A large group of Russian soldiers crossing the Finnish border area in 1939 were moving down a road when they heard a voice from behind a small hill:
“One Finnish soldier is better than ten Russian!”
The Russian commander quickly ordered 10 of his best men to go over the hill. A vicious gun-battle broke out and continued for a few minutes, and then there was silence.
Have you ever had a bad day? I imagine that fellow is having a bad day. Not the sort of day any of us are familiar with. I’m talking about the sort of day that gets written about in bad pop songs. He’s going through a day that turns into the intro sequence for a daytime TV show, except there’s less jangly music in the background and more assault charges.
A towel is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta. You can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors. You can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon, or use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth.
Way out West there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Coyote. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Coyote, he called himself Coyote. Now, Coyote — he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.