and sense of fairplay. I theenk it only fair that the whole world should wear Italian shoes. Will you help the Duce in this?"
The ladies had heard this story about a thousand times already and there was a restless shifting as they braced themsleves to hear it once again.
The Duchess was recounting how Mussolini presented her with a chic little patent leather shoe when the door flew wide open and in dashed Mrs. Ponsonby-Smythe, a formidable jolly-hockey-sticks type of woman.
"Have you heard!?" she gasped as her ample bosom heaved and threatened to displace her glasses.
"The Old Haunted Castle has been sold."
"Sold?" echoed everyone increduously.
"Yes sold......and *gulp* to an.......American!"

This news was too much for Myrtle Murkwood who once saw a G.I without his shirt on and never really recovered. All heads turned to the sound of her body crashing to the floor as she fell in a dead faint.
The Duchess looked grimly at all present and said, "This means only one thing, we must.....

"...find a way out of this dilema" whispered Betty to the Count. But the Count wasn't listening. He was watching one of the tear into a nice rare steak. Nervously he loosened his cape collar.
"Is it warm in here or is it just me" said the Count.
"Well, seeing as how we're in hell dear Count, I don't think it's just you." Betty replied looking at him strangely. "However you do look a bit "flushed" around the edges. In fact, I've never seen you with so much color before!"
The count looked away from the , who had wolfed down the first rare steak and was now working on his second or third.
"It must be closer to a full moon than I realized" thought the Count.
"We have to get out of here before..."

the Devil comes by in his speedboat."
"Oh Count dear, that is a different part of hell where everyone stands up to their necks in sh*t."laughed Betty.
"This might look like hell to you but in fact it's an activity holiday centre for all the Welsh s."
Betty pointed to where a family of dragons were watching as their baby gamboled in a pool of lava.
"Aaah, look isn't that sweet!" she exclaimed and look over there at that juvenile learning to smoke."
The Count scowled at Betty.
"I worry about you sometimes Betty. Much as I love you, I have to wonder if you aren't a penny short of a full shilling."
"Count dearest," replied Betty, "you know that I come from a long line of........

loonies who mistakenly thought they were
in Hell, when actually they were in Altoona,
Pennsylvania."

"Ah, yes, Altoona," mused the Count, "the city
where underground coal fires make the local
water taste like smoked ham; where people still
talk of the concert Lawrence Welk gave when
Truman was President; where the local groundhogs
tease everybody by popping out of their holes
on Feb. 2, wearing sunglasses and cute little
parasols; where Elvis hangs out without any of his
cunning disguises, because he knows no one would
be believed if they admit that it was Altoona
where they saw him."

The Count was greeted by a chorus of snores, for
everyone had fallen...

under the spell of the Snore people.

"Now we have them in our power!" laughed the leader of the
Snore commando raid. "Carry them to the ship and we shall
transport them to Snorway where our scientists wait to
carry out interesting experiments on them."
"Yes, oh great Nasal Polyps." replied the Second in Command
as he saluted and gestured to his troops to remove the bodies.
Soon the slender ship was rising skywards and the Nasal Polyps
walked to the communication system.
"I must contact the Chief Sinus and inform him of our success,
soon we will be......

"...mixing up the ingredients for the cream-cheese frosting to put on the red velvet cake I just made" said Ralph. Ralph was the Head Chef at the Diner. Okay, so maybe Ralph was the only chef, and in some circles he could be referred to as the "fry cook", but nonetheless he was the only Chef that the little town of Hastybrook had.
"I sure wish I knew what has happened to Count Mistadrong and Betty" said Ralph, as he mixed up the icing. "The Count loved my red-velvet cakes!"
"Yes, it's just not the same around here without them" sighed Alice.
"You could always count on Betty to show up for pot-roast Thursdays" reminded Ralph.
Right then Mailman Milfred ran in, waving his arms in the air and gasping for breath. "Have you (gasp, gasp, sputter) heard???"
"Now calm down Milfred" said Alice "are you being chased by Mrs. Wheezers Bull Mastiff again?"
"No no (wheeze)Alice (gasp) I'm trying to (pant,pant) tell you that Mayor Fishbane has..."

...a big zit on his nose, as big as
the city of Arbelzitzersnetzerfrommerdrecken."

Count Rudolph sighed.

"I just want to go back to my castle," he
said sadly, "where I can..."

"...lay in the rain, with nothing but my family jewels hidden." He sighed remembering the good days before everything went insane. "Then Betty walked into my life, and..."

...there has been no rest for wicked and virtuous
alike ever since."

"Oh, relax, Count Rudolph," purred Betty,
who had changed into a slinky red nightgown, "and
come to bed with me. We can play gin rummy and pet the..."

rhinocerous.
The Count smiled. "Aphrodisiac on the hoof, I like your style
Betty but won't the Africans be a bit miffed at
losing their rhino?"
Betty fluttered her eyelids,"You worry too much Count,
now just lie back and think of England."
This caused the Count to go rigid with shock,
he'd never been the same since getting caught up
in a crowd of football supporters who had got hold of him and
.......

*quietly places a dust sheet over the slumbering thread*

*steals sheet, and ponders what to do to bring the thread back to life*

"...right then there was a loud crash, followed by an even louder whooshing and sizzling sound. As Betty and Count Rudolph turned towards the noise they saw part of the rock wall tumble away as huge amounts of water pouring in. Several whales, and an army of mermen swam through the rift in the wall, followed by Neptune, King of the Sea. He quickly swam up to old Nick (who was by now cause his pants legs were getting wet) and in a thunderous, booming voice said..."

*was hoping we could kill the story, and do something else. Puts on lots of music, playing it loud*

*gets a broom and hits the ceiling*
Turn it down up there.