Time Is An Illusion. Lunchtime Doubly So.
Space is big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it’s a long way down the road to the chemist’s, but that’s just peanuts to space.
Why Are People Born? Why Do They Die? Why Do They Want To Spend So Much Of The Intervening Time Wearing Digital Watches?
“Share and Enjoy’ is the company motto of the hugely successful Sirius Cybernetics Corporation Complaints Division, which now covers the major land masses of three medium-sized planets and is the only part of the Corporation to have shown a consistent profit in recent years. The motto stands– or rather stood– in three mile high illuminated letters near the Complaints Department spaceport on Eadrax.
Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, Thy Micturations Are To Me, As Plurdled Gabbleblotchits, On A Lurgid Bee,
Vogon poetry, is of course, the third worst in the universe.
The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal hemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off.
Time Is An Illusion. Lunchtime Doubly So.
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unassuming yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.