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

Correction: He took off after her.

Dogs are so sweet and adorable. They look at you with their begging eyes. Pleading you for to stroke them and give them a cuddle. They will give you lots of love in return. And all they ask from you are walks, food, bones and a bed to sleep in.

"You were a very bad baby, Dexter," Aunt Marigold told him, "laying waste to Littletown, starting the 40-minute War,
and even spreading the Sort-of-Plaguelike virus that sent your parents to bed for two days."

"So, why didn't Mom and Dad ever speak about this?" Dexter wondered, adjusting his tie and brushing lily pollen
from his Sunday-best suit.

"Well, it seemed better not to invite recurrence by mentioning it, especially after the exorcism," she explained, moving several potted geraniums back from the two caskets so that the mourners could pay their last respects.

"I had no idea," Dexter mused, "but I always felt a distance, especially after cousin Eddy became a rich rock star."

"Yes. well, you see, the evil spirit that seemed determined to set you on the path to becoming a serial killer then went into Eddy and nobody was interested in you after that, they all wanted to get in his good graces in case he left them some money in his will..."

Take your partners for the multiverse two-step foxtrot. "Oh, we love our Janet, and her blueberry pie. Boasts about her mutant powers as she sings the blues. Then she goes and wins the national lottery. Oh Dear Janet, please share your powers and make us rich".

(Most be danced to the two-stope foxtrot and/or waltz and if you canot make your mind up, do all of them at the same time. To do that you need mutant powers.)

Forward, side together side. Back side together side. You look lovely tonight. Thank you, you are treading on my toes. I'm sorry, I love you!

“Send for the court astrologer,” said the king, “he has been right many times, but I shall force him to make a mistake.”

“As soon as I give the signal,” said the king as he handed a knife to his favourite courtier, “I want you to cut the astrologer's throat.”

The astrologer arrived, and the king said to him: “I want you to make a prediction: tell us when you will die.”

“I don't know the exact date,” replied the astrologer. “All I know is that I will die one day before you do.”

There's no joke like the old ones, said Dad.

"Earth," Disney's new film about a year in the life of several animal
families across the planet, has many virtues, but one can't help feeling that the casting director wasn't up to snuff. Take the polar bear, who should have trained more for his swimming shots, and who desperately needed some tips from someone like Fred Astaire for that scene where he seemed to be waltzing with a walrus. The wolf was very lackluster when he was chasing those caribou, as if he wished he were after something a bit more appetizing. Same with the leopard in his great chase scene. Really, this is the kind of film where you wish Disney would borrow some of Pixar's great CGI technology to make nature films more exciting!

Rain, rain and more rain and it's make me rust. My hips are acing and my left knee is not so good. With my two bunions, I waddle slowly along. Even cod liber oil and paracetamol does not help. Oh the joys of getting old.

The brilliant young merchant banker collected his case from the carousel at Mexico City Terminus. He had salted his gains away and made his escape without detection. Now to set up the pig farm of his dreams.
Two months later the stock were safely housed yet unhappy. They seemed to have the same flu that he had brought with him.

Everyone had told her to stop worrying about goblins leaving messages
on her answering machine, but here was the proof that her worries were well-founded: "You have one message, and it is from a goblin" the machine was telling her. She was tired from a long day at work, too tired to deal with goblin messages now, so she turned instead to her email. Too late she realized that the birthday ecard from her grandma was actually an animated picture of dozens of ugly goblins, their long skinny hands already pumping the "print" button. The goblins were rising from the printouts like big ugly welts, and the last thing she remembered before they got to her was the voice
of a government official who had said, earlier that day, that goblins were too steeped in magical processes to ever make computer technology work for them...

In the memory mines deep below Stonehenge the druids were desperately trying to step up production to meet the demands of the BBC goblins that had enslaved them. But it was no good. The more they made the more poems were being written. There was only one answer. They must now control the poets.

Bookkeeping at the happiness factory has always been fiddled. The manager has his copy in the safe, and the employees have their copy, which can be accessed by any member of staff or any customer. This is making us all very unhappy. I may have to write to my M.P. about it. At least he is not on the fiddle.

The first 9 questions of the job application had been easy enough,
but Sumner Cogito was stymied by the last one, which read, "10. Prove
that you are real, in 25 words or less."

The squeak of Mr. Cogito's brown Oxfords on the parquet floor caused
Mr. Dixdy to look up from his desk with a perplexed smile, but when
he heard Mr. Cognito's query, he leaned back in his chair and said
in a relaxed manner, "Everyone knows that you are *mostly* real, but
for this kind of job we need assurances that none of your great
grandparents was married to a literary character."

Ah, yes, Mr. Cogito thought, the great escape of thousands of literary characters from the Story Mines 60 years ago had undermined the foundations of society and caused widespread intermarriage with the real members of the population!

"Let me see if I have this straight, Mr. Dixdy," he said, "you seem to be saying that if, for instance, my great grandmother was the Queen of Dweeba in Flekistad's great fantasy trilogy, then my seven real great-grandparents don't count, and I can't have this job?"

"You definitely have her eyes, Mr. Cogito," Mr. Dixdy said in a kindly manner, his arm around Mr. Cogito's shoulders, "and if it's any consolation, we have another job, almost as good, for which you would seem to have preeminent qualifications; I'll give you the form to fill out, but you may have trouble with the last question on *that* one..."

The sky painters changed pots from blue to grey at noon then got some pink out later to finish the day quite cheerfully. 'Shepherds delight?'
asked Cookie with a warm smile, when the mashed potato had turned golden brown.'Just an onion bahgee please' said Muchtar, piling his school books into a Co-op save the planet bag and switching on the big screen. Just in time to see the Arsenal goal of the season; life was good here.

I do not drink but I feel like drunk all the time. It is the same feeling I have had when drinking red wine. I feel so drowsy, I am sure that there is valium in the water supply. My legs feel like lead and it takes ages for me to walk anywhere. Being rundown, with a cold that won't go away does not help, but don't worry it's not that Flu in the news.

Cheese, cheese wonderful cheese. Different colours, tastes and textures.
Can be eaten on it's own or with biscuits. Added to a variety of dishes, to give that added kick. Plain or flavoured cheeses, some with added fruit, wine, pepper and herbs. It would a very dull world if we did not have cheese to add flavour to it.

We asked him to shut up, we asked him to go on the radio and host a talk-back show, but nothing worked. He talked when you were on the phone, he talked when you were trying to concentrate, and he talked so incessantly that nothing could ever be achieved. We deciced to put duct tape over his mouth - we photographed him like that and put it on a web site. The next day, the Pornography Squad came round to arrest us, and they took off the tape,- they decided the tape was a good idea, they put it back, dropped charges and went away apologising.