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

Samwise Gamgee's favourite dish was stew,
where he would use a brace of coneys with fresh herbs
of bay-leaves, thyme and sage to name but a few.
He'll add turnips, carrots and taters too.
During the cooking he'll practise all his Elfish verbs
and look out of the window to gaze at the lawn covered in morning dew.



(Samwise was taught some Elfish poems and songs according to the books)

Devious, moi? Terror? Indeed.
My soil's too poor for a bad seed.
My evil twin seems strong now,
But will soon wither somehow.
Then I shall become a huge bore,
Harmly mostless, a big eyesore.

Poor moi,the eye sore
likeyou snore
grace us with your rendition of boar
we'll'd you galore

Me, honored guest? Celebrity roast?
My foibles are vast. I'll soon be toast.

toast: verb trans
I hope that df is right
n vaguiejy//quietl

Fron Language into
The Death of Lnnguadec-
Way to go
My fellow-perpetracrors

JOKE:
I live near Ipswch
You ain't seen NOTHIN
YET !

Do you want to lose your self by reading a book?
Do you want to find your self through discovering the meaning of life?
Do you want to become better at the way you cook and look?
Do you want to butter bread with an old-fashioned bone handled knife?

Do you want reach the final frontier by drinking a pint of premier beer?
Do you want to work as both as seer and a spacecraft engineer?
Do you want to spend your time attending intergalactic conferences?
Do you want to converse in technobabble about cultural differences?

Do you want to spend your life at boring business meetings?
Do you want to learn all different types of greetings?
Do you want to focus your life on increasing your business drive?
Do you want to learn how to drive the Sinclair C5?

No,too busy'ing
In the libraryof life
The Pub, is king

I would love to share a pint of beer with you
especially if it's a pint of best bitter.
I'd even join you in a plate of beef in ale stew
and to finish it off a large pineapple fritter.

I'm stuck, can't escape, gotta cope
In a universe lacking in hope,
Where verse one can't make head or tail of
Is reckoned as great. That's the way, love,
That Fate, in your face, says, "Get real!
You're useless, outdated, so deal!"

Come and meet up Sam the ram who's nearby the river Cam.
He is let out five times a day to travel around the city by tram.
He comes back to sell his wares of yams and slices of ham.
And when Sam feels lonely he goes and talks to his neighbour Tam
who's a lamb that is a big fan of the pop group Wham.

Fate says I'm outmoded,
So what.
It's a discussion Fate's started
And not,
A statement of truth.
I need not agree.
Like my rhythms and rhymes,
I am still free.
The Universe lacks hope?
Let it be,
I have more than enough hope,
For me.

Iin the face of adversity
For I know, that it, won't be kind to me
Hear me sing
And whistle
Whilst on the lavatory

Oh, just when I thought Fate forsook
Me, I saw the poem Pebblederook
Wrote, full of wisdom and hope.
No more shall I moan and mope.

My poems are bad, will stay that way,
because I've so little to say,
Though meter and rhyming I've mastered.
Now, where can I go and get plastered?

I found hope on the end of a rope
at the end of my favourite scented soap
in my 5ft deep luxurious bath tub.
Then through a discarded stethoscope
I heard a disembodied voice cry out,
"Is it true that you have just been made Pope"?
in which I replied, "Only if I have been chosen by the clerical talent scout!"

Paulh: wouldn't want to lose you pal.

Thinker: That last one is an image I will be giggling at for weeks.

Cheers everyone, this stuff does make a difference.

My presence you likely won't lose.
Me wander? I can't match my shoes!
My habit: To come
Here with verse that is dumb.
Bad, good or great? You must choose.

Thank you Jabs for your kind comments.

If I was elected Pope there would be 13 months instead of 12.
Everyone would be given magical superhuman powers
and people would go on long journeys to discover and to delve
the meaning of live through climbing up castle towers.

All the WOMD would transform into galaxy class starships.
Men who oppress women will be attacked with enchanted handbags.
There will be an end to people having needless and destructive guilt trips.
We will all be able to produce elegant long flowing gowns from tranforming dirty rags.

The Celtic calendar will be used along with it's many festivals and high days.
The matriarchal run societies throughout the world will make a come back.
We will all learn new ways of combating malaise by dancing in a (inc men) polonaise.
We will be able to produce a palace from transforming a run down shack.

Once again the money men
Have moved into the temple
Their wheeling and their dealing
Doesn't set a good example

Their gods are growth and greed
But the millions in need
Have lost the faith and nobody can blame 'em
While fat cats prowl around
In the heart of London town
It's no longer enough to name and shame 'em...

The Pope does not give magic powers.
About all he gives are some hours
Of talking with guests
And scolding some pests,
And then getting caught in freak showers.

A wet Pope
Has no hope
He 's for sun
So he may run
The Vatican properly