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

Your verses make me laugh.
My uncle's a giraffe.
You're too clever by half.
Could you join my staff?

We'd not get much work done,
But that is all right, hon.
Your smile is like the sun.
With you, the battle's won.

This pointless poem must end.
Till then, please be a friend.
Success is 'round the bend.
That seems to be the trend.

Eddie are you ready become very steady,
and to stop dressing up as a teddy boy,
who only drinks beer that's very heady,
and dreams of owning the Savoy hotel.

Next time you're found, with your chin on the ground,
trying not to make a sound when being chased by a basset hound,
who has come over the park mound,
as you try to confound the hound who's waiting to be crowned,
best village dog who's aim is to astound the news hounds.

Just what makes that little old ant,
who's trying to become an expert in Gregorian Chant,
to impress his dear old aunt,
who's come all the way from Levant,
and has just been given a grant,
for several tomato plants.

But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes,
whenever he plays jump rope.
And when he bathes using only perfumed soap,
and at night he looks at the sky with a telescope.

So any time you're gettin' low,
always remember to try and go with the flow,
as you go and mow a meadow drinking a bottle of bordeaux,
on the way to the musical show taken place at the chateau.
Listening to the rondeau where turbot,
will be served after the reading of the tarot.

When troubles call, and your back's to the wall,
and you start to bawl when you've got lost in the shopping mall,
as you try and make you're way to the town hall,
dressed as Darth Maul to attend the grand ball.

Once there was a silly old ram,
who didn't give a dam,
about receiving email spam,
or travelling by tram to Durham,
to meet up with his friend Pam,
who makes her own fruit jam,
and loves to have a dram.

So any time you're feelin' bad,
and that you're not able to buy your favourite plaid,
or have enough money for ipad,
but be glad that you don't have a leaky rad,
caused by your flate mate Brad,
and eat nothing but shad.

All problems just a toy balloon,
that is let out in the month of June,
or when there's a lonely wolf howling at the moon,
who only gets to eat nothing but stewed prunes,
prepared by the bamboon who plays a merry tune on the bassoon.

There goes another rubber tree, Jim.
That ant has high hopes. I bet on him.
There isn't much to say, and I've said it.

Yea though I walk through the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil,
For Rod and his staff are with me,
And tomorrow we have booked to go on
the Ethnic Folk Dance evening.

There was a rustling in the bushes.
She froze, for she had no defenses.
It lunges? Perhaps if she pushes
It back, it comse to its senses

And leaves her alone. 'Tis her brother,
However (a strange name for a sibling),
Who has tired of their wacky mother,
And all her incessant quibbling.

Ed was fed up of eating nothing but bread,
so he shut himself in his garden shed,
with a bag of clothes pegs along with a beer keg,
and a few easter eggs.
He began to frown because he lost his front tooth crown,
when he was out shopping down town with a circus clown.

When you're smilin'....keep on smilin',
when you're drinking a glass of sloe gin,
waiting for the arrival of the jinn,
who'll transport to you Berlin,
to escape from you're neighbour's din,
and back home to have a party with your kin,
where you'll play on the violin,
at the inn where everyone will join in to sing.

The whole world smiles with you,
when sitting on your own in the church pew,
or looking at the beautiful sea view,
and even when at home listening to the blues,
which will subdue any hullabaloo,
caused by the chosen few of the cordon bleu peer review.
So go on and dance the pas de deux with the kangaroo,
who will help you you're stage review at your acting debut.

The sun comes shinin' through,
when your sailing in a canoe,
down the rivers in Peru,
wandering if you'll meet up with Babu,
an expert in kung fu and tae kwon do,
who is fluent in Urdu and plays the tattoo,
at night whilst making his favourite fondue.

But when you're cryin'.... because you ran out of champagne,
So stop you're worryin' and join the happiness campagne,
and you'll soon be holidayin' in Spain.
So get on the train to become an expert in legerdemain,
and don't forget to take plenty of chow mein,
which will increase your powers with the help of a daisy chain,
and slices of homemade quiche lorraine,
which will also be given to your audience as you entertain.

Cry me a river,
But don't feed me liver!
Pour me some champagne.
I'd like quiche lorraine,
And tiny fresh peas,
But no turnips, please!

Donald Duck where have you put the truck,
that got stuck in muck as you shouted out shuck?
Were you playing tiddly winks,
with the groovy boardgame playing minks?
And were you trying to keep up the social elite,
that was started by Pete at the Knightsbridge Meet?

Poor Ella Funt,
Tormented because of her name.
She bears the brunt
Of cruelty that comes with fame.

Her sadist Dad
Did this to her. How could he?
He should feel bad.
She'll avenge this, or should she?

My cool and laid back friend,
always says yup to the tup,
as she begins to spiritually ascend,
and giving all her dna one big shake up.

Then as both my friend and the sheep,
start to think very deeeply,
about the messages that they receive when they're asleep,
with their superhuman powers rising sharply.

Evolving into spandex wearing superheroes,
that have both Jedi and Magickal powers,
which increase whenever they cover themself in aloes,
and when they are in admidst a bed of heavily perfumed flowers.

Come on come on,
Here's come nonchalant Don,
who has a very successful hairdressing salon,
and every year holidays in Saigon.

When Harry met Sally and Garry,
who promised never to tarry,
or live in an eagle's eyrie,
brought there by the help of the fairies.

Hurry up Harry come on,
and wear you're favourite suit made from chiffon,
along with your magical baton,
and tell everyone that your the new Don Juan.

We're going down the pub.
We're going have some grub.
We're going to eat in a sub.
We're going to say hello to Bub.

Now listen here Harry
there's nothing wrong with your canary,
it only loves to drink whisky made in Glengarry,
and cocktails with a glace cherry.

You'd better tell your Mum and Dad,
that Brad is starting a new fad,
to be clad in McCloud tartan plaid,
and to have for breakfast grilled shad.

I wish you'd listen to me,
we're off to Newbiggin by the sea,
where we'll also have afternoon tea,
and with our dinner a bottle of chablis.

You're telling me to grow up,
and to get myself a pup,
who'll sup from my teacup,
and only responds when I shout yup.

If I tried to act my age,
I'll end up being a wise sage,
and perhaps a big star on the stage,
or a job that only gives me the minimum wage.

We never do anything,
and we'd never wear the most garish bling,
or wear the most biggest diamond rings,
which we'll find inside a fairy ring.

So now's the time to begin,
to dance with the Mighty Quinn,
or meet up with the Jinn,
who will take away our double chins.

That the thing's I do are wrong,
when I ever I join in the swan's song.
wearing a long multi-coloured sarong,
and hitting on the dinner gong.

But everything I do in life,
has to involve my dearest wife,
who I married in Fife,
and has a life free from all strife.

Is with us right or wrong,
to wear swimming thongs,
when wear amidst the beach throng,
who have come with their barbeque tongs.

Now I think I understand,
where it's so grand to join the marching band,
and have an exciting life that's never bland,
where every morning I start the day with a handstand.

How to have some fun,
is to have a run in with a nun,
bandishing a ray gun,
who's offering you chelsea buns.

Here's a shorter version:

We're going to the pub.
We're going to meet up with Bub.
We're going to soak in a hot tub.
We're going to have lots of lovely grub.
We're going on our hols in a sub.

We're going to have lots of fun in the sun.
We're going to eat burgers in a bun.
We're going to a barrel of that equals one ton.
We're going to dress up as nuns.
We're going to build 's and laser guns.

I'm going to bed
Enough has been done and said
I'll go off to the land of nod
And rest my weary bod

Next week begins all too early
The dawn song of the birds awakens me
Off to work tommorrow, nice and early
to see what I can see.

Eat toad in hole whilst leaning on the washing line pole,
but trying to avoid the hole in the ground made by the mole,
who's a big fan of Nat King Cole which she plays to their foal,
and both of them dine every night on freshly caught lemon sole.

At night sometimes they sleep walk and end up in the garden shed,
where they find sticks of French bread and newspaper that has been shred,
and a paintings (that have appeared from nowhere) of their neighbours Ned, Ted and Ged,
who are all covered in a giant patchwork bedspread,
surrounded by horses who all thoroughbreds.

He sits on the sofa
Eating fried chicken,
And wipes his greasy hands
On the slip cover.

Boom, chocka locka locka,
Boom chocka locka locka.

The dog sits by the window,
Barking at the weasels,
The weasels who play tennis
On the front lawn.
They don't serve very well,
But their backhand is formidable.

Rimini Bimini, Malaca, Bing!
Rimini Bimini, Malaca, Bing!

Brilliant written poem, Paul.

Eighteen stone ten, you can see why 'tis said
He's a heavy drinker, with puzzled head
That bars not the way to the bar, because that's ingrained
But the way to the men's comfort zone. Nothing ever gets stained.

This poetry's definitely
Bad, because it's been
In my head for a couple of
Weeks and my head is much warmer
Than the 'fridge.*




*ice box