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

It is said: t'may be true; that Ginger Rogers too
Wore her left trouser to the right; just like you
And that Fred Astaire was suitably impressed
That the girl could dance backwards by the way she dressed.

I won't ask because it's probably true
That Miss Rodgers
Could claim in her autobiography that it's true
That Ginger Rodgers, that Icon of Dance, could dance better
Going Backwards than Fred could dance going forwards.


Always of some man
That it's she who makes him
Looks more swell than she does
Going forwards

In London they are dancing in the steets
Smartphones akimbo with rioting tweets
Carrying off their booty in a trolly
HD ready hooligans who earn no lolly
Hoodyfied and bandanerised they terrorise
They have every right to start a fight but only in there eyes
The shopkeepers are left to clean up the filthy mess
Jack Warner mutters "evenin' all"....he couldn't care less
The angry looters getting in the end what they deserve
A much diminished family and nobody left to serve.

I got lost in the dark having a lark with Mark in the Park
climbing over the animal ark where there's a dancing shark
who's called Huey Dewey with his bowl of chop suey
which fills passers-by with ennui as they jump over a whistling buoy
whispering and shouting, "whoopee to Marie the bumble bee who lives in a marquee
and the banshee called Ern who does a turn when drinking a bottle of chablis".
Then they all wave their arms to the left which makes them feel very deft
but some become very bereft from a lack of chocolate and gaining a gill cleft.
The others wave their arms to the right which makes them feel very bright
about overcoming their potato plight by giving it a fright
by threatening to turn them into sprites.

Anyone can dance like Fred Astaire
(I don't want to steal your thunder...).
In 1987 he stopped breathing air,
And now the poor fellow's six feet under.

Poor Fred's legs, they're a mouldering in the grave
But his soul goes dancing on.

The potato blight was an awful thing.
Starvation was what then ensued.
We're now making sure it won't happen again,
For life is quite bleak without food.

Tweet now with the cow who thinks she is a sow
and with the high brow thinkers who are wearing blinkers
when sailing in a dhow traveling to their chateau in Macao
and competing in talent competitions as the 'singing winkers'
entertaining whales with their famous impersonations
and narrations from their pet dog alsatians and dalmatians
who have won admiration for their visualisations and meditations
of meaty bones and juicy rump steaks which improves their imaginations
giving them a great deal of jubilation when overcome with infatuation
with physics especially phase modulations which leads to rejuvenation.

I went to sea in a packing crate.
The view was okay, but the food wasn't great.

Do bob a job with Bob who loves sob with the rest of the mob
who all have bob hair cuts and love eating corn of the cob
looking out of for fallen alien space probe wearing a long flowing robe
but still looking like a slob even though are behaving like a snob
which stimulates their temporal lobes so they can operate their gas hob
cooker using their psychic powers and be able to repair the kitchen door knob.

The kitchen door is missing.
The gas jet's on -- it's hissing.
You're in the pantry, kissing
Your last dollar bill, alas!
I go and turn off the gas.
Have lunch with me! Don't pass
Out with hunger....

My dear Clive who lives in Diaglen Drive
feels fully alive when driving his Sinclair Drive
going to the road towards an alien space ship
full of eating bags of fish and chips and trying to look hip.
But as he approaches to be assimilated by a group of Borg drones
who all look like clones of government bureaucrats eating griddled scones.
The Borg find a fountain filled with youth restoring cologne
and a stash of mobile phones which they could use to have a good old moan.
But dearest Clive is there to free all the drones from the collective hive
where he can teach to be cool and swim by the pool and learn how to do the high five.

These tales of the Borg are a rumor.
The truth? They've a great sense of humor.
They whistle together
Like birds of a feather,
And laugh when they spot a large tumor.

Wooooo whisky drinking and it helps with my thinking.
Wooooo psychic linking to start my body from shrinking.
Wooooo I can't stop winking whenever I'm perfume stinking.
Wooooo now I have got myself stuck in the quick sands and I can't stop sinking.
Wooooo all my lipsticks have set alight and are all burning.
Wooooo mystics are all yearning for much mystical learning.
Wooooo mystics are discerning when they go to the library with their books they're returning.
Wooooo mystics are all spurning making yoghurts and milk churning.
Wooooo mystics are all experts at table dancing and table turning.
Wooooo mystics are all taverning to help with their knitting and darning.

Wooooo Stage boy Roy why are you so coy when you are overcome with apoplexy?
Woooo Roy you say you want travel faraway to Hanoi to act as decoy
for those smuggling out their consignments of food products made with soy.
Wooooo you look so tall and so slim, so why do you still feel so unsexy?
Is it because you've been wearing Nora Batty's wrinkled stockings?
And is it because you've been wearing large shepherd dresses with smockings?
Wooooo why did you get so cloy over those who are full of joy
about sailing in a hoy, and is it a ploy for you to use to escape to Troy?
Wooooo why do you shout ahoy to those who have been to Illinois?
And did you give them all your savoy cabbages and all the latest high-tech gadgets and toys.

(Inspired by upstairs neighbour who for the past four days at night has been playing 'Sexy Boy' several times a night with the sound and bass at full volume)

I'm sorry to hear 'bout your neighbor.
Sleeping must take lots of labor.
Soundproof the ceiling,
Or she'll have you reeling.
It's bad enough hearing her jabber.

My upstairs neighbour thinks she's Lily Allen
and that she can sing like a like a wren.
Or sometimes she thinks she's Katy Perry and when she's feeling merry
when she starts to sing whilst drinking sherry which she bought from Derry.
And other times she thinks she Jessie J whenever she's holding a soiree
where she sings and dances when playing a game of indoor croquet.
Other times she thinks that she Little Boots when she does not give a hoot
when she is giving the salute when going down her swimming pool chute.
She thinks she's Lady Gaga when she shouts hooray when she's practising ballet.
She prays to the dray who wears a toupee when attending a West End cabaret.

None of my neighbors cause me grief.
I like it that way. That's my belief.

None of my neighbors cause me grief.
I like it that way. That's my belief.

Poor dog are you trying to talk
and tell me that you want to go for a walk?
Can you please write your request down with this piece of chalk
and you may be rewarded with a long holiday in Medoc.

Wink at me if you are feeling very happy.
Fang you're such a very clever chappy.
You always in a good mood and never get snappy
nor do you get stroppy about being called a hippy.

So look at me if you think you are a dog
who likes to go out for a jog even in the smog
and finish by resting on a log as you update your internet blog
on your laptop whilst sipping on a glass of eggnog.

Wag your tail if you want to go with me and see the humpback whale
residing off the coast of Wales and is drinking a pint of ginger ale
while being covered in mithril chain mail to go on a quest to find the holy grail
where there are golden quails and snails wearing veils who live in the vale
and who wail as they sail and complain that they should have gone by rail
to faraway shores to look for bargains at the end of the season department store sale.

If ever my dog starts to talk,
I'll gladly go fetch his sock.