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

The shark looked out over the river as the naked hulk approached. He wondered how such a vessel had navigated all the way here from the sea. The children, whom he had learned were actually named Samuel and Darla, where playing a made-up game near the shoreline. They had become bored with the sheep. Why did the girl suddenly start whistling, it was unnerving, and the shark was sure the ship had started turning in their direction as soon as she had started. He was relieved to see the rest of the group approach from around the base of the hill.

At that moment, four stereotypical suede-clad autochthonous north Americans ran into the cave, seemingly engaged on some sort of scouting expedition.

"How ...?" started the Jazzme, about to ask yet another question to which no response would ever be provided.

"How" replied the four braves in unison, wheezily, clearly not expecting greetings. Then, recovering cross-armed and stern-faced composure, they surveyed the menagerie before them, their pouting 'indian' faces strangely familiar in the eerie half-light of the cavern.

One continued. "We are four hoarse men of pucker-lips."

Cogs clunked and blocks fell into new places inside the Jazzme's sage old head, the furniture of his belief system somewhat rearranged. He'd need to revisit those old scrolls in his attic. Meanwhile, the hound was irreverently licking and sniffing at the crotch of the one who had spoken, the excited canine wags and whimpers conveying a message to those who understood his doggy-language. The Hypatia was the first to twig:

"You're Kevin bloody Costner", she blurted, explaining Boots' behaviour to the others. "And you, you're Dustin Hoffman. And you're Daniel Day Lewis. And you're ..."

"...a Man called Horse," said the fourth, a little Irishly (not inappropriately on St. Patrick's Day), and proffering a business card, which Pinniped snatched.

"Harris. You're a man called Harris. Look, Richard Harris can't you read?" yelled the phocid. Richard Harris meekly took back his business card, which Pinniped waved about in front of him, and looked down at his moccasins. Kevin Costner struggled to regain his composure, and raised his arm to the 'talk to hand' position. "How..."

"How", respond the Jazzme, who thought he was being polite.

"HowEVER," continued Kevin Costner clearly displeased by the Jazzme's ejaculation, "we were sent here by Goldspeech ..." (at which the four scouts genuflected themselves and uttered indecipherable utterances) "...to 'peak an n-tree fourth erg ide', because if we don't this world will end. He said that 'u-phoques Arthur Best."

Pinniped furrowed his phocid brow. "Well, we'd like to help," he lied, "but you're in the wrong place, gents. You need to be at the Pier Revue; that's where they grow the 'n-trees'. In fact that's just where we're off to now."

The seal was actually more concerned about his home quarters than Goldspeech's problematical guide, and the opportunity to shuffle the story back toward his ice-floe was not to be sniffed at.

"Now, about that galleon ..."

That galleon didn't need summoning thrice, or even twice. It loomed up in front of them. (The shark noted that it brought its own sea with it. That was at least one question answered.)

The assortment of lifeforms retreated in awe until they were backed up against the cave paintings and could go no further. The sea lapped eagerly around them. It left them dry but there was an intangible pulling sliminess about it. The ship, its sails billowing in an unfelt wind, came on. Darkness trailed behind it. It blocked the cavern entrance.

A black figure strode up and down the poop deck orchestrating the collection of sea dogs that leant, pulled and pushed at various capstans. With a deafening rattle that reverberated round the cave, a vast anchor dropped and hit the floor. A tremor rippled across the Ozarks. (Hypatia's cottage teetered for a few seconds but decided to stay upright. Cassie didn't.) As the echoes of the anchor chain died away a whimper was heard from the hound. Jazzme gripped Hypatia's hand and Buck kicked Pip who was licking at the sea.

The black figure leant over the rails closest to them. Pinniped, never outwardly fazed, stared back, gestured with a flipper at the ship and said 'So, you going anywhere near the End of the Pier then?'

The figure ignored him. It fumbled among its black robes then brought out a Tome. It leant the book on the top rail, leafed through the pages for a while and cleared its throat.

A voice rang out portentiously from under the black hood.

'I have been scent' he paused imperceptably but carried on 'to call to a count the pears on account table for the miss treatment of the Orchid' He paused again, recognising that what ever deity ruled this cave was infiltrating and rewriting his .exe's. He rebooted his firewall and ploughed on sternly from the bow.

'The Orchid requires care and attention. The Orchid requires 2000 to 3000 candle power lighting. The Orchid requires early morning sun, steady temperatures, not rising above 80 degrees F, constant humidity. You have failed Mis-er-ab-ly on E-ver-y Count.' he boomed. 'You have...'

Orchid finally suceeded in levering up the flap of Trout's pocket and peered out.

The figure gulped in sheer disbelief at the whale shaped crisp and pointed tremorously at her. 'You have...exposed to the snow of Aberb*****ydeen...two weeks in a suitcase...conflagration...dehydration...' He couldn't go on.

Most of the lifeform assortment shuffled shamefacedly. Orchid pulled at Trout's lapel 'whothe that? He theemth all upthet' She waved to the figure in a cheer up sort of way. The seal looked at the figure, closed his eyes and sighed 'GrrroundForce. It's the wrong s*dding galleon.' he growled borrowing a bit of bootsspeak.

GroundForce?' asked Hypatia.
'UK gardening programme off shoot spin off' Jazzme whispered in her ear.
'It's still a galleon' said Trout, scrutinising the timbers, the rivets and the still billowing canvas.
'Perhaps he can tell us how to rehydrate Orchid' said Waz, tearing her gaze from Richard Harris for a moment.
'We could negotiate a passage' Shark joined Trout's inspection of what rigging they could see from the ground.
'You'd sail in that?' Sheep wrinkled his nose sniffing at the encrusted limpets and trails of seaweed.
'He might have a jam jar' Boots leant against Kevin Costner, not really paying attention.

'A COUNT!' The figure roared over their heads 'Ewe half two bees called to a Count!'

Fiona-sheep stared wide eyed 'Me? But I didn't do anything. What Count?' she bleated.

Pinniped opened his eyes. It was a galleon. Home and the n-trees were calling. This world needed saving.

Hypatia was too disconcerted by the mention of Pingu to care where the galleon came from. Surely the psychopathic little s**t hadn't already made it out of the glacier. She hadn't really expected to put him out of commission for 10,000 years, but she was counting on him staying frozen at least until 2012 when the Mayan Calendar said the poles were going to shift and turn the tropics into an ice berg and the arctic into wheat fields. Anyway, he was going to be royally p****d.

And now the phocoid was dragging them back to the frozen north - just when the daffodils were starting to bloom and she had peas to plant. If Pingu was out of the glacier, she thought that setting a course for his last know location was a bit mad. So of course that's what was happening.

If all they wanted to do was rehydrate Orchid, then why the fenoble didn't they just give her some Gatorade? Or throw her in the lake. There isn't as much water in Table Rock Lake as in the Arctic Ocean, but she's just one whale. There's enough water in the Lake for one little whale.

"Am I the only logical person in this story?", she shrieked. "We're 800 miles from the b****y ocean and we're setting sail in a galleon crewed by over the hill actors so we can save the world! And you accuse me of plot abuse."

It is inane shunt marrying her
Andy Spofforth one-off, free
BUY THY LINGERIE HERE
Dangly lit her ring. Hi!
&c, &c, &c.....

The albatross alights with an ungainly thud. Wind shrieks around her. Unearthly lightning rends the blackness of the cave.

Pinniped acknowledges Alberta with a nod, before quickly reverting to head-down instincts.

She looks more sheepish than the sheep, even. GoldSpeech we can handle, Pingu even. But the Lady...

The seal stares fixedly at the Ali Baba basket. Alberta gasps. It couldn't be...

Pinniped nods solemnly as the darkness dances around them. 'Worse than Death', he mouths.

'They seem to think we're going back to the Pier?', Alberta suggests, tentatively.

And suddenly there are tears in the little seal's eyes.

'Yes, please', he whispers.

Hypatia wipes the tears from Pinniped's eyes. "Shusssss. It's going to be ok. A seal off of the ice flow is an unhappy seal."

Ok. That does it. Pack your woolies, hillbilly lady, looks like you're heading north.

"Let's go gang! We have a world to save. And some actors to rescue from retirement."

Hypatia knew she would eventually have to deal with the spirits in the cave. But she supposed it would have to wait.

Little Darla saw the polymer Orchid peek out of the trout's pocket, and, mistaking for a toy she snatched it and tossed it her brother. When the whale screened 'oh thit' the boy froze and she sailed through Samuel's hands into the very pool the Hypatia had been most concerned about. The enchanted waters flowed into the orca's rind, reasoning her - but alas her pretty pink tutu was beyond resurrection. 'Thilly me, don't look boys' Orchid said as she sidled behind the nearest stalagmite. Samuel and Darla had seen enough strange, erm, persons for one day. Even if they didn't count the ones that kept changing forms. The quietly slipped into the shadows of the cavern while the ancient spirits tried to recruit them.

'Mr. Pinniped, can we go home now? I thure mith the pier and the SYWM.

The motley crew of seadogs and stereotypical suede-clad autochthonous north Americans obediently steered a steady course under the watchful eye of the shadowy green-fingered captain, and the good ship GroundForce made way both pole-wards and pier-wards.

Up on the quarter-deck, the Ali Baba basket rolled and reeled with the heave and the ho, but obstinately remained devoid of any sign of the Shallot. Pinniped eyed the vacuous raffia receptacle and was seriously considering tossing it overboard when a swab in the crow's nest reported loudly that a ship was ahoy.

The pursuing vessel was more nimble than the GroundForce and rapidly made to overhaul her.


***

"Frig it" asserted the trout, testily.

The Hypatia, who was standing fore, arms akimbo in crucifix configuration and held firmly from behind by a very focused Jazzme, tut-tutted and shook her head disapprovingly at the unnecessary coarseness of the salmonid's language. The Jazzme, who was concentrating hard, just squeezed her a little tighter and pulled himself in a little closer.

Sporting his 1200-tooth head, the wereshark eyed the fish curiously, puzzled by his outburst. Trout Montague, though, was unmoved by the messy death that the shark's razor-sharp dentistry could entail.

"That's a frigate," stated the trout clearly, killing two birds with one stone, much to the consternation of both Waz and Ms. Alberta, "Look at the size of her poop."

Orchid, who was at that moment busy evacuating over the side of the vessel, caught a half-gasp of the trout's words and blushed like a beacon, an involuntarily reflex to which she'd been particularly prone ever since she'd accidentally pronounced the S in SYWM in the previous posting.

"Eth, eth, eth. Thit, Thit Thit." But try as she might, even after all the green-fingered tinkering administered by the ship's captain, Orchid could not repeat the feat.


***

Meanwhile, if anyone had cared to pay attention, then they would have noticed that as the frigate came closer, so the galleon's name had changed ... GerundFarce.

And had they paid even more attention they would have noticed the flag flying from the mast - non other than the union jack.

'Heave to' commanded the captain over his loud hailer 'and prepare to receive a boarding party'. The forward 6 inch gun turret swung slowly around to point directly at the galleon in a sort-of kindly but determined way to ensure that all instructions were to be carried out - or else!

The galleon hove to!

Lieutenant Jack Tar boarded the galleon with 6 crewmen, armed
to the back teeth just in case, and addressed the galleon captain.

It has been reported that a protected species, namely one albatross, has been killed recently in these quarters and we are checking on all vessels in the vicinity. We trust you will assist with our enquiries.

Meanwhile we would like some explanation as to the reason for this mottled collection of passengers you appear to be carrying.

'It'th all in the plot' thaid Orchid (the's got me doing it now!)

Plot? exploded Jazzme Plot? Is there one? Have I missed a posting somewhere back there? Ike hoodaz worn their wazzen twon.

Lieutenant Tar gave him a quizzical look - bleedin foreigners he muttered - and proceeded to conduct a thorough search of the vessel from keel to crow's nest.

'B*gger off, GoldSpeech', barks Pinniped. There are things on his mind that make the mere Spawn of Gates seem trivial.

Three of the crew are at the rail, gazing out over the sea. The seal anxiously tugs at Trout's pectoral..

'You got a minute, fish-boy? Only something's been kind of worrying me'.

Trout thrashes around furiously for an excuse to disappear. 'Sorry...can't talk...I've got this wedding to go to'.

As excuses go, this one stops fairly quickly. Being several thousand miles from land doesn't lend much credence to its veracity. Quite where such an excuse came from, and why it seemed so compelling at the time, is a mystery even to the salmonid.

PART I

A Juvenile Marine-mammal meeteth three Gallants, one of whom seemeth strangely fishlike, and detaineth him.

It's bloody Pinniped again,
And he stoppeth one of three.
`By thy whiskers long and doleful eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?

He holds Trout with his flipper damp,
`There was a ship,' quoth P.
`Hold off ! unhand me, grey-blotched loon !'

...What happened to Verse Three?

The so-called Wedding-Guest is spell-bound by the eye of this seafaring nutter, and is constrained to hear his tale. Methinks, however, that it could be a good idea to excise a couple of hundred stanzas hither and thither.

The Bride hath paced into the hall,
Yellow in PVC.
Nodding their heads before her goes
The s*dding menagerie

The Wedding-Guest he beats his breast,
'Get on with it' he sneers.
'Repeat the whole damn thing in verse
And we'll all be here for years'

Pinniped expesseth a certain amount of skepticism about the general assertion that this is not THAT ship. It certainly looketh like THAT ship from here. Anyhow, it's around this bit that a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, cometh through the snow-fog, and is received with great joy and hospitality.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around :
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
But it never made a sound.

At length did cross an Albatross,
And a whale, and Speak came here.
Just misfits who could never break
The tedium of the Pier

And lo ! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and for a while the seafarer thinketh that he might perchance be going somewhere. But as usual, Pinniped manageth to do something which seemeth like a good idea at the time but which turneth-out to cause a sh*t-load of trouble.

`God save thee, smelly phocid !
From the fiends, that plague thee thus !--
Why look'st thou so ?'

--With my WordPro
I spawned the N-SS...

Two-Beak and tin nude...

Jack Tar had long since been in the leaving; the confiscating of various items from the GerundFarce had been an embarrassment to all aboard. The Hypatia now had in her hand the holding of a quill-written parchment ledger of the anachronistic articles that were now on their way to Plymouth.

1. Yellow Road-Marking Paint (one tin thereof, partly used)
2. Beret
3. Breton jersey
4. Browning revolver, loaded
5. Used tennis balls (bagful)
6. Trouser press
7. Grockle-counter (clockwork mechanism faulty)
8. Rogue Red Indians (four no.)

The Jazzme was somewhat upset; his painful recollecting of events in Hartlepool had led him to deny any knowledge of the articles of Parisian apparel lest it was concluded that he was French. And they'd been a gift from the Hypatia.

***

Meanwhile, at the rail, Pinniped continued with the regaling (of a reluctant Trout Montague) with a tale of how a ship having passed the line was driven by storms towards regions polar; and how from thence she made her course to tropical latitudes; and of the strange things that did befall; and in the manner in which the smelly phocid had returned to his own ice-floe.

***

Par Two

Number seven flew down the right
Fleet was that ball carrier
To hit and miss; for a spot-kick
He went down in the area

And the phocid's wind still blew from his behind,
But the sweet sweet bird was not thwarted,
To what purpose, i.e., Alberta's,
'Twas to get the story sorted.

The menagerie cry out against the seal, for initiating such a story of ill-luck

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I'd typed the words
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! they said, this story's not dead
That made the breeze to blow!

For sake of brevity and to thwart the spectre of plagiarism, 'twas agreed to omit a verse here and there. Thence, not three verses on, it seem'd that the boat had stopp'd, not a breath of air to move it, the mirror'd sea a millpond of intimidating proportions.

The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.

Water, water, everywhere,
The very plot did shriivel ;
We were the first that ever burst
Into this endless drivel.

All in a hot and copper sky
Above the mast did stand
The bloody Sun at twelve o'clock
(Hypatia's looking tanned)

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor Motion ;
Like constipated laureates.
Who's got the sunburn lotion?

And the Albatross begins to be avenged. Not that she's actually dead in this version, but she probably deserveth to be avenged anyway.

Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The sheep is quite bereft of dip
And Trout's gone salmon pink

The very deep did rot : O Christ !
That the tale should turn out thus
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
And most of them were us.

There's another bit we're really going to have to miss out about here. Old Ess-Tee-See goes a bit odd - just listeneth up to this...

A Spirit had followed them ; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels ; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.

Presumably nobody shewed up from Porlock on this occasion then, Samvel?

Maybe it's some obscure reference to Speak, suggesteth the seal, who wouldn't put it past the afore-mentioned to follow people nine fathoms deep, plaguing their dreams. Anyway, the shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the Juvenile Marine-mammal : in sign whereof they hang the moribund thread round his neck.

Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks
Had I from old and young !
Instead of the cross, the N-SS
About my neck was hung.

Pinniped shuddereth and it's not even Orchid who's narrating. At that very moment, PART 3 begins and he beholdeth a sign in the element afar off...

Intel Lewd

Of seven parts two were complete -
'Twas time for celebration!
But the salmonid; of heavy lid:
Show'd signs of hibernation.

The seal saw this but did persist:
At part three he launched a foray.
With throat unslaked, and black lips baked,
He pursued the En-Ess-Story.

But those lurking would surely baulk
At the ending of Part III -
The ribb'd sun; the shallot Ben
Mean death for the menagerie

At this point, with a grizzly end in sight, an appeal was launched for anyone to take up the baton. Otherwise, over the next dozen or so stanzas, Death and Life-in-Death would dice for the ship's crew, the former winning most, the latter winning the spirit of the junior marine mammal. The Hypatia, however, was less concerned with her possible imminent demise and was more troubled by the trout's aforementioned piece of gristle, which flapped as he snored.

***

Trailer (PG13)

(Possibly) coming soon to a PC near you ...

I fear thee, smelly Pinniped!
I fear thy fatty flipper:
And thou art short and squat and grey,
As is a budget stripper ..."

Oh h*ll must all of we
Now play our parts in verse
Methought the tale was bad enough
But you've just made it worse

Jazz didn't mind his looking French
In Hartlepool these days
No monkey is in danger now
Or so the mayor says

For our American friends perhaps we should explain that during the Napoleonic wars the people of Hartlepool hung a monkey thinking it was a French spy. The town has been mocked about it ever since but, at the recent election the prospective Mayor dressed up as a monkey - and actually got himself elected.

(OK you guys - try putting that into verse.)

Hypatia had smuggled some of Uncle Harvey's moonshine on board for just such an occassion. Jazzme filled glasses (well actually fruit jars) and passed them to the rhyming raconteurs who gulped them eagerly.

After considerable choaking, coughing and spitting....against the house rules....
the Phocoid and the Trout Montague passed out on the deck.

That should keep them quiet long enough to get this story back on track. Waz and Alberta took to the sky in search of a plot while the rest of the troop assembled for a game of pinochle.

Hypatia was just about to bid 2400 when Pinniped's cell phone began to ring. Buck trotted over to the sleeping Seal and gingerly slipped it out of his pocket.

"Hello.......No, Sir, it's Buck......He's a bit indisposed at the moment.......No, he's indisposed as well.....I'm afraid you'll have to talk to me."

"Well, that was rude!"

Buck clicked off the phone and dropped it into Pin's fruit jar and screwed on the lid. Then he threw it overboard.

"If SYWM doesn't want to talk to me, maybe there will be someone out there for him to talk to."

The troop was literally astonished into speechlessness. Then one by one they stood and began to applaud.

Glad to get away from the painted ship upon a painted ocean scenario,Jazzme wondered where we would be heading next.

Pity about the Orzarks though, it sounded as if those rolling hills would have been of interest. Taking a sip of Uncle Harvey's moonshine he wondered if it would not be better dropped over the side after the mobile phone, but decided after all to persist with it, but slowly.

The galleon continued on a Easterly course (If the sun over there on the starboard wasn't playing silly b*****s too !) which he reckoned with a groan, meant back to Africa. What would we do with four ageing bogus cowboys in Africa?

Oh well! he might get a picture of a hippo for Hypatia after all?

Uncle Harvey's brew was beginning to take effect so he threw the rest overboard and made a dive for his favourite librarian.

'Don't think Ben's fooled by any of this,' snapped the hound.
'She knows as well as you do that you can dig yourself out of this rhyme bound coffin any time you chose.'

'I don't think Thathth very nithe.'
The shrivelled whale replied
'I thay that you thould walk the plank
For wordth that thound tho thnide.'

'Bethidth the theal hath thurely thaid
That all our endth are nigh.'
At the mention of ends the fish looked up
'Away? Or just worth a try?'

'Let's string the dog up!'
Said the Florida shark
The pirate blood in him stirring.
'Don't bother said Pin, he'll just pee in the gin
Besides I hear something whirring.'

'A helicopter!' Cried Hypatia. 'We're saved!'

'Don't count your blades to soon my lovely' urged Jazzme, somewhat disappointed with the idea of immanent rescue, his dive barely begun.

'I thought you counted chickens?' Mused Waz, thinking that chickens would indeed be fine things to count - wing by wing.'
'Besides it doesn't sound like a helicopter to me…more like a windmill.'

The Seal and the Fish swapped a worried glance.
The Sheep feigned animation.
If it were truly the sound of windmills they heard.
They'd arrived at an old location.

Hypatia set up deck chairs for the troop and passed out sun glasses, straw hats and copies of the latest thrillers on the New York Times Bestseller List. Then she went below to the galley and returned with a large tray of hollowed-out pineapples filled with rum punch with those cute little paper parasols stuck on the straws, and sandwiches.

"We may as well relax while we can. That moonshine will wear off in a day or so."

She walked over to the Ali Baba Basket and peeked inside. "Helloooooooooo, down there. Wouldn't you be more comfortable up here in the sun with the rest of us? I made you a sandwich and a little drinkie poo."

The hound just shook his head sadly. "I don't think she's ever coming out."

"Thure thhe will," offered Orchid brightly. "Jutht ath thoon as we reach the Outer Hebrideth."

"No wonder whales beach themselves, Jazzme love. They have no sense of direction." Hypatia found a couple of light weight blankets and some pillows and made the sleeping salmonid and the snoring seal as comfortable as she could."

The hound picked up his accordion and began to play. Buck, Pip and Fiona formed an impromptu trio and between sandwiches and rum punch, they regaled the travellers with sea shanties. Speckly and Lizardy were happily engrossed in their novels and Jazzme and Hypatia had wandered off to spend some time just talking when it finally occurred to her to ask........

"Jazzme, dear, does this ship have a captain, and if so shouldn't we offer him a sandwich?"