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

Generous knickers?

Underwear that buys you drinks?

Sounds good to me!

::leaps onto the dance floor and starts boogying::

Wow! I wish my underwear bought me drinks! All it ever does is creep up on me at very inopportune times.

I'm glad you didn't!

Ooops! Wrong page. Sorry.

*s around asking people's underwear to buy him drinks*

Maybe somebody can tell me if these are panties or knickers?
And how do you tell the difference?

(Don't think that science has no use. I read an article in the paper that researchers have discovered that the fluff in the belly button works its way up from the underwear.)

This underwear is too tight to part with its money

::prepares for the line dancing and brings in the best caller in the West::
What music do we need?

Kc and the Sunshine Band? Aren't we going to do the "bus stop"?


giggles

Why not Oops up slide your head?

Big bottom drives me out of my mind.
How can I leave this behind?

(re-arranges her undies as they're creeping again!)

It's funny, but all the underwear-related
songs I can think of are about strippers.

From the musical "Gypsy":



You can pull all the stops out,
till they call the cops out.
Gring your behind till you're banned.
Kid, you've gotta get a gimmick if you want to get a hand."

From "Oklahoma:"



"One of the gals was fat and pink and pretty,
As round above as she was round below.
I could swear that she was padded from her shoulder to her heel,
But then she started dancin', and her dancin' made me feel
That every single thing she had was absolutely real.
She went about as far as she could go!"

From "Pal Joey:"

"Zip! I was reading Schopenhauer last night.
Zip! And I think that Schopenhauer was right!"

Zip (?)

Zip as in zipper or in zip code?
I'm going in for the Nora Batty line in underwear, especially stockings. This corset is killing me.

::watches as the tumbleweed rolls across the vast empty expanse of the club::
::mutter::the secret of life is

::ears prick up::

Weed? What kind? The smokable kind?

comes drifting along with the tumlin' tumbleweeds.
Hi, mista.

Hi everybody, I though of turning the fang club into a kind of Left Bank meeting place. People could come wearing old clothes and berets and smoke galouis (or tumbleweed) and discuss profound things in a heavy French accent.

*Clomps in wearing her cowboy boots and a strawberry beret.
Puffs on tumbleweed.*
"Merde! Thees iz bon weed, oui?"

*puts on a daft beret (under the fez) and strings onions round his neck*
Oui, oui, passez zat spleef