Cellar | | | | "But Mr. Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months." "Oh, yes, well, as soon as I heard I went straight round to see them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them, had you? I mean, like actually telling anybody or anything." "But the plans were on display..." "On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them." "That's the display department." "With a flashlight." "Ah, well, the lights had probably gone." "So had the stairs." "But look, you found the notice, didn't you?" "Yes, yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying, 'Beware of the Leopard.'" |
Hermit/Madman | | | | "I will go mad!" he announced. "Good idea," said Ford Prefect, clambering down from the rock on which he had been sitting. Arthur's brain somersaulted. His jaw did press-ups. "I went mad for a while," said Ford, "did me no end of good." |
Bridge | | | | "There was a bridge built across the marshes. A cyberstructured hyperbridge, hundreds of miles in length, to carry ion-buggies and freighters over the swamp." "A bridge?" quirruled the mattress. "Here in the swamp?'' "A bridge," confirmed Marvin, "here in the swamp. It was going to revitalize the economy of the Squornshellous System. They spent the entire economy of the Squornshellous System building it. They asked me to open it. Poor fools." |
Bureaucrat | | | | Here is what to do if you want to get a lift from a Vogon: forget it. They are one of the most unpleasant races in the Galaxy - not actually evil, but bad-tempered, bureaucratic, officious and callous. They wouldn't even lift a finger to save their own grandmothers from the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal without orders - signed in triplicate, sent in, sent back, queried, lost, found, subjected to public inquiry, lost again, and finally buried in soft peat for three months and recycled as firelighters. |
Monument | | | | And this annoyance had been given its fullest expression in the statue in the center of all this monstrosity that was a statue of Arthur Dent, and an unflattering one. Fifty feet tall if it was an inch, there was not an inch of it that wasn't crammed with insult to its subject matter, and fifty feet of that sort of thing would be enough to make any subject feel bad. From the small pimple on the side of his nose to the poorish cut of his dressing gown, there was no aspect of Arthur Dent that wasn't lambasted and vilified by the sculptor. Arthur appeared as a gorgon, an evil, rapacious, ravening, bloodied ogre, slaughtering his way through an innocent one-man Universe. With each of the thirty arms that the sculptor in a fit of artistic fervor had decided to give him, he was either braining a rabbit, swatting a fly, pulling a wishbone, picking a flea out of his hair, or doing something that Arthur at first look couldn't quite identify. His many feet were mostly stamping on ants. |
Rats | | | | Trillian burst in through the door from her cabin. "My white mice have escaped!" she said. An expression of deep worry and concern failed to cross either of Zaphod's faces. "Nuts to your white mice," he said. Trillian glared an upset glare at him, and disappeared again. It is possible that her remark would have commanded greater attention had it been generally realized that human beings were only the third most intelligent life form present on the planet Earth, instead of (as was generally thought by most independent observers) the second. |
Scout | | | | With a searing whine a small black spider-like object shot through the air and disappeared down the corridor. "What was that?" hissed Zaphod. "Frogstar Scout robot class A out looking for you," said the man. "Hey yeah?" "Get down!" From the opposite direction came a larger black spider-like object. It zapped past them. "And that was…?" "A Frogstar Scout robot class B out looking for you." "And that?" said Zaphod, as a third one seared through the air. "A Frogstar Scout robot class C out looking for you." "Hey," chuckled Zaphod to himself, "pretty stupid robots eh?" From over the bridge came a massive rumbling hum. A gigantic black shape was moving over it from the opposite tower, the size and shape of a tank. "Holy photon, what's that?" "A tank," said the man, "Frogstar Scout robot class D come to get you." |
Highway | | | | Bypasses are devices that allow some people to dash from point A to point B very fast while other people dash from point B to point A very fast. People living at point C, being a point directly in between, are often given to wonder what's so great about point A that so many people from point B are so keen to get there, and what's so great about point B that so many people from point A are so keen to get there. They often wish that people would just once and for all work out where the hell they wanted to be. |
Torturer | | | | "Beeblebrox,"' he said, sticking his hands behind his head, "have you any idea what's going to happen to you on the Frogstar?" "They're going to feed me?" hazarded Zaphod hopefully. "They're going to feed you," said Roosta, "into the Total Perspective Vortex!" Zaphod had never heard of this. He believed that he had heard of all the fun things in the Galaxy, so he assumed that the Total Perspective Vortex was not fun. He asked Roosta what it was. "Only," said Roosta, "the most savage psychic torture a sentient being can undergo." Zaphod nodded a resigned nod. "So," he said, "no food, huh?" "Listen!" said Roosta urgently, "you can kill a man, destroy his body, break his spirit, but only the Total Perspective Vortex can annihilate a man's soul! The treatment lasts seconds, but the effects last the rest of your life!" "You ever had a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster?" asked Zaphod sharply. "This is worse." "Phreeow!" admitted Zaphod, much impressed. |
Philosopher's Stone | | | | "We," said Majikthise, "are Philosophers." "Though we may not be," said Vroomfondel waving a warning finger at the programmers. "Yes we are," insisted Majikthise. "We are quite definitely here as representatives of the Amalgamated Union of Philosophers, Sages, Luminaries and Other Thinking Persons, and we want this machine off, and we want it off now!" "What's the problem?" said Lunkwill. "I'll tell you what the problem is mate," said Majikthise, "demarcation, that's the problem!" "We demand," yelled Vroomfondel, "that demarcation may or may not be the problem!" "You just let the machines get on with the adding up," warned Majikthise, "and we'll take care of the eternal verities thank you very much. You want to check your legal position you do mate. Under law the Quest for Ultimate Truth is quite clearly the inalienable prerogative of your working thinkers. Any bloody machine goes and actually finds it and we're straight out of a job aren't we? I mean what's the use of our sitting up half the night arguing that there may or may not be a God if this machine only goes and gives us his bleeding phone number the next morning?" "That's right!" shouted Vroomfondel, "we demand rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty!" |
Potion | | | | Here's what the Encyclopedia Galactica has to say about alcohol. It says that alcohol is a colourless volatile liquid formed by the fermentation of sugars and also notes its intoxicating effect on certain carbon-based life forms. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterwards. The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself. Take the juice from one bottle of that Ol' Janx Spirit, it says. Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V - Oh that Santraginean sea water, it says. Oh those Santraginean fish!!! Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must be properly iced or the benzine is lost). Allow four litres of Fallian marsh gas to bubble through it, in memory of all those happy Hikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Fallia. Over the back of a silver spoon float a measure of Qualactin Hypermint extract, redolent of all the heady odours of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle sweet and mystic. Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading the fires of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink. Sprinkle Zamphuor. Add an olive. Drink ... but ... very carefully ... The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy sells rather better than the Encyclopedia Galactica. |