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

[If they become omnipotent, they would be able to make or grow anything they wanted, making a job unnecessary, right? ]

The Knotty Sylphe had been many things in its long life -- a racing ship, a fishing vessel, a rich man's yacht, even a first aid ship during the war -- but nowadays it was back on the water as a sightseeing boat which took groups of schoolchildren to see whales off the coast of Massachusets.

"I'm Horatio Horsefeathers, Captain of this doughty ship," the little man in the double-breasted navy blazer told 32 fifth-graders who stood gawking at the old-fashioned masts and sails, "and we will be seeing some of the most amazing creatures ever to swim the waters...."

Thirty minutes later, when he told the children that there was a whale dead ahead, the last thing he expected was the sound of giggles and the sight of arms pointed up at the crow's nest, where an animated squirrel was dancing in the sea breeze.

Nutbane, the annoying squirrel which feasted on mushrooms in the damp hold, or nuts brought by the children, was back.

And now the whale, aware of being upstaged by a force of nature too powerful to resist, was smiling happily at the little rodent in its moment of triumph.

At Christmas, relatives who hate each other come together and drink.
The result is a spike in the murder rates. As a person I hate to see people
die, but as a private investigator I like to feel needed. The paycheck
doesn't hurt either.

So, it was the day after Christmas. Business had been slow, but I was hopeful
...and full of eggnog. Then God walked in. He got past my receptionist,walking right
into my office. I don't credit holy omnipotence for this. I had laid my receptionist off.

"The Baby Jesus has been kidnapped," the Lord said to me.

"Wait, didn't Jesus grow up and get crucified?" I asked.

"He did. He decided to be reborn."

"And you are omniscient."

"So?"

"You must know who kidnapped him."

"I do. It was my brother, the God who created the universe next door."

"And you can't pursue the matter with Him?"

"He would block me. It's His universe, after all."

"Good luck with that."

"I want you to sneak in and retrieve the kidnapped child."

[To be continued]

Brilliant written stories Paul.

The desperate quest for snow and frost

"I don't believe it but the frost giants are on strike, of all the time to hold a dispute in November," as I read another of my Marvel comic books.

"But the Frost Giants, don't exit", said a voice from my Thor DVD who turned out to be Agent Phil Coulson.

As I turned around I found that I was not in South Ockendon but at the Avengers Mansion wearing a long emerald green and silver dress and a purple hooded cloak with a 14 3/4 inch hawthorn wand with a dragon heartstring core in my belt.

The Baby Jesus Kidnapping Caper, part 2:

I was in over my head, but remembered Sunday School lessons about
the nice things that could happen to you if you did what God wanted.
There were also memories of not-nice things if you bucked Him --
boils, plagues of frogs, expulsion from paradise....

"I could inflict you with antibiotic-resistant boils, you know," God said, reading my thoughts. "It's a stretch, though. I'm busy planning some supernovas. If I overdo it, your part of the universe might not be as delightful as you deserve it to be."

"And the frogs?" I squeaked.

"Your species keeps filling in swamps for housing developments," God said crossly. "After I inflict frogs on you, where will they live? Frogs have rights, too."

"One question," I said. "If your brother God has a universe at his disposal, why doesn't he create a Jesus of his own?"

"Not enough virgins," God said wearily. "Anyway, I've set this case up so that you will not be able to say no once you know all the facts."

I racked my brain for a clue to what He meant, and then the answer came to me. "You can't mean that my daughter....?"

God nodded.

"My daughter is now the Mother of God?" I stammered. God nodded again. "I should feel honored, but right now I'm worried that she will outrank me at family reunions."

"Not as much as your grandson will." God was clearly enjoying my discomfort. Still, the boils and frogs were no longer on the table as punishments. Plus, I had a duty to rescue my grandson and restore the honor of my family.

As God clearly intended. I was up against a formidable force.

He seemed like an ordinary tourist who stole glances at his favorite book between bites of salad at an outdoor cafe. What wasn't ordinary was the way he placed his hand, palm down, on the book's cover, causing the plastic inner cover to become a computer screen and the facing page a keyboard.

Checking to see that no one was watching, he worked at the computer for about twenty minutes and then pressed a slightly raised area as if sending a message to someone. Then he "accidentally" spilled vinegar on the book and rubbed it over the whole cover, causing it to biodegrade before his eyes.

This was a little village where no one knew him, but in places where he was well-known he was rumored to be a spy with a computer chip
embedded in his palm and a pile of disposable solar-powered computers
that could be activated by the chip to send secret messages to an
overhead surveillance satellite.

[James Bond, meet your future self. ]

Stella was enchanted by the house, sure that it would be a "perfect" place to raise a family, and her husband Dorian soon emptied his retirement account in order to buy it. The happy little brook that danced between mossy banks and violet-studded meadows was the coup de grace, though its allure faded when Stella learned that she could not have children after all.

One day Stella answered a knock on the front door and found a baby in a basket waiting on the doorstep. "Dear Stella," said the note tied to the basket handle, "I am the spirit of the brook, and I entrust my son to you to raise as your own, with one condition: as the child grows I shall grow as well."

The child grew into a handsome and active boy who loved nothing better than building boats -- a weapon choice, for without his boats the house would otherwise have been cut off from the world by the rising waters of his father the brook.

[Sorry, it was a "welcome" choice, not a "weapon" choice.

Who's the mother?

[The mother? These stories are so short that there isn't time to hash out the genealogies. As it was, I had to leave out descriptions of the house's turquoise roof tiles, 7 marble baths for the son's frequent immersions, theater-sized screen for watching "The Little mermaid" and "Jaws," a giant statue of the boy's great-grandfather Poseidon, a koi pond as big as a football field, a professional rainmaker from a nearby tribe of Indians, 6 attendants to keep the water lilies healthy, a bandstand where Kermit the Frog gave concerts, and an ice rink for Disney on Ice performances every Christmas. These stories are hard to write...]

I know I know and I never cease to be amazed at your exterprize!

Just saying though, usually the question is "Who's the father?"


? ? ticket to the big game?

How to make it snow?

To make it snow you must do a rain dance by running anticlockwise around a table five times, chanting "Heikki Lunta, please could you make it snow so heavily that it reaches my knees".

This has led to a new winter keep fit craze which includes grating ice cubes and has turned into a race to find those who can throw the most ice cube shavings at trees and the winner will be the one who can successfully make it snow.

I was so happy to see dry land again -- especially the front walk leading to my house -- that I kissed the ground briefly, then raced into my garage to build the time machine I needed. The government frowned on time machines, but I desperately needed one so that I could load a year's worth of food into it and send it back one year to the desert island where I had been marooned.

Once the machine had vanished, I sat wearily on my sofa and remembered the day, one year ago, when the cruise liner I was vacationing on chanced to sink. Imagine my surprise at finding myself alone on the beach of a desert island with enough food to get me through the long months ahead, plus cooking implements and a camp stove.

An even greater surprise was the note from myself instructing me to destroy the time machine by burning it, and then building it and sending it back once I was rescued.

100 pounds of potatoes, 60 cabbages, 20 pounds of cheese, and forty cans of beans later, I saw the ship that was coming to rescue me.

I always think of food when I plan a trip. That's just the way I am.

Ralph Peterson followed the light to a beautiful garden full of fruit trees, graceful fountains, and warbling birds. "Mister Peterson, I am Mr. Bodeswell, your guide to the afterlife," said a round-faced man who was sitting on a bench and eating grapes from the vine that grew on a shady arbor overhead.

When Peterson had joined him on the bench, Bodeswell began a litany of praise for the way Peterson had lived his life, saying "You were a faithful husband, a fair and loving father, generous to a fault with the needy in your community, so it pains me to have to tell you that only one thing prevents us from letting you into heaven: you didn't eat any cheesecake."

"But I ate too *much* cheesecake in the life that I lived just before," Peterson exclaimed unhappily, "so why am I penalized for not eating it now?"

"The rules are always hard to explain when people arrive here from that complicated place where they have had to live," Bodeswell said with a sigh, "so here's as condensed version that will have to do: Heaven is the destination for people who have made every conceivable mistake and learned from them in subsequent lives; what you learned about cheesecake was that too much of it gave you hardened arteries and as premature heart attack. That doesn't mean you couldn't have had a little cheesecake now and then. You're allowed to have fun and enjoy your life, Peterson, just as long as you don't overdo."

"It would be fun to stay in this garden," Peterson murmured, looking hungrily at a ripe pear that was hanging on a branch a few feet away.

"As always, you may spend one full day in this lovely garden," Bodeswell said, giving Peterson a sympathetic pat on the back, and then you will have to go back to the world."

Most of the leading scientists in my country lived in Unifield City,
so you can imagine my delight when I found that my company was transferring me there. My wife wasn't quite so delighted, as the job of buying a house and hiring movers on such short notice fell primarily on her shoulders, but once we were settled in I treated her to a sightseeing drive around the city, capped by a meal at the most venerable restaurant in town.

On our way, we saw some of the quirky businesses and landmarks that
made the city unique -- Pavlov's Dog Kennel, Schrodinger's Cat Groomer's, Higgs & Boson Particleboard Manufacturers -- until we came, at last, to our destination: The Quantum Restaurant.

The atmosphere inside was so murky that we had a lot of trouble seeing the waitresses, who seemed to move around so fast that we couldn't see where they were, until one suddenly materialized in front of us with menus. "I guess it really is true that you can see where the waitress is, or how fast she's moving, but not both at the same time here," I whispered to my wife as we ordered Uncertain Tea and a Gone Fission Seafood Platter.