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

True love is certainly awesome.
Tooth-brushing together, then floss 'em.
Together in bed,
Butter each other's bread,
And dine on most elegant possum.

I like to discover the unknown,
ways of baking perfect scones,
and dance by the river Rhone,
whilst playing the trombone,
with frequent breaks of having a moan on the phone,
to Joan about our strange neighbour Mallone,
and his clone who caused a cyclone,
that made all the street's cobblestones
disappear, to be replaced by nectarines
and prunes dropped from the pennines.

Trevor and Heather will be together,
forever and ever and ever,
they will go and on and on and on,
we'll eat prawns with a slice of brawn,
holding their hands in preparation to do handstands,
as members of the keep fit clan when they're holidaying in Cannes.

I woke up on a very sunny morning,
from the sound of my loud snoring,
with my spirits soaring,
and the thirst for learning,
with my inner thoughts turning,
as I put my feet on to the cold flooring,
walking to the window to the look at the boats mooring.

But all the boats have gone, gone, gone,
along with the dancing cygnet swans,
but all that is left is a herd of fawns,
al picnicing on the garden lawn,
who had been there from early dawn,
and were starting to yawn,
waiting for the ferry to take them to Folkestone.

But I have got the music in me,
and I will give songs away for free,
as long as I'm given afternoon tea,
preferably by the deep blue sea,
or by the flowing river in the town of Cree,
with a bank of flowers of daisies and sweet peas,
eating a plate of sandwiches filled with cream cheese.

I knew a man who lived for weeks
On nothing more than milk and leeks
The tum of man you have to fill
With more than just a daffodil
With flaming passion he'd be bragging
If he tried my roast Welsh dragon
Or a rarebit of my pie
Underneath a milkwood sky.

People who eat weird things
And don't curl up and die
Excite my weird and curious mind,
Though I can't tell you why.

Some within our number
Swear by raw cucumber
With glee the others shout
When they're offered a bean sprout
No matter what we feed them now
The get it down them, there's no row
No moaning and no discontent
They think all food is heaven sent
Some like fat and some like lean
Just as long as it's all clean
They're never sick, they're never ill
They quite enjoy their stewed pig's swill.

An epidemic was in the news
From e coli on some bean sprouts.
Some 22 their lives did lose.
How safe our food? Well, some have doubts.

Tom has likes going to the pom,
and is always aplomb,
even when being caught up with a maelstrom,
or a non exploding bomb that throws out lemon palms,
whilst listening to a musical recital of the works of Johannes Brahms,
when a high-fly executive is at the com,
reciting very loudly in Ancient Egyptian on of the psalms,
and sitting on a bed of halm beating on the tomtoms,
hiding from the very funny phantom,
who's got very strange symptons,
of giving strangers alms and bags of mushrooms.

If music be the love of food, eat on,
Give me excess of chips; that surfeiting
On fish and greasy chips to manufactured TV shows
for idiots and children
I may sicken, and so die.

That glorious invalid
--Who strengthens spite of excess
Lardy sauces and fried,
Cardboardy coatings
That even a pit bull could not chew--
Prepares to sicken and die
Like a swan tired of jetes
And faux plies, joints sore
And toes brittle with stress fractures.
Oh, that this too, too solid flesh
Should evaporate and melt away
But it won't, will it?
No, too many gluttonous gorgings
Of fish and chips
And cheesecake
Lie ahead
Like speed numps
On the expressway
To oblivion..........................................

Eating baked potatoes helps me compose prose,
or even be able to talk to those chattering crows.
And it also helps me make it snow when I want peace and quiet,
as I play a minuet on the clarinet whilst eating a crepe suzette.

All the sound of the noisy traffic then disappears,
bringing shouts of cheers as my neighbours sip their beers.
The snow then makes everything look bright and clean,
banishes the darkness and makes everyone feel like a teen.

A cry for help the Bellman cried
The Banker's gorn clear over the side
A cry for help, the Beaver said, from one
Who took away our fun
Who thinking greedily of himself
Left us marooned and poor upon the shelf

I wonder if he'll sink or swim?
They thought, as they just stared at him
He's on a wet and sticky wicket -
We've made a profit on his ticket.

When there is nothing left to eat
The fishes feed on ladies feet
Although some bread would suit their wishes
Five small loaves for those poor fishes
No miracle for the likes of those
That choose to nibble ladies toes
Five thousand fishes in a bowl
Smoothing and tickling a smelly sole.

Why do I want to learn to fly?
Why do I want to learn how to tie a tie?
Why do I want to learn how to make blackberry pie?
Why do I want to how to find the equation of pi?
Why do I want to become an intergalatic spy?

Is it to broaden my experiences?
Is to be able to cope with uneasy silences?
Is it to learn how to cope with unforseen hinderances?
Is it to end up in a trance when reading romances?
Is it to be able to sew jewels and sequences?

Here Bert you look good in a grass skirt,
especially when worn with a groovy t-shirt,
at the coolest and hippest rock concert,
eating a raspbery dessert topped with yoghurt,
as you keep on the alert for the rock star called Dilbert.

I know it's time to get some more herbal shampoo,
and new pair of shoes all coloured blue.
Also be amongst the chosen few,
to like to sit in church pew waiting for their chosen tattoo,
who all be rewarded for their patience with cheese fondue.

I wanna be loved for my garden statues that have been engraved.
I wanna be loved for being so straight laced and reserved,
when being raved about because of being resolved to become well lived.
This is a lesson learnt that hermits wear mits,
when issuing parking permits and bowls of corn grits.

My lifes revolves around wearing a sorcerer's gown,
and gadding about town wearing a golden crown,
with a clown who's always wearing a frown,
when meeting up with the jesting basset hound,
who can move around without making a sound.

I am then rewarded by given a gross of gift tokens,
due to my love of the works by JRR Tolkien,
and of my garden which attracts talking ravens,
that come to look and admire my mitten wearing hens,
who now have learnt how to write with a ballpent pen.

So I invite all my neighbours and friends for tea,
by the river Dee with a slice of fruit cake from Dundee,
and show them paintings of the river Lea,
as well sit underneath the willow trea,
and talk about our holidays by the sea.

In the darkness, water sloshes against the shores.
A boat nears, propelled by a man straining at the oars.
A crowd has gathered, hoping soon to cross.
They board posthaste. One brings his albatross.

Tired now, they'l soon be wearier
Turkey bound, they're tired of Syria
Flown the nest, taken to a broken wing
Those wretched refugees, that arab spring
For some no Spring, no Summer too
Running away from life, like me and you.

"We must be in Greece" one passenger says,
"'Tis the Ephirus that carries us thence."
"Are you sure?" says another. "The Archeron's my guess."
"The Jordan!" screams a third. There is silence.

Ladies' toeses
Ladies' toeses
So far from their noses