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

Then the postwoman of Barrhill bumps into a rather eccentric lady who spends her days attacking parked cars in the street with her foghorn. They have two different conversations going and non of them are listening to each other. One of them talks about their past, present and future illnesses and the other goes on about past, present and future village gossip.

Sarma Yapes first encountered the Spootslongs of Naribelmia in 2005, which the Spootslongs mistakenly thought was 2001 because Sarma was whistling "Also Sprach Zarathustra" as she neared their village. She soon corrected their mistake by pointing out the date in the online
New York Times on their computers.

One intriguing aspect of Sarma's field research was the fact the the Spootslongs had computers and digital sound systems but still walked or rode horses rather than drive cars, despite the numerous car dealers less than 15 miles away in the jungle. Very few Spootslongs realized that cars actually existed, despite having DVD's of "Cars" and "Herbie" "The Italian Job" in their video libraries.

As Sarma left the Spootslongs after the end of her field research, she was sure she heard a jubilant party underway, an impression which history was to prove right, as the Spootslongs prided themselves on making fools of anthropologists.

Live from the enchanted tower, it's the Princess Chef

It's one of the unbreakable laws of physics that you can't fit more than one thing at a time into a space, so when Princess Evelyn needed to film her cooking show in her tower chamber, the potted palms and creeping tropical vines had to be moved out onto the spiral staircase.

The space that was thus carved out accommodated a film crew, a kitchen backdrop, and chairs for the studio audience, which at this time consisted of Cliff, Kate, and little Bram, all munching happily on organic popcorn and macaroons.

"Hi, ho, it's time for a cooking lesson with Princess Evelyn!" said Princess Evelyn, who should have had an announcer to say the line, but he was probably stuck in crosstown traffic. "Today, we're making chateaubriand with truffles, chateau potatoes, and Spam stuffing," she warbled, "the perfect menu for your next picnic in Central Park"-- hardly likely any time soon, given the snow that could be seen falling outside the studio.

All in all, the cooking lesson went went, with the Princess only breaking three dozen eggs, burning the beef irretrievably only twice (the third time was actually rather tasty), and realizing toward the end that the only dessert she had on hand was a carton of winkies....

[For more about Princess Evelyn, please be sure to visit her web site at;
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/alabaster/A53788404 ]

Joshua Norton, Emperor of the United States (1819-1880), gazed regally at the gallant explorers who had been summoned to his chambers, and gave the signal for the meeting to begin.

Vasco Da Gama, who was 415 years old, slowly but deliberately laid out his plans for opening curry shops on each of Jupiter's moons, looking at his notes only when asked to make estimates of the costs of building railroad tracks beyond the orbit of Mars.

Hernando de Soto's venture was more modest, having to do with prospecting for gold and bone china on Jupiter itself, aided considerably by the railroad lines that Da Gama's businesses would have laid out.

The youngest was Henry Hudson, who claimed to have found proof of Indian outposts on one of Saturn's rings, and believed that hot-air balloons would be more practical than railroads for establishing trade with them.

The last one to speak was Fluffy Pink Rabbit, who needed a microphone in order to be heard, due to his not having been born yet, and thus it was a terrible disappointment when the others realized that the microphone itself did not yet exist.

Back in the sleepy village of Barrhill where the Barrhill Blethers congegate to hit men with their leather handbags. They do this every Saturday after their coffee morning as they say it will bring good luck to the vilalge. Then they go off into the hall to blether about any from the weather, illnesses, local gossip and how to grow turnips. The winner of these blethering competition gets a year supply of cakes.

When I was five I would hide shivering under the bed, a corner of the sheet stuffed in my mouth to muffle my sobs, while The Beast pounded the door so hard the walls and floor shook. When I was ten I fought back, pounding the door and hollering at The Beast every time he came. By some miracle, The Beast stopped coming after I fell in love with Gribella, staying away all through my happy years of courtship and marriage and parenthood. At last, in my years of mourning after Gribella's death, The Beast came back in a gentler form than the one I had remembered from childhood, becoming my dearest friend as arthritis gradually consigned me to a wheelchair. Late at night we would sit by the fire, remembering the past and laughing at the circumstances that had made loneliness my most cherished companion.

Mabel's firdt husband was Fred, a cheerful fellow who died in a terrible accident when the floor under his sofa collapsed due to unknown causes. Mabel then married Gus, who didn't have an enemy in the world until the door to the tiger's cage accidentally came open just as he was passing by. No one knows why the brakes on her third husband's car failed just as he was coming down the hairpin curve on Kancamagus Highway in the White Montains. I'm Mabel's fourth husband, and I'm doing just fine, though the coffee she served me this morning had a rather bitter aftertaste....

Henry was doing what he had longd to do for forty years: sit in his kitchen enjoying a long, leisurely breakfast as he basked in the glow of the previous night's retirement party. He gazed happily at the peach- and avocado-colored balloons that hung over the congratulatory flower arrangements in the living room, but frowned slightly as he saw a strange man coming up the front walk.

The man brushed off his claim of not needing anything, barging into the house where he sat at the table with a broad grin on his face. "If you think I'm here to sell you life insurance, you can relax, because I'm really just explaining your options in the after-life," and now the grin turned out to be a mask, which fell away to
reveal the Grim Reaper.

The color drained from Henry's face, but the man then removed the Grim Reaper mask as well, and admitted that, yes, he really was selling insurance, and wasn't that a lot better than having to negotiate with Saint Peter and the devil?

I left the house this morning. It wasn't easy. People might say we should have stayed together for the kids, but I don't think that ever really works. And I couldn't help feeling inadequate compared to the tall block of shiny new flats down the road. As we grew older, the sex was getting more and more difficult too.

Here in sunny Barrhill, the intrepid Wigtonshire wanderers wandered in off the Newton Stewart bus with their very jovial coach driver 'Nice Norman'. They stopped at Barrhill and went to the cafe and pub to have a natter with the locals and swap local gossip before getting on the bus to Girvan. When they arrived at the huge but small seaside town, they went to the desserted children's play area where they went on the swings and the banana slides, then finishing off in the paddling pool.

"In light of all the astonshing discoveries that have been made about the universe this year, some of our cosmologists were worried that Mars and Jupiter and Saturn had changed radically as well. We have not checked on Jupiter and Saturn lately, but this morning we checked up on Mars and found that it was still where it ought to be, and was red, and had those little green men that it was so famous for in Saturday morning cartoons.

The only mention-worthy change that we could see was this year's fashions for Martian women, which feature chocolate and yellow stripes on pleated skirts. Shoes have changed a lot, too, with
raspberry and celadon featured in particular. Last year's discovery of live dinosaurs has been verified this year with a two-hour documentary demonstrating the great yodelling and juggling skills of these fascinating creatures.

A Biography

Cephalonius Pleef had a long and productive life, but his accomplishments were always overshadowed by the rumors that he was actually Beulius Gibling, the world's foremost crusader against piccolos. To make the rumors even more absurd must be added the
long list of piccolo recordings that Pleef made with the Pfeisingdale Pork Chowder Orchestra and Bowling Society, but many were never willing to listen to reason.

Pleef was born in a stately mansion in Hillvalleyshire, but his parents, fearful of the effect that such pampered surroundings might have on the development of his character, moved him across the Atlantic Ocean to a trailer park in Florida when he was three. Then they left him there with an aunt and went back to their mansion
in England, little realizing that their son was already playing the piccolo every chance he got for little Beulius Gibling, who lived next door.

Of course, Pleef did a lot of important things later in his life, but we have run out of time, so you will have to guess what they were.

My previous post was admirable in every way, of course, but if you'd like a few laughs at deliberately bad writing, here's a website you should consider:

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2009.htm

Green bananas

Jeremy Jacob had cried out about the Angel of Death several times
during the night, so the nurse had no choice but to ask Doctor Fosburgh if he could go back on the antidepressant he used to take.

As the nurse was leaving to fetch the prescription from the pharmacy, Francine came in with little Joely, whom she sat in a chair in the dining room to play with a doll.

"Francine, I don't have much longer," Jeremy Jacob wailed when he saw her, "and I don't even think I'll live long enough to see those green bananas in the dining room get ripe.

"Grampa, you'll get well again, I'm sure of it," Francine soothed, clasping his hand, "In fact, who knows, maybe you have another 97 years..." but she was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

Little Joely walked past with the bananas that Great Gramps had asked for, just as Francine heard the doctor tell her what foods--bananas, for instance--he should not be allowed to eat.

Sadly Andy Murray has lost in the semi-finals, and I think I know the reason, it is that he peaked too early. With the win at Queen's it put a lot more pressure on him. Everything was going so well but at the quarter finals it was a long struggle for him to defeat his opponent. But there are other grand slam touraments this year to win.

Come and dance the slow step, as you prance around the hall, pretending that you are Bruno. Sit and stare out of the window at the passing cars, flapping your arms to scare them. But only do this if you are really bored.

My son is the world 's greatest inventor, and I'm certainly proud of him, but breakfast in our house is total chaos these days. He's working to give movement to inanimate objects, which means the eggs don't sleep in the refrigerator any more, but require a serious search effort to round them up and get them to the frying pan (they don't want to go, for some reason). Then there are the bananas, which hide in the rafters and require a net with a very long handle. I had to sign a pact with the coffee grounds to keep them together in the pantry (they will agree to anything as long as you serve them with a little cinnamon--who knew?). We no longer eat bacon, and you really don't want to know why--trust me, you don't.....

I woke up in 2001 in a block of flights where I used to live, phasing through every floor before finally teleporting in and out of the building to the much amusement of my neighbours. I find this always happens if I have a panic attack, I get the urge to do something superhuman and end up wearing spandex. It does not matter where I am or what I am doing, I will end up with different clothes after every phasing/teleporting session.

I don't know why Tsar Rorcus hated me so much. Of all the crown princes, I was the most consistently loyal, even giving the Tsarina my share of the spoils of conquest so she could mount the operas that she was so fond of. True, I regularly trounced the Tsar at the blackjack table, but it was crown money belonging to him as much as me, and the casino itself was crown-owned, so the profits came back to us. Also true, I was Tsar Rorcus's chief rival for the affections of Sven, the stable boy, but no one took the affair seriously, least of all our wives and children. But as I hang by my hands from the precipice, I think of one *other* thing that might have made the Tsar angry at me: I probably shouldn't have tried to overthrow him and set myself up as Tsar.

"I was in the Vubleemian jungle in aught 3, when it started snowing,"
he started as we all sat around the campfire, nibbling roasted chicken legs and finishing the last of the lemonade. "Suddenly I heard something very large thrashing arouns in the underbrush--coming right at us, from the sound of it...."

Most of the children had their hands over their faces, but Jimmy was
totally fearless as he demanded, "And what was it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, because the tour guide shot at it, and it lay still, while we all ran in the other direction, but at least the snow had stopped."

"It was me, that's who it was!" said a voice behind him as we all turned around to see his ex-wife, who was clearly annoyed and capable of all kinds of mayhem...