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

Forty and twenty footballers playing on a field. When one of them scored a goal, they all jumped up and punched the air. This made the football fans angry, so they all stormed out of the stadium in a happy mood. Folowed by the winning team, who were having fits of giggles to show their despair at scoring so many goals.

He was born in the shape of a football, so his parents decided to teach him the rudiments of the game. In later life, he was kicked around a lot, but reached most of his goals. Having been carried across fields by so many players, he was thought to have many insights about the game. However, when his memoirs finally came out, he revealed that underarm deodorant was the one thing he wished more players used.

What could be worse than a reference librarian with Alzheimer's?
Brad knew the answer to that, as he did to every other question:
being able to remember things *only* if someone asked a question
about them.

He would stand in line at the bank, holding up a flash card telling
the other customers to ask him his name so he would know whose signature to put on the check he was about to cash.

Strangely enough, he did quite well when he was a contestant on quiz
shows--until he forgot what show he was on.

But now there was no help for him as he watched his car slowly fill with water, and realized that the rescuers on the other end of his cell phone could hear him but he could not hear them...

Per Ingleson's life changed the day he caught a lady's shoe
while fishing in the sea, for the shoe's owner ultimately
became his wife.

His life changed again a few years later, when he caught
a floating briefcase that belonged to a wealthy businessman
who showed his gratitude by hiring Per for a highly lucrative
job in his business empire.

Once in a while, of course, Per also caught fish, but nothing
prepared him for the great sea bass that had swallowed enough
gold coins to allow Per and his growing family a carefree
life on a scenic island.

And then there was yesterday, when Per caught a scythe and a black cowl.

Jonathon was more than a little surprised when a man appeared out of thin air and greeted him with a shy smile and a timid wave of the hand. His maleness was quite evident for he wore no clothes, a fact he explained was the result of his transporter being unable to latch onto anything inanimate. This, he said, was only a minor inconvenience and in fact made his sudden appearances seem less threatening to anyone in the vicinity, except perhaps some of the less enlightened women who tended to scream and cover their eyes with wide open fingers.
Jonathon (having made in his head the usual male comparisons and found he was at least on a par) was curious to know the wheres and and hows of this manifestation.
The stranger was into a complicated explanation of his transporter
when he suddenly vanished.

[This makes me think of "The Time-Traveller's wife."]

"My mum always told me that when the end of the world came,
I'd know it was here because there'd be bats everywhere,"
Eliza confided to the lady who was next to her.

"That's because we're in a cave, which is where bats often live," the lady replied as they peered into the darkness.

There were perhaps a hundred thousand people taking refuge
there while scientists and civic officials did their best to make sense of the huge meteor that had fallen on Excelsior City during the night. At least twenty skyscrapers were lying on their sides like fallen dominoes, while water from the Gletch River had seeped into thre impact crater, forming a large lake.

In a more remote area of the cave, one bat said to another, "My
parents always told me that when the end of the world came, there
woud be people everywhere...."

Eric spent his afternoons walking backwards at work, in the vain attempt to travel back in time. It got so bad that one day he even attempted to create a wormhole to go to alternate dimensions but only ended up at the office of Marvel graphic novels. His next goal is to build a small space craft powered by warp drive engines.

Because the holidays were the busiest time of year for their mail-order business, the Melsons always hired a nanny to take care of little Jimmy and Muffy from Thanksgiving through New year's.

This year they hired Vilma Waisley, a very large, ruddy-faced lady
who told spellbinding stories about the ten years she had spent working in Santa's workshop.

"Santa has no reindeer, that's all rubbish!" she exclaimed, "but
he does get around on Christmas Eve with those huge wings he's
got!"

Muffy would squeal with glee at this, but little Jimmy scoffed, "That's fine for Santa, but how can he carry all those heavy toys with him?"

Vilma, to her credit, had a ready answer for this: "That's what airmail was invented for...."

Only my opinion of course, but the last five (catching up) are all good. Especially, I must say I'm very very fond of 263.

Jabs

[This is a very enjoyable thread to read. ]

Descartes and Plato were on their way to a philosophers' convention,
but they found their way blocked by a very large mountain.

"I can prove that this mountain does not exist," Descartes
said smugly, "by observing that I think, therefore I exist,
which is something the mountain cannot do."

"You must be Jar Jar Binks," the mountain replied, shaking with
mirth, "who proved that he could talk but not think, whereas
I can obviously do both, though my job description only requires
that I sit wherever I want, like the 800-pound gorilla."

"You are indeed a mountain that can talk and think and sit,"
said Plato, "but you are insignificant compared to the ideal
mountain that is in Heaven."

"You are welcome to climb me," the mountain said courteously,
"so as to be closer to Heaven, whereas that convention you're
going to is boring as H*ll..."

Borg Man of Alcatraz sits in his cell looking proudly out over
the Pacific Ocean. On the ledge outside, just beyond reach of
his fingers, sits the bird who has become his constant companion
and confidant during his years of incarceration. He no longer
needs to say, "Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated" to it.
Over the years, Borg Man has assimilated the prison's rats, mice,
spiders, the other prisoners and most of the guards as well.
Today the last holdout falls into place as he attempts to
assimilate his cellmate, an 800 pound canary who has been
imprisoned for strangling a cat.....

"Oh me cramp", said the relief postwoman as she sat down sipping a cup of coffee.

"I am a martyr to my cramp and I would be lost without it", she said to the first of fifty homes that were on her round.

"I went to the doctors as I was worried that my cramp was going away and asked him if the could give me medication to prevent my cramp from going away".

"But all he gave me was a wee dram of whisky."

My brother and I were helping Grandma move to her new room at
Rest A Spell, the world's premier assisted-living facility for retired witches and wizards. As required, Grandma had just surrendered her wand, and I was dropping boxes right and left, when I suddenly blurted out in frustration, "I wish I had ten arms!"

"I've told you a dozen times that you aren't supposed to wish for anything!" my brother said crossly as I sprouted eight extra arms.

I hoped Grandma could reverse the spell, but she said. "None of us have wands any more, dear, since the walls are magic and will grant any wish..."

The extra arms helped, though, and just before leaving I realized that I could lose them by just wishing for it.

"Aye, aye", said Richie - 'Father of the numpties', to his computer screen.

"My pc why are you having a funny half hour, you keeps on errupting with a roar and turning a funny green".

"Oh well I will have to go and get the pc anaylist to talk to you and find what is troubling you".

The computer replied, "I am Commander Data, and I have had an emotion chip put into my circuits by Doctor Soong and it's gone haywire making me think I am the Incredible Hulk and only he can help me."

As we walked down the spacious marble steps of Blemnox for
the last time, Viola aimed a thunderbolt of well-deserved vitriol at me: "Thanks to you, Grandpa, we are now homeless, and likely to
freeze to death when winter comes!"

True, I had lost Blemnox Mansion through heavy borrowing, but
it had all been to pay for Grandma's medical expenses, Viola's failed
nail polish company, and my own lamentable gambling debts.

"Viola, dear, we still own the land surrounding the mansion, and it extends far enough south that we can live in the camper during the mild winters there."

As we drove south the next day, Viola tried to convince me that the camper would be a dangerous place to live because of the herds of Komodo Dragons that would be there, but her point became moot after we accidentally left the road and sank inexorably into this quicksand......

The Palm Court singers are here, to sing about their admiration of Mr Dettol and his love of all things anti-septic.

About his days spent on buses from the sleepy hamlet of Pinmore to faraway places of Ballantrae, Ayr and Glasgow and perhaps even further.

Then the Palm Court singers will plea to Mr Dettol to send them a box of dettol, savalon, germaline and to wrap it in vim scented paper.

And they would along with a chorous line of Tiller girls go and sing to him, their special song about him, as well as pay for their box of anti-septic goodies.

Armand Silitossaca, conductor of the Age of Delightenment Orchestra, arrived at Symphony Hall just moments after a wing of the space station fell on the roof, demolishing it. No one was hurt, but the chances of performing there that afternoon were about on a par with the likelihood that Mozart would accompany Elvis in a polka festival.

Silitossaca was famous for never cancelling a concert, and he quick-ly settled on a substitute venue: the amusement park across the street, which had a bandstand almost big enough to fit the orchestra, plus a nice little park where the audience could stand.

Everyone made the best of things until halfway through the concert, when the noise of the rollercoaster began to drown out the quiet movement of the Frigoli concerto for harp and flute. With a shrug, Silitossaca immediately segued into the "1812 Overture," which had enough cannon and drum sounds to easily make the cheering audience forget about the rollercoasters.

Mr Dettol, please give us some tcp, along with savalon and some germaline. Send it in a box lined with vim scented paper and send it to us with your love and kisses. But don't forget to send to Dover along with some copies of the Sunday Post, that will help us to while away the time. We are so deeply indebted to you, you make us laugh with your witty banter. With your tales of adventures in Ballantrae, Ayr and Glasgow, attending ant-septic conventions.