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

Who are you, dear?
Your face rings a bell.
Your name, though, I fear,

Is lost in the haze
Of cobwebs and fuzz.
My brain is a maze

Of each thing that was
Dear to me once,
But now just a buzz.

The problem, I find,
with a forty-two word
story, is that you
will necessarily spend much
of the available time
setting the scene and
introducing the characters, but
when it comes to
the point of the
story, you end up
running out...

Start with the plot then:
The gardener did it
He shot the butler
because he cheated on
the lady of the manor
with the
when the lord was out hunting
the kitchen maid
collecting duck eggs
from behind the hen house

In the beginning, the world blew up. Gases and rocks flew everywhere, formed suns and planets. On some planets, life evolved. Civilisations rose. Digital watches were invented. People argued about the meaning of life. One day, the whole thing blew up again.

Shopping List: tangerines to throw at the bad acting at tonight's show, muskmelons for Irma to use under her bra until her hormones kick in, milk for Cleopatra the hamster to bathe in. Almost forgot: steak and potatoes, food for actual eating.

The cough I have is not much fun. It's kept me sleepless all last week, it's racked my body and put me off the wine. The pharmacist was a charlatan, selling a useless potion. What I need is a heavy duty cure.

The Emperor of meatballs sits on a throne of soft,
coiled spaghetti and creamy tomato sauce. Flecks of
glistening basil and oregano sit here and there like emeralds.
On his head, he wears a crown of cheddar.

He is the Big Cheese.

Here in the twilight zone where people's clones moan on the phone about roaming gnomes ransacking libraries for garden tomes. Joan is there selling her fruit scones help by her best friend Tone with his homemade candied foam and his scything stone.

TELEGRAM FROM FATHER

DEAR ELROY STOP

MOTHER TELLS ME THAT YOU HAVE BEEN DRINKING HEAVILY AND
SLEEPING WITH LOOSE WOMEN STOP

YOUR CIGAR SMOKING IS PUSHING THE FAMILY NEAR TO BANKRUPTCY STOP

YOU'RE LIKE I WAS AT YOUR AGE, BUT PLEASE STOP

My cat Simba sat on the mat
sorting out his assorted tat
from out of a top hat
where he pulled out a clockwork rat.
Then later on he pulled out a toy bat
which he happily chased them around the flat.

Hugh Palette could see the farm from his window -- yellow corn, red
tomatoes, purple grapes, with hunter green kale and pumpkin vines. His wife Rose had pinks and violets growing next to the house. The farm was failing, though. He felt blue.

The golden labrador dog stopped by a fallen tree log
where he saw a human jogging drinking a mug of eggnog
that was been stirred by a metal clockwork cog
which in turned poured into a traditional Dutch clog.

"Einstein was wrong," the little man said, rolling his dice.
"God *does* play craps with the universe."

"You know God?" I asked.

"I *am* God."

"I expected someone bigger."

"Mustn't scare the horses, eh?"

"Who'd dare play against you?"

"You'd be surprised."

Create your own reality from the power of your imagination through your dreams at night or your thoughts and day dreams.

You can do this by creating a better one using inspiration from Harry Potter/Middle Earth* worlds and even rewriting the past.

*Professor Tolkien's Middle Earth books

Frogzilla destroyed fewer buildings than other members of A.L.M.W.O.C [Association of Large Monsters Who Obliterate Cities], but he was the most feared. Why? He ate everyone he saw, not even stopping to chew.

"J'ai faim!" he would bellow.

"Arrivederci!" they'd reply.

[Tokyo version of the previous story]

Frogzilla destroyed fewer buildings than other members of A.L.M.W.O.C [Association of Large Monsters Who Obliterate Cities], but he was the most feared. Why? He ate everyone he saw, not even stopping to chew.

"J'ai faim!" he would bellow.

"Sayonara!" they'd reply.

We shall be heard by the blackbird.
eats only organic lemon curd.
Spurred to listen to the latest buzz word
used by only a third of the nerds who are easily stirred.
And are not easily deterred when their skin is furred.

Afternoon all
Just a little note, to let you all know that over the coming weeks you may find yourselves accidentally on purpose being 'stealth published in The Post.

Hopefully this should in no way put you off contributing. As you were.

Sleep is so easy that you hardly know that you are doing it, until you are not. Then sleep is so hard, it seems impossible. I would have flung myself from bed at seven, but delayed. Secretly hoping to wake at noon.

Dear Post team:

It would be an honor to be published in the Post. Thank you in advance.