| Book |
This is the story of the Hitch hikers guide to the galaxy, prehaps the most
remarkable, certainly the most successful book ever to come out of the great
publishing corporations of Ursa Minor. More popular than the Celestial Home
Care Omnibus, better selling than Fifty More Things to do in Zero Gravity,
and more controversial than Oolon Colluphid's trilogy of philosophical
blockbusters Where God Went Wrong, Some More of God's Greatest Mistakes and
Who is this God Person Anyway?
In many of the more relaxed civilizations on the Outer Eastern Rim of the Galaxy, the Hitch Hiker's Guide has already supplanted the great Encyclopedia Galactica as the standard repository of all knowledge and wisdom, for though it has many omissions and contains much that is apocryphal, or at least wildly inaccurate, it scores over the older, more pedestrian work in two important ways. First, it is slightly cheaper; and second it has the words "Don't Panic" inscribed in large friendly letters on its cover. To tell the story of the book it is best to tell the story of some of the minds behind it. A human, from the planet Earth, was one of them. Thou as our story opens he no more knows he destiny than a tea leaf knows the history of the East-India company. His name is Arthur Dent. He is a six-foot tall ape decendant and someone is trying to drive a bypass through his home |
| Prosser | Come off it, Mr Dent, you can't win you know. Look, there's no point in lying down in the path of progress |
| Arthur | I've gone off the idea of progress, it's over rated |
| Prosser | But you must realise that you can't lie in front of the bulldozer indefinitely. |
| Arthur | I'm game. We'll see who rusts first |
| Prosser | I'm afraid you're going to have to accept it, this bypass has got to be built and it's going to be built! Nothing you can say or do... |
| Arthur | Why has it got to be built? |
| Prosser | unsure why do you mean, why has it got to be built? rallying It is a bypass, you've got to build bypasses! |
| Arthur | Didn't anyone consider the alternatives? |
| Prosser | There aren't any alternatives. You were quite entitled to make any suggestions or protests at the appropriate time |
| Arthur | Appropriate time! The first I knew about it was when a workman arrived at the door yesterday. I asked him if he has come to clean the windows and he said he had come to demolish the house. He didn't tell me straight away of course. Oh no, first he wiped a couple of windows and charged me a fiver. Then he told me |
| Prosser | But Mr Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months |
| Arthur | Yes, I went round to find 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 |
| Prosser | But the plans were on display |
| Arthur | And how many average members of the public are of the habit of casually dropping round to the local planning office for an evening? It's not exactly a noted social venue, is it? And even if you had popped in on the off chance that some raving beruocrat want to knock your house down - the plans weren't immediately obvious to the eye, were they? |
| Prosser | That depends where you were looking |
| Arthur | I eventually had to go down to the cellar |
| Prosser | That's the display department |
| Arthur | With a torch |
| Prosser | Ah, well the lights had probably gone |
| Arthur | So had the stairs |
| Prosser | You found the notice didn't you? |
| Arthur | 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''. Ever thought of going into advertising? |
| Prosser | It's not as if it's a particularly nice house anyway |
| Arthur | indignant I happen rather to like it |
| Prosser | Have you any idea how much damage that bulldozer would suffer if I let it roll straight over you? |
| Arthur | How much? |
| Prosser | None at all |
| Book |
By a strange coincidence, None at all is exactly how much
suspicion the ape-descendant Arthur Dent had that one of his
closest friends was not descended from an ape, but was in fact
from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse
Arthur Dent's failure to suspect this reflects the care with which his friend blended himself into human society - after a fairly shaky start. When he first arrived, 15 years ago, the minimal research he had done suggested to him that the name Ford Prefect would be nicely inconspicus. He will enter our story in 35 seconds and say ``Hello Arthur''. The ape decendant will greet him in return, but indifference to a million years of evolution, he will not attempt to pick flees off him. Earthmen are not proud of their ancestors and never invite them round to dinner. |
| Ford | Hello Arthur! |
| Arthur | Ford! Hi, how are you? |
| Ford | Fine. Look, are you busy? |
| Arthur | Well, I've just got this bulldozer to lie in front of. Otherwise, well no |
| Ford | There's a pub down the road. Let's have a drink and we can talk |
| Arthur | Don't you understand? |
| Prosser | Mr Dent, we're waiting |
| Arthur | Ford, that man wants to knock my house down |
| Ford | Well, he can do it while you're away can't he? |
| Arthur | But I don't want him to! |
| Ford | Well, ask him to wait till you get back |
| Arthur | Ford! |
| Ford | Arthur, will you please just listen to me? I'm not fooling. I have got to tell you the most important thing you have ever heard, I've got to tell you now and I've got to tell you in that pub there |
| Arthur | Why? |
| Prosser | Because you're going to need a very stiff drink. Now just trust me |
| Arthur | I'll see what I can do. This had better be good. calling out Hello - Mr Prosser? |
| Prosser | Yes Mr Dent! Have you come to your senses yet? |
| Arthur | Can we just assume for the moment that I havn't? |
| Prosser | Well? |
| Arthur | And that I'm going to be staying put here until you go away? |
| Prosser | So? |
| Arthur | So you're going to be standing around all day doing nothing |
| Prosser | Could be |
| Arthur | Well, if you're resigned to standing around, doing nothing all day, you don't actually need me here all the time, do you? |
| Prosser | Erm, no, not as such |
| Arthur | So if you could just take it as read that I'm actually here, I could just slip off down to the pub for half an hour. How does that sound? |
| Prosser | That sounds very resonable Mr Dent. I'm sure we don't acutally need you there for the whole time. We can just hold up our end of the confrontation. |
| Arthur | And if you want to pop off for a bit later on, I can always cover for you in return |
| Prosser | Oh, thank you. That would be fine, very kind of you Mr Dent, very kind |
| Arthur | And it goes without saying that you don't try and know my house over while I'm away |
| Prosser | Good Lord no, Mr Dent! |
| Arthur | To Ford Do you think we can trust him? |
| Ford | Myself I would trust him to the end of the Earth |
| Arthur | But how far's that? |
| Ford | About 12 minutes away. Come on I need a drink |
| Book |
By drink, Ford Prefect ment alcohol. The Encyclopedia Galactica describes
alcohol as 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. The effect of which is like 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 |
| Ford | Six pints of bitter, and quickly please, the world's about to end |
| Barman | Oh yes sir? Nice weather for it. Going to watch the match this afternoon, sir? |
| Ford | No, no point |
| Barman | Foregone conclusion you reckon sir? Arsenal without a chance? |
| Ford | No, it's just that the world's about to end |
| Barman | Oh yes sir, so you said. Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did |
| Ford | No, not really |
| Barman | There you are sir, six pints |
| Ford | Keep the change |
| Barman | What, from a fiver? Thank you sir |
| Ford | You've got ten minutes left to spend it |
| Arthur | Ford, would you please tell me what the hell is going on |
| Ford | Drink up, you've got three pints to get through |
| Arthur | Three pints? At lunchtime? |
| Ford | Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so |
| Arthur | Very deep. You should send that in to the Reader's Digest. They've got a page for people like you |
| Ford | Drink up |
| Arthur | Why three pints? |
| Ford | Muscle relaxant, you'll need it |
| Arthur | Did I do anything wrong today, or has the world always been like this and I've been too wrapped up in myself to notice? |
| Ford | Alright, I'll try to explain. How long have we known each other? |
| Arthur | Five years, maybe six. Most of it seemed to make some sense at the time |
| Ford | Alright, how would you react if I said that I'm not from Guildford after all, but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse? |
| Arthur | I don't know. Why? Do you think it's the sort of thing you're likly to say? |
| Ford | Drink up. The world's about to end |
| Book |
On this particular Thursday, something was moving quietly through
the ionosphere above the surface of the planet, but few people on the
surface of the planet were aware of it.
One of the six thousand million people how hadn't glanced into the ionosphere recently was called Lady Sinthea Fitsmilten. He was, at that moment, standing outside Arthur Dent's house in Cottington. Many of those listening to her speech would have experienced great satisfaction to know that in four minutes time she would evaporate into a whif of hydrogen, ozone and carbon monoxide. However, when the moment came that would hardly notice because they would be too busy, evaporating themselves. |
| LadyS | I have been asked to come here to say a few words to mark the beginning of work on the very splended and worthwhile new Bedinford bypass. angry shouts And I must say immediately what a great honour and a great priviledge I think it must for you, the people of Cottington, to have this gleming new motorway going through your cruddy little village. more angry shouts I'm sorry, sorry - your little country village of Cruddy Cottington. I know how proud you must feel at this moment to know that your obscure and unsung hamlet will now arise reborn as the very spended and worthwhile, Cottington Service station. Providing welcome refeshment and sanitary releaf, for every weary traveler on his way. And for myself, it gives me great pleasure to take this bottle of very splended and worthwile champagne and break it against the noble brow of this very splended and worthwile yellow bulldozer. |
| Arthur | What's that?! |
| Ford | Don't worry - they haven't started yet |
| Arthur | Oh good |
| Ford | It's probabley just your house being knocked down |
| Arthur | What! |
| Ford | It hardly makes any difference at this stage |
| Arthur | My god it is! What the hell are they doing? We had an agreement |
| Ford | Let them have their fun |
| Arthur | Damm you and your fairystories, they're smashing up my home. Stop you vandals, homebreakers, Stop! |
| Ford | calling after him Arthur! Come back it's pointless. Barman, quickly, can you just give me four packets of peanuts? |
| Barman | Certainly Sir, there we are. 28 pence. |
| Ford | Keep the change |
| Barman | Are you serious sir? Do you really think the world is going to end this afternoon? |
| Ford | Yes, in just over 1 minute and 25 seconds |
| Barman | Well, isn't there anything we can do? |
| Ford | No, nothing |
| Barman | Well, I suppose we had all better lie down and put a paper bag over our heads |
| Ford | If you like |
| Barman | Well, will that help? |
| Ford | No. Excuse me I've got to find my friend |
| Barman | Oh well then. Last orders please. |
| Arthur | You pinstripe barbarians, I'll sue the council for every penny its got! I'll have you hung, drawn and quartered! And whipped! And boiled... until... until... until you've had enough. |
| Ford | Arthur, don't bother there isn't time. Get over here, that's only 10 seconds left |
| Arthur | And then I'll do it again! And when I've finished I will take all the little bits, and I will jump on them! And I will carry on jumping on them, until I get blisters, or I can think of anything even more unpleasant to do, and then... WHAT THE HELL'S THAT?! |
| Ford | Arthur quick, over here. |
| Arthur | But what the hell is it? |
| Ford | It's a fleet of flying saucers, what do you think it is? Quick, you've got to get hold of this rock |
| Arthur | What do you mean, flying saucers? |
| Ford | Just that. It's a Vogon constructor fleet. I picked up news of their arrivial a few hours ago on my sub-ether radio. |
| Arthur | Ford, I don't think I can cope with any more of this. I think I just go and have a little lie down something |
| Vogon | People of Earth, your attention please. This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council," the voice continued. "As you will no doubt be aware, the plans for development of the outlying regions of the Galaxy require the building of a hyperspatial express route through your star system, and regrettably your planet is one of those scheduled for demolition. The process will take slightly less that two of your Earth minutes. Thank you. |
| Vogon | There's no point in acting all surprised about it. All the planning charts and demolition orders have been on display in your local planning department on Alpha Centauri for fifty of your Earth years, so you've had plenty of time to lodge any formal complaint and it's far too late to start making a fuss about it now. |
| Vogon | What do you mean you've never been to Alpha Centauri? For heaven's sake mankind, it's only four light years away you know. I'm sorry, but if you can't be bothered to take an interest in local affairs that's your own lookout. Energise the demolition beams. |
| Ford | I brough some peanuts |
| Arthur | What? |
| Ford | If you've never been through a matter transference beam before you've probably lost some salt and protein. The beer you had should have cushioned your system a bit. How are you feeling? |
| Arthur | Like a military academy. Bit of me keep on passing out. If I ask you where the hell we were, would I regret it? |
| Ford | We're safe |
| Arthur | Oh good |
| Ford | We're in a small galley cabin, in one of the spaceships of the Vogon Constructor Fleet |
| Arthur | Ah, his is obviously some strange usage of the word /safe/ that I wasn't previously aware of. |
| Ford | I'll have a look for light |
| Arthur | How did we get here? |
| Ford | We hitched a lift |
| Arthur | Excuse me, are you trying to tell me that we just stuck out our thumbs and some green bug-eyed monster stuck his head out and said "Hi fellas, hop right in. I can take you as far as the Basingstoke roundabout? |
| Ford | Well, the Thumb's an electronic sub-etha signalling device, the roundabout's at Barnard's Star six light years away, but otherwise, that's more or less right |
| Arthur | And the bug-eyed monster? |
| Ford | It's green, yes |
| Arthur | Fine, when can I go home? |
| Ford | You can't. Ah, I've found the light |
| Arthur | Good grief, is this really the interior of a flying saucer? |
| Ford | It certainly is. What do you think |
| Arthur | It's a bit squalid isn't it? |
| Ford | Well, what did you expect? |
| Arthur | Well, I don't know; flashing lights, gleaming control panels, computer screens. Not old matresses |
| Ford | These are the Dentrassi sleeping quaters |
| Arthur | I thought you said they were called Vogons or something |
| Ford | The Vogons run the ship, the Dentrassis are the cooks, they let us on board. |
| Arthur | I'm confused |
| Ford | Here, have a look at this |
| Arthur | What is it |
| Ford | It's the Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy. It's a sort of electronic book. It tells you everything you want to know. That's its job. |
| Arthur | I like the cover, "Don't Panic". It's the first helpful or intelligible thing anybody's said to me all day |
| Ford | That's why it sells so well. Here, press this button and the screen will give you the index. You've got several millions entries so fast-wind through the index to V. There you are - "Vogon Constructor Fleets" - enter that code on the tabulator and read what it says. |
| Book |
Vogon Constructor Fleets. 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 and recycled as firelighters
he best way to get a drink out of a Vogon is to stick your finger down his throat, and the best way to irritate him is to feed his grandmother to the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal |
| Arthur | What a strange book. How did we get a life then? |
| Ford | Well, that's the point, it's out of date now and I'm doing the field research for the new revised edition of The Guide. So, for instance, I'll will have to include a revision pointing out that since the Vogons have made so much money being professionly unplesant, they can now afford to employ Dantrassi cooks. Which gives us a rather useful little loophole. |
| Arthur | Who are the Dantrassi |
| Ford | They're the best cooks and the best drink mixers and they don't give a wet slap about anything else. And they'll always help hitch hikers aboard, partly because they like the company, but mostly because it annoys the Vogons. Which is exactly the sort of thing you need to know if you're an impoverished hitch hiker trying to see the marvels of the Universe for less than thirty Altairian dollars a day. And that's my job. Fun, isn't it? |
| Arthur | It's amazing |
| Ford | Unfortunately I got stuck on the Earth for rather longer than I intended. I came for a week and got stuck for fifteen years |
| Arthur | But how did you get there in the first place? |
| Ford | I got a lift with a teaser. You don't know what a teaser is. I'll tell you. Teasers are usually rich kids with nothing to do. They cruise around looking for planets which haven't made interstellar contact yet and buzz them. |
| Arthur | Buzz them? |
| Ford | Yeah, hey buzz them. They find some isolated spot with very few people around, then land right by some poor soul whom no one's ever going to believe and then strut up and down in front of him wearing silly antennae on their heads and making beep beep noises. Rather childish really. |
| Arthur | Ford, I don't know if this sounds like a silly question, but what am I doing here? |
| Ford | Well you know that, I rescued you from the Earth |
| Arthur | And what's happened to the Earth? |
| Ford | Ah. It's been disintergrated |
| Arthur | Has it |
| Ford | Yes. It just boiled away into space |
| Arthur | Look, I'm a bit upset about that |
| Ford | Yes, I can understand that |
| Arthur | So, what do I do? |
| Ford | You come along with me and enjoy yourself. You'll need to have this fish in your ear |
| Arthur | I beg your pardon! a strange noise starts |
| Ford | Listen, it might be important. It's the Vogon captin making an announcement on the PA |
| Arthur | But I can't speak Vogon |
| Ford | You don't need to. Just put that fish in your ear; come on, it's only a little one |
| Prosser | Message repeats. This is your captain speaking, so stop whatever you're doing and pay attention. First of all I see from our instruments that we have a couple of hitch hikers aboard. Hello wherever you are. I just want to make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome. I worked hard to get where I am today, and I didn't become captain of a Vogon constructor ship simply so I could turn it into a taxi service for a load of degenerate freeloaders. I have sent out a search party, and as soon that they find you I will put you off the ship. If you're very lucky I might read you some of my poetry first. Secondly, we are about to jump into hyperspace for the journey to Barnard's Star. On arrival we will stay in dock for a seventy-two hour refit, and no one's to leave the ship during that time. I repeat, all planet leave is cancelled. I've just had an unhappy love affair, so I don't see why anybody else should have a good time. Message ends. |
| Arthur | Charming man. I wish I had a daughter so I could forbid her to marry one |
| Ford | You wouldn't need to, they've got as much sex appeal as a road accident and you'd better be prepared for the jump into hyperspace - it's unpleasantly like being drunk |
| Arthur | What's so unpleasant about being drunk? |
| Ford | You ask a glass of water |
| Arthur | Ford? |
| Ford | Yeah? |
| Arthur | What's this fish doing in my ear? |
| Ford | Translating for you. Look under Bable Fish in the book |
| Book |
The Babel fish is
small, yellow and leech-like, and probably the oddest thing in the Universe.
It feeds on brain-wave energy not from its carrier but from those around it.
It absorbs all unconscious mental frequencies from this brain-wave energy to
nourish itself with. It then excretes into the mind of its carrier a
telepathic matrix formed by combining the conscious thought frequencies with
nerve signals picked up from the speech centres of the brain which has
supplied them. The practical upshot of all this is that if you stick a Babel
fish in your ear you can instantly understand anything said to you in any
form of language. The speech patterns you actually hear decode the brain-
wave matrix
Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anything so mind- bogglingly useful could have evolved purely by chance that some thinkers have chosen to see it as the final and clinching proof of the /non/-existence of God. The argument goes something like this: `I refuse to prove that I exist,' says God, `for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.' But,' says Man, `The Babel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED.' `Oh dear,' says God, `I hadn't thought of that,' and promptly vanished in a puff of logic. `Oh, that was easy,' says Man, and for an encore goes on to prove that black is white and gets himself killed on the next zebra crossing. Most leading theologians claim that this argument is a load of dingo's kidneys, but that didn't stop Oolon Colluphid making a small fortune when he used it as the central theme of his best-selling book Well That About Wraps It Up For God Meanwhile, the poor Babel fish, by effectively removing all barriers to communication between different races and cultures, has caused more and bloodier wars than anything else in the history of creation |
| Arthur | What an extraordinary book |
| Ford | Help me write the new edition |
| Arthur | No. I want to go back to Earth again I'm afriad. Or it's nearest equivilent. |
| Ford | You're turning down a hundred billion new worlds to explore |
| Arthur | Did you get much useful material on Earth? |
| Ford | I was able to extent the entry, yes |
| Arthur | Let me see what it says in this edition then |
| Ford | ok |
| Arthur | Let's see. E... Earth. It doesn't seem to have an entry |
| Ford | Yes it does, own there, see at the bottom of the screen, just under Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon 6. |
| Arthur | Oh yes, |
| Book | Harmless |
| Arthur | Harmless? Is that all it's got to say, one word - harmless. What the hell is that ment to mean? |
| Ford | Well, there are a hundred billion stars in the Galaxy, and only a limited amount of space in the book. And no one knew much about the Earth of course |
| Arthur | I hope you managed to rectify that a little |
| Ford | Oh yes, well I managed to transmit a new entry off to the editor. He had to trim it a bit, but it's still an improvement |
| Arthur | And what does it say now? |
| Ford | Mostly harmless |
| Arthur | Mostly harmless! |
| Ford | Well that's the way it is. We're on a different scale now |
| Arthur | Alright Ford. I'm with you. I'm bloody well comming with you Sound of footsteps |
| Ford | That is assuming we actually get there |
| Arthur | What's that? |
| Ford | If we're lucky it's just the Vogons come to throw us in to space |
| Arthur | And if we're unlucky? |
| Ford | If we're unlucky, the captain might be serious in his threat that he's going to read us some of his poetry first |
| Book |
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 haemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled "My Favourite Bath-time Gurgles" when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilisation, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England in the destruction of the planet Earth Vogon poetry is mild by comparison |
| Arthur | With Ford, both in great pain |
| Vogon |
Oh frettled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me | As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee. Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes And
hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,| Or I will rend thee in the
gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!
Now Earthlings... I present you with a simple choice! Either die in the vacuum of space, or... tell me how good you thought my poem was! |
| Arthur | brightly Actually I quite liked it. |
| Ford | Oh good... |
| Arthur | Oh yes, I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective. |
| Vogon | Do continue |
| Arthur | Oh... and er... interesting rhythmic devices too, which seemed to counterpoint the... er... er... |
| Ford | counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the... er... |
| Arthur | ..humanity of the... |
| Ford | Vogonity |
| Arthur | Ah yes, Vogonity (sorry) of the poet's compassionate soul, which contrives through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other, and one is left with a profound and vivid insight into... into... er... |
| Ford | Into whatever it was the poem was about! Well done, Arthur, that was very good |
| Vogon | So what you're saying is that I write poetry because underneath my mean callous heartless exterior I really just want to be loved? |
| Ford | Well I mean yes, don't we all, deep down, you know... er... |
| Vogon | No, well you're completely wrong, I just write poetry to throw my mean callous heartless exterior into sharp relief. I'm going to throw you off the ship anyway. Guard! Take the prisoners to number three airlock and throw them out! |
| Ford | You can't throw us into space we're trying to write a book! |
| Guard | Resistance is useless! |
| Arthur | I don't want to die now! I've still got a headache! I don't want to go to heaven with a headache, I'd be all cross and wouldn't enjoy it! |
| Guard | Resistance is useless! Ford and Arthur are thrown into the airlock |
| Ford | Potentially bright lad I thought |
| Arthur | We're trapped now aren't we? |
| Ford | Yes, we're trapped |
| Arthur | So this is it, we're going to die |
| Ford | Yes, except... no! Wait a minute! What's this switch? |
| Arthur | What? Where? |
| Ford | No, I was only fooling, we are going to die after all |
| Arthur | You know, it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young |
| Ford | Why, what did she tell you? |
| Arthur | I don't know, I didn't listen. |
| Ford | Terrific blackout. screams. end |
| / | Root |
| Alternate | The Weird and Wonderful |
| Backlinks | What are backlinks |
| John Gilmore | What's Wrong with Copy Protection |
| Screenwriters Blues | The lyrics from which the site name comes from |
| Archives | Blog Archives |
| One | Archive 1 |
| Two | Archive 2 |
| Three | Archive 3 |
| Four | Archive 4 |
| Five | Archive 5 |
| Six | Archive 6 |
| Seven | Archive 7 |
| Eight | Archive 8 |
| Nine | Archive 9 |
| Ten | Archive 10 |
| Eleven | Archive 11 |
| Twelve | Archive 12 |
| Thirteen | Archive 13 |
| Fourteen | Archive 14 |
| Fifteen | Archive 15 |
| Sixteen | Archive 16 |
| Seventeen | Archive 17 |
| Eighteen | Archive 18 |
| Nineteen | Archive 19 |
| Twenty | Archive 20 |
| Twenty One | Archive 21 |
| Twenty Two | Archive 22 |
| Twenty Three | Archive 23 |
| Twenty Four | Archive 24 |
| Twenty Five | Archive 25 |
| Twenty Six | Archive 26 |
| Twenty Seven | Archive 27 |
| Twenty Eight | Archive 28 |
| Photos | Poor People Caught on Film |
| Ben 2003 | Ben's Birthday |
| BotE Xmas Feast | Halls Xmas Party 2002 |
| The End | End Of School Photos |
| Golden Gate | Photos from the Golden Gate Bridge |
| IOI 2002 | IOI in Korea |
| Jack and the Beanstalk | Jack and the Beanstalk |
| Laura's B'Day | Laura's Birthday |
| Mt View | Moutain View |
| Prom | STRS Prom |
| RIP Scan | Results of a Stage Scan Fire |
| Yosemite | Yosemite National Park |
| Projects | Incomplete things from the lab |
| Seagull's Bane | Linux Automounter |
| bttrackd | BitTorrent Tracker |
| CAPTCHA | CAPTCHA CGI script |
| Conserv | Console Serving |
| CSG | CSG Stuff |
| WWW | DoC WWW Setup |
| Figures | Statistics Gathering |
| NSANet | DoC Secure Network |
| TINI | Setting up TINIs |
| Deerpark | Using Tor with Firefox/1.1 (Deerpark) |
| DNSFix | Fixing DNS |
| Xovers | XTA Crossover Control |
| IAFS | Archive Org Storage |
| JBIG2 | JBIG2 Encoder |
| Verify | PGP Key Verifier |
| Landscape | Notes from the Blue Sky |
| MaxFlow | Maximal Flow in Python |
| PyBloom | Bloom Filters in Python |
| pyGnuTLS | Python wrapping of GnuTLS |
| Sxmap | Apache SuEXEC Map |
| Hellard | Union Server Notes |
| Recordings | Free recordings |
| ICSM Choir | St Paul's Church |
| School | Ancient School Stuff |
| Applied Phy Notes | Crap and Incomplete |
| Pure 3 | Notes on bits of the OCR module |
| Y/02 | STRS Year of 2002 |
| Writings | Who knows |
| Cap Systems | Capability Systems |
| HHGG Play | A play from the beginning of Hitch Hikers |
| Intro | Introduction to me |
| Suprema | JMC2 Group Project |
| MP Letters | Letters I've written to my MP |
| Sound | Sound With Dramsoc |
| SyncThreading | The wonders of user-land threads |