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

Margaret Thatcher Lives!


Old Hootoo is going Honey,
Where the many work so the few can make money
And guess what happens if you don't make money
For the few: why they close ya down without a frown, Honey

Among the world of isms
that's the free market, known as capitalism,
And how can it be wrong
When the NHS will be forced to sing the same sad song,

Honey?

May comes. Apple blossoms perfume the air.
Buds bloom, birds sing. I should not have a care,
But June approaches, when we learn our fate
About H2G2's survival. Will rescue be too late?

That's the joy of being retired
You never have to earn a crust, never get tired
Of laughing at the world: they think they've got it right
But they don't wake up in the middle of the night
Go to the bathroom without waking up the wife
Cause she's long gone......It's an equitable life!

They say money does not go on trees,
and pirates sailed the seven seas,
and politicians can do as they please,
and live a life of luxury and ease.

There was a young lady from Belvoir
Who was dogged by a terrible felvoir.
The took her to Leicester,
Where doctors undreicester
And discovered a golden retrelvoir.

Ye can't get money for money nor love
And ye can't get love for love nor money
If ye love money better not love love
And if ye love love loving money would be funny.

Money is sweet but love is more like honey
Be a rich bee; may yer honey be runny
May ye find love when ye visit yer flower
Spend some time and some money on yer love every hour.

Waiting4atickle, I bow to your genius.
Your poem was brilliant beyond measure.
A genius you are, but that's just betweenius.
Reading your poems I get lots of pleasure.

Well I never, did you say Tevor's trying to be clever,
about his long life's endeavour of becoming light as a feather,
to enable him to fly to amuse his pet retriever,
whenever there's fine weather for a grand family get-together.

Yes, I'm very willing to play with you a game of chess,
as long as it does not cause me too much stress,
and that I can wear my best evening dress,
along with a plateful of club sandwiches garnished with cress.

No, I'm not going to call you my bro or bellow down below,
in the wine cellar where I keep my best vintage bordeaux,
where I go to write my bio and about my true love and beau,
who's called Joe and goes with the flow when eating gateau.

Trip the light fantastic along infinity's spine.
Taste chocolate gouache and be my valentine.
There's no time to lose. The clock ticks like crazy.
Smell the roses before the air gets hazy.

Why, thank you, dear Paul
For your praise of my scrawl.
You yourself write superbly
Tho' with too much hyperbole.


Sorry I don't get in here much, there aren't enough hours in the day.

Glad to see you're all keeping the show on the road - but how much road do we have left?

Hey you, get off my cloud,
when I'm covered in my magical shroud,
as avowed to become high browed,
about shouting very loud,
whenever I find myself in a middle of a crowd.

I don't care what other say about you,
that you look like a gnu who shouts out moo,
when chewing bits of bamboo dipped in a fondue,
as you try to outdo the kangaroo,
dressed in persian blue dancing the pas-de-deux,
by practising your black belt tae kwon do.

They said that you are no good,
and that you're always eating fast food,
when wearing a hoodie's hood,
which puts you in a right foul mood.
But you are always being misunderstood,
as you always have a tendency to brood when you're walking in the woods.

They say that you're bad,
and that you're always try to follow the latest fad.
Others say that you have the coolest pad,
and that you are quite a political rad,
since you have become a post-grad,
and have holidays in faraway Chad.

But I love a rebel who loves to yell,
trying to cast magic spells,
by ringing out the church bells.
But it starts to make his shoes smell,
and his feet begin to swell,
everytime he has a glass of moselle.

I had a thought an hour ago.
I hoped it would stay,
But it went on its way.
In a year I may get another one, though.

I caught a train, it got as far as it could go: at Potters Bar
It left the rails, ran into trouble; now it's just a pile of rubble.

Really, do you like to take afternoon tea with the emcee.
Really, you're saving to go to Norway to learn how to ski.
Really, you're going to buy a marquee to have your garden party.
Really, you like to shout whoopee to the bourgeoisie.

You're pulling my leg, that you're going to move to Winniepeg.
You're pulling my leg, that you've bought a faberge egg.
You're pulling my leg, that your a whisky bootleg.
You're pulling my leg, that you only drink out of an oak kegs.
You're pulling my leg, that you only eat organically grown vegs.

a lovers poem

I fell for you and broke my neck
now I can't, oh bloomin' eck!

No, no, you don't mean that your face glows when your ever with your beau.
No, no, you don't say that you make your own pizza dough using a hoe.
So you're going to the fancy dress ball dressed as a crow.
You don't say that it always snows when you're having a glass of pernod.
Oh, and it also happens when you're eating baked turbot.
Then when you look outside, there's a giant ice flow,
and floating on it is a french chateau.

You're winding me up,
that you live to sup,
out of a loving cup,
to share with your pup.

You're kidding that you've been to Madrid,
to earn a few quid.
You're kidding that you learned to how to catch squid.
You're kidding that that you're employers kept on asking for your i.d.

You're joking that you got flat broke,
when you lost your invisiblity cloak,
and that you started to croak,
whenever you gave your feet an old soak.

Tiny jungle animals hide between the walls.
They play poker at all hours of the night.
When we're asleep, they stealthily roam the halls
And use our toothpaste to make their teeth bright.