What? Harmless? Is that all its got to say? Harmless! One word!
Ford shrugged.
Well, there are a hundred billion stars in the Galaxy, and only a limited amount of space in the books microprocessors, he said, and no one knew much about the Earth of course.
Well for Gods sake I hope you managed to rectify that a bit.
Oh yes, well I managed to transmit a new entry off to the editor. He had to trim it a bit, but its still an improvement.
And what does it say now? asked Arthur.
Mostly harmless, admitted Ford with a slightly embarrassed cough.
Mostly harmless! shouted Arthur.
What was that noise? hissed Ford.
It was me shouting, shouted Arthur.
No! Shut up! said Ford. I think were in trouble.
You think were in trouble!
Outside the door were the sounds of marching feet.
The Dentrassi? whispered Arthur.
No, those are steel tipped boots, said Ford.
There was a sharp ringing rap on the door.
Then who is it? said Arthur.
Well, said Ford, if were lucky its just the Vogons come to throw us in to space.
And if were unlucky?
If were unlucky, said Ford grimly, the captain might be serious in his threat that hes going to read us some of his poetry first
Chapter 7
The second worst is that of the Azagoths 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 poems reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, 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.
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz smiled very slowly. This was done not so much for effect as because he was trying to remember the sequence of muscle movements. He had had a terribly therapeutic yell at his prisoners and was now feeling quite relaxed and ready for a little callousness.
The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation Chairsstrapped in. Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works were generally held in. Their early attempts at composition had been part of bludgeoning insistence that they be accepted as a properly evolved and cultured race, but now the only thing that kept them going was sheer bloodymindedness.
The sweat stood out cold on Ford Prefects brow, and slid round the electrodes strapped to his temples. These were attached to a battery of electronic equipmentimagery intensifiers, rhythmic modulators, alliterative residulators and simile dumpersall designed to heighten the experience of the poem and make sure that not a single nuance of the poets thought was lost.
Arthur Dent sat and quivered. He had no idea what he was in for, but he knew that he hadnt liked anything that had happened so far and didnt think things were likely to change.
The Vogon began to reada fetid little passage of his own devising.
Oh frettled gruntbuggly he began. Spasms wracked Fords bodythis was worse than ever hed been prepared for.
? thy micturations are to me | As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Aaaaaaarggggghhhhhh! went Ford Prefect, wrenching his head back as lumps of pain thumped through it. He could dimly see beside him Arthur lolling and rolling in his seat. He clenched his teeth.
Groop I implore thee, continued the merciless Vogon, my foonting turlingdromes.
His voice was rising to a horrible pitch of impassioned stridency. And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,| Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I dont!
Nnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyuuuuuuurrrrrrrggggggghhhhh! cried Ford Prefect and threw one final spasm as the electronic enhancement of the last line caught him full blast across the temples. He went limp.
Arthur lolled.
Now Earthlings whirred the Vogon (he didnt know that Ford Prefect was in fact from a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and wouldnt have cared if he had) I present you with a simple choice! Either die in the vacuum of space, or he paused for melodramatic effect, tell me how good you thought my poem was!
He threw himself backwards into a huge leathery bat-shaped seat and watched them. He did the smile again.
Ford was rasping for breath. He rolled his dusty tongue round his parched mouth and moaned.
Arthur said brightly: Actually I quite liked it.
Ford turned and gaped. Here was an approach that had quite simply not occurred to him.
The Vogon raised a surprised eyebrow that effectively obscured his nose and was therefore no bad thing.
Oh good he whirred, in considerable astonishment.
Oh yes, said Arthur, I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective.