The Book: In the beginning the universe was created. This made a lot of people angry and has widely been considered as a bad move.
The Book: It is important to note that suddenly, and against all probability, a sperm whale had been called into existence, several miles above the surface of an alien planet. And since this is not a naturally tenable position for a whale, this innocent creature had very little time to come to terms with its identity. This is what it thought, as it fell:
The Whale: Ahhh! Woooh! What's happening? Who am I? Why am I here? What's my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I? Okay okay, calm down calm down get a grip now. Ooh, this is an interesting sensation. What is it? Its a sort of tingling in my... well I suppose I better start finding names for things. Lets call it a... tail! Yeah! Tail! And hey, what's this roaring sound, whooshing past what I'm suddenly gonna call my head? Wind! Is that a good name? It'll do. Yeah, this is really exciting. I'm dizzy with anticipation! Or is it the wind? There's an awful lot of that now isn't it? And what's this thing coming toward me very fast? So big and flat and round, it needs a big wide sounding name like 'Ow', 'Ownge', 'Round', 'Ground'! That's it! Ground! Ha! I wonder if it'll be friends with me? Hello, Ground!
[Cuts to a distant view as the whale hits the ground and spews up a large mushroom cloud of snow]
The Book: Curiously, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias, as it fell, was, "Oh no, not again!" Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly *why* the bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now.
Arthur: All my life I've had this strange feeling that there's something big and sinister going on in the world.
Slartibartfast: No, that's perfectly normal paranoia. Everyone in the universe gets that.
The Book: The Encyclopedia Galactica, in its chapter on Love states that it is far too complicated to define. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say on the subject of love: Avoid, if at all possible. Unfortunately, Arthur Dent has never read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
Arthur: It must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
The Book: What to do if you find yourself stuck with no hope of rescue: Consider yourself lucky that life has been good to you so far. Alternatively, if life hasn't been good to you so far, which given your present circumstances seems more likely, consider yourself lucky that it won't be troubling you much longer.
Dolphins: [singing] So long, and thanks for all the fish / So sad that it should come to this / We tried to warn you all, but, oh, dear / You may not share out intellect / Which might explain your disrespect / For all the natural wonders that grow around you / So long, so long, and thanks for all the fish! The world's about to be destroyed / There's no point getting all annoyed / Lie back and let the planet dissolve around you / Despite those nets of tuna fleets / We thought that most of you were sweet / Especially tiny tots and your pregnant women / So long, so long, so long, so long, so long! So long, so long, so long, so long, so long! So long, so long, and thanks for all the fish!/ If I had just one last wish / I would like a tasty fish!/ If we could just change one thing / We would all have learnt to sing!/ Come one and all / Man and mammal / Side by side / In life's great gene pool!/ So long, so long, so long, so long, so long / So long, so long, so long, so long / So long, so long and thanks for all the fish!
The Book: It's an important and popular fact that things are not always what they seem. For instance, on the planet Earth, Man had always assumed that he was the most intelligent species occupying the planet, instead of the *third* most intelligent. The second most intelligent creatures were of course dolphins who, curiously enough, had long known of the impending destruction of the planet earth. They had made many attempts to alert mankind to the danger, but most of their communications were misinterpreted as amusing attempts to punch footballs or whistle for titbits. So they eventually decided they would leave earth by their own means. The last ever dolphin message was misinterpreted as a surprisingly sophisticated attempt to do a double backward somersault through a hoop while whistling the star-spangled banner, but in fact the message was this: So long and thanks for all the fish.
Arthur: Normality? We can talk about normality until the cows come home.
Ford: What is normal?
Trillian: What is home?
Zaphod: What're cows?
Lunkwill: Do you...
Deep Thought: Have an answer for you? Yes. But you're not going to like it.
Fook: Please tell us. We must know!
Deep Thought: Okay. The answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything is...
[wild cheers from audience, then silence]
Deep Thought: 42.
Slartibartfast: Perhaps I'm old and tired, but I think that the chances of finding out what's actually going on are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is to say, "Hang the sense of it," and keep yourself busy. I'd much rather be happy than right any day.
Arthur Dent: And are you?
Slartibartfast: Ah, no.
Slartibartfast: Well, that's where it all falls down, of course.
Zaphod: Why so edgy, baby doll? Relax.
Trillian: Why so edgy? You wanna know why I'm edgy?
[fires Point-Of View gun at Zaphod]
Zaphod: [from Trillian's view] Of course you're edgy. Your planet's been blown up and you've been tooling round the galaxy with the guy who signed the order. You actually wanted to know the question because you always wondered if there was more to life and now you're crushed because you find out there really isn't.
Zaphod: [from Zaphod's view] Hey, fantastic. Psychedelic.
Zaphod: [from Trillian's view] You have no home and no family and now you're stuck with me, another in a long line of men who doesn't really get you.
Zaphod: [from Zaphod's view] That's not true.
Zaphod: [from Trillian's view] And you're worried that you might have blown it with the one guy who really does.
Zaphod: Oh, baby doll. Give me that thing.
[takes Point-Of-View gun off Trillian and aims it at her]
Trillian: It won't affect me. I'm already a woman.
Vogon: [being chased by Ford Prefect with a towel] He's got a TOWEL!
Arthur Dent: Just wait a sodding minute! You want a question that goes with the answer for 42? Well, how about what's six times seven? Or how many Vogons does it take to change a lightbulb? Here's one! How many roads must a man walk down?
Lunkwill: Hey, that's not bad!
Arthur Dent: Fine. Fine, take it. Because my head is filled with questions and I can assure you no answer to any one of them has ever brought me one iota of happiness. Except for one. The one. The only question I've ever wanted an answer to - is she the one? The answer bloody well isn't forty-two, it's yes. Undoubtedly, unequivocally, unabashedly yes. And for one week, one week in my sad little blip of an existence, it made me happy.
Trillian: That's a good answer...
Lunkwill: Rubbish, we don't want to be happy, we want to be famous!
Fook: Yeah! What is all this "is she the one" tripe?
Lunkwill: Take his brain!
Trillian: You idiot! You signed the order to destroy Earth!
Zaphod: I did?
Arthur: He did?
Trillian: Love and kisses Zaphod? You didn't even read it, did you?
Zaphod: Well, I'm president, I don't have a lot of time for reading.
Trillian: My whole planet destroyed because you thought someone wanted your autograph!
Ford: You're looking for the Ultimate Question.
Zaphod: No, I tried that: Why? 42. Doesn't work.
Trillian: Who are you?
Arthur: Er, Dent, Arthur Dent.
Trillian: No, I mean *who* are you?
Arthur: Oh, the costume. Er, Livingston I presume. Yeah. Not as good as Darwin I know but the best I could manage at short notice.
Trillian: You're the first person whose gotten that right. Everyone keeps calling me Santa.
Trillian: Yeah, and I thought the beagle made it a dead giveaway.
Arthur: Well, I suppose most of the people who come to these parties are idiots.
[the record player is bumped, the music stops]
Arthur: I said all these people are idiots!
[everyone stares at him]
Arthur: Oh god...
Marvin: You can blame the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation for making androids with GPP...
Arthur: Um... what's GPP?
Marvin: [despondently] Genuine People Personalities. I'm a personality prototype. You can tell, can't you...?
The Book: The best drink in existance is the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, the effect of which, is like having your brains smashed out with a slice of lemon... wrapped around a large gold brick.
Arthur: OK. Leave this to me. I'm British. I know how to queue.
[Marvin, Trillian, Ford, Arthur and Zaphod are being fired upon by Vogons - the others flee as Marvin only very slowly walks away]
Marvin: I don't know what you're all worried about. Vogons are the worst marksmen in the galaxy.
[he is shot in the back of the head]
Marvin: Now I've got a headache.
Ford: If you want to survive out here, you've got to know where your towel is.
The Book: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a wholly remarkable book. More popular, certainly more successful than the Celestial Home Care Omnibus, better selling than Fifty-Three 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?
Marvin: I think you ought to know I'm feeling very depressed.
Trillian: Well, we have something that may take your mind off it.
Marvin: It won't work, I have an exceptionally large mind.
Trillian: Yeah, we know.
Arthur Dent: I'm sorry, did you just say you needed my brain?
Fook: Yes, to complete the program.
Arthur Dent: Well, you can't have it, I'm using it!
Arthur Dent: Cheeky mouse...
[to Arthur, shortly after they first meet]
Trillian: I want to go somewhere I've never been, and I'd like to go with you.
Marvin: Not that anyone cares what I say, but the restaurant is at the *other* end of the Universe.
Trillian: Let's go somewhere.
Arthur: Where did you have in mind?
Arthur: That new club on Dean Street?
Trillian: No, it's a country. Off the coast of Africa.
Slartibartfast: I must warn you, we're going to pass through, well, a sort of gateway thing.
Arthur Dent: What?
Slartibartfast: It may disturb you. It scares the willies out of me.
Ghostly Image: It is most gratifying that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated. As a token of our appreciation, we hope you will enjoy the two thermonuclear missiles we've just sent to converge with your craft. To ensure ongoing quality of service, your death may be monitored for training purposes. Thank you.
Slartibartfast: [talking about the Earth] Best laid plans of mice.
Arthur: And men.
Arthur: Best laid plans of mice and men.
Slartibartfast: Oh. No, I don't think men had much to do with it.
Arthur: [Trillian has been captured by Vogons]
[bursts into a random Vogon building with Marvin's arm, hoping they think it's a gun]
Arthur: All right! Where is she!
[sees he's in a waiting room]
Vogon Secretary: Who? The Director of Robot Arm Repair?
Slartibartfast: You must come with me.
Arthur Dent: Who are you?
Slartibartfast: What? No. My name's not important. You must come with me, or you'll be late.
Arthur Dent: Late for what?
Slartibartfast: Well, um, what's your name, Earthman?
Arthur Dent: Dent. Arthur Dent.
Slartibartfast: Well, late as in *the late* Dentarthurdent. It's a sort of threat. You see?
Arthur Dent: No.
Slartibartfast: Your friends are safe, you can trust me.
Arthur Dent: Trust a man who won't even tell me his name?
Slartibartfast: Well, um, my name is, um, it's
Arthur Dent: What?
Slartibartfast: I *said* it wasn't important.
The Book: [voice-over while Arthur and Ford are being tortured by being read Vogon poetry] Vogon poetry is the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poetmaster, 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 members died of internal hemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. The absolute worst poetry in the universe was written by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Sussex. Thankfully it was destroyed when the earth was.
The Book: Space, says the introduction to the guide, is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind bogglingly big it is. And so on.
Vogon: Oh no, he's closed the gate from the inside, we'll have to go round.
The Book: Presidents don't have power, their purpose is to draw attention away from it.
Ford: [after being thrown into the airlock by a guard] Wash your filthy hands!
Ford: Don't panic... don't panic...
Arthur: So this is it. We're gonna die.
Ford: Yeah. We're gonna die.
Ford: No... no! What's this?
[goes over to control panel]
Arthur: What's that?
Ford: What's this...? What's this...?
Ford: This... is... nothing. Yeah, we're gonna die.
Arthur: Let's go somewhere.
Trillian: Definitely. Where'd you have in mind?
Ford: I know this great restaurant at the end of the universe.
Mr. Prosser: Do you know how much damage this bulldozer would sustain if I just let it roll over you?
Arthur: How much?
Mr. Prosser: None at all.
Humma Kavula, Congregation: [singing] Oh mighty Arkleseizure, thou gazed from high above. And sneezed from out thy nostrils, a gift of bounteous love. The universe around us emerged from thy nose. Now we await with eager expectation, thy handkerchief, to bring us back to thee.
Zaphod: Hello Humma.
Humma Kavula: Let us pray. Oh mighty one, we raise our noses to you blocked and unblown, send the handkerchief O blessed one that we may be wiped clean.
[Everyone in the congregation sneezes simultaneously]
Humma Kavula: Bless you.
Humma Kavula: [confronting Zaphod Beeblebrox for the first time after losing the Galactic Presidential Election to him] The election is ancient history, Zaphod. If memory serves, you won, proving that good looks and charm win over brilliance and the ability to govern. And for the record? You *are* stupid.
Jeltz: Apathetic bloody planet. I've no sympathy at all.
Trillian: I have a plan.
Arthur: Does it involve pushing him out there and then running the other way?
Ford: I checked The Guide for the best way to rescue a prisoner from Vogsphere, it said "don't".
Questular Rontok: [runs to the demolished caravan to find Zaphod unconcious inside] Mr President! Oh, thank god. I tried to prevent all this from happening, but forces beyond my control made it impossible for me to stop them. And even stronger forces are making it impossible for me to stop doing this right now!
[kisses Zaphod, waking him up]
Zaphod: [throws Questular off him] Zarquon, woman! Are you insane? You're my vice-president! In the name of liberty, and freedom, and people, and... stuff... let's do that again!
[they kiss passionately]
Eddie the Computer: Guys, I am just pleased as punch to inform you that there are two thermo-nuclear missiles headed this way... if you don't mind, I'm gonna go ahead and take evasive action
Arthur Dent: COMPUTER DO SOMETHING!
Eddie the Computer: Sure thing fella! Switching over to manual control... good luck!
[Ship's engines immediately stop and ship falls]
News Reader: Humma Kavula is best known for his slanderous "Don't vote for stupid" campaign and claimed that most people thought they were voting for the worst dressed sentient being in the universe contest.
The Book: A man who no more knows his destiny than a tea leaf knows the history of the East India company.
Ford: You don't remember. Arthur, your whole planet has been destroyed.
Arthur: Couldn't you have done something?
Ford: I saved your life.
Barman: Did you say the world is coming to an end? Shouldn't we all lie on the floor or put paper bags over our heads?
Ford: If you like.
Barman: Will it help?
Ford: Not at all.
[Ford runs out of the pub]
Barman: Last orders, please!
The Book: Vogons. 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 Bug-Blatter Beast of Traal without orders signed in triplicate, sent in, sent back, lost, found, queried, subjected to public inquiry, lost again, and finally buried in soft peat for three months and recycled as firelighter. On no account should you allow a Vogon to read poetry to you.
Questular Rontok: [about Trillian] She's lying. She's skinny, and she's pretty, and she's lying!
Ghostly Image: We are pleased to see that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated, and would like you to know that the two thermonuclear missiles currently converging upon your vessel are merely a courtesy we extend to all prospective customers.
Zaphod: [to Trillian] Hey slim, are you wearing my underwear? 'Cause I'm wearing yours, and they're not doing the trick.
Ford: We must talk.
Arthur Dent: Not now, Ford. They're gonna demolish my home.
Ford: Whoah! Whoah! Whoah! You know already?
[Arthur doesn't understand. Ford looks at the workers around him]
Ford: Oh, *they*! When you say "they" you mean *they*!
Ford: [distracting the men about to demolish Arthur's house] Workers of the earth! I bring... good tidings of peanuts! And beer!
Trillian: I have the president and I will kill him, I swear I will.
Jeltz: Could that actually kill him?
Questular Rontok: I don't think so. It's an aerosol can.
Trillian: See this? This detects what you're craving and makes it for you. And this? This toasts bread while you're slicing it. We're on a space ship Arthur. In space.
The Book: [about the Point of View Gun] The Point of View gun conveniently does precisely what its name suggests. That is if you point it at someone and pull the trigger, they instantly see things from your point of view. It was designed by Deep Thought, but commissioned by a consortium of intergalactic angry housewives, who after countless arguments with their husbands were sick to the teeth of ending those arguments with the phrase "You just don't get it, do you?"
Ford: [as they are about to be shot into space, he dabs Arthur's face with a towel] You're sweating.
Zaphod: We just hit that button and whoo! Magrathea. I think, I mean we've hit it twice and we're still not there.
Zaphod: Oh Deep Thought! We have travelled long... and far. Have you calculated the ultimate question?
Deep Thought: [yawns] No. I've been watching the TV.
Zaphod: Hey. Sorry to hear about your planet. What was it called again?
Zaphod: Yeah, Earth. I liked Earth. I got these boots on Earth. Anyway, don't tell the girl, OK? Cause if you do, I'll pull your spleen out through your throat.
Arthur Dent: Here I was thinking I was the only one who considered your boyfriend a narcissistic moron, when apparently the whole galaxy does.
Ford: Okay, don't think. Nobody think. No ideas. No theories. No nothing.
[a beat. They all strain to think of nothing. Several paddles shoot up out of the ground smacking them in their faces]
Zaphod: In the name of people, and freedom, and democracy, and stuff like that, I hereby kidnap myself, and I'm taking this ship with me. Whoo!
Slartibartfast: Ever heard of a place, I think it's called Norway? That was one of mine, I got an an award for it.
The Book: The Infinite Improbability Drive is a wonderful new method of crossing interstellar distances in a few seconds, without all that tedious mucking about in hyperspace. As the Improbability Drive reaches infinite improbability, it passes through every conceivable point in every conceivable universe almost simultaneously. So you're never sure where you'll end up or even what species you'll be when you get there. It's therefore important to dress accordingly. The Drive was invented following research into finite improbability often used to break the ice at parties by making all the molecules in the hostess's undergarments leap one foot to the left in accordance with the theory of indeterminacy. Many physicists said they wouldn't stand for that sort of thing, partly because it debased science, but mostly because they didn't get invited to those sort of parties.
Marvin: [as Vogons fire at the group] Don't see what the big deal is... Vogons are some of the worst shots in the galaxy...
Marvin: [one hits Marvin, leaving a smoking hole in his head. he turns] Now I've got a headache!
Trillian: [after Arthur drinks a cocktail sludge] I should have said it resembles tea.
Zaphod: Some parts of my character weren't what you'd call presidential.
Title card: For Douglas.
[Waiting for Trillian to be released]
Zaphod: Who are we waiting for again?
[Waits for a reply]
Zaphod: No, I'm serious.
Arthur Dent: It's a big-biggy Ford, a big-biggy! I mean what if it rips us all into tiny little atomic particle things?
Zaphod: This is the right one! I have a hunch!
Ford: [smiling] His hunches are good! Arthur! I say we go!
Arthur Dent: Go with a hunch of a man who's brain is fueled by lemons?
Zaphod: If there's anything around here more important than my ego, I want it caught and shot now!
[Slartibartfast is showing Arthur the progress on the New Earth. They pass a construction worker]
Slartibartfast: That's Frank.
Zaphod: Let's trip the Light Fantastic, baby, just you and me.
Marvin: [as they are gazing at the wonder of Magrathea] Incredible... it's even worse than I thought it would be.
[Arthur and Ford have each been unexpectedly hit in the face by some unknown flyswatter-like thing]
Zaphod: [after finally also being hit in the face] Zarquon! What was that? Geez...
Marvin: [depressed] I'd make a suggestion, but you wouldn't listen.
[even more depressed]
Marvin: No one ever does.
Arthur: I have to say, without the beard you look at least 80 years younger.
Trillian: Well, maybe I'm de-evolving?
Arthur: Ha ha!
Trillian: Ha ha!
Arthur: Well, I should inform you that I don't date single-celled organisms.
The Book: [describing Dent in the opening] This man is a 5'8" ape descendant and someone is trying to drive a bypass through his house.
Arthur: See, normally I hate those sorts of parties. I'd much rather stay at home, I don't know, ironing me hankies.
Arthur: Humma Kavula is person? I thought he was swearing!
Arthur: [as a yarn doll] I think I'm gonna be sick!
Zaphod: Hey, do it in the trash can, Earth man, this ship is brand new.
Arthur: [vomits coloured yarn]
Marvin: I've calculated your chance of survival, but I don't think you'll like it.
Arthur: Go with the hunch of a man whose brain is fuelled by lemons?
Zaphod: I'm sensing a lot of hostility from you, Alex.
Zaphod: Have you ever tried yoga?
Marvin: [Trillian, Ford, and Zaphod have gone through the portal and left Arthur and Marvin behind] I told you this would all end in tears.
Arthur: Did you? Did you?
Marvin: Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and they ask me to take you to the bridge. Call that job satisfaction, 'cause I don't.
Zaphod: Hey! Is this guy boring you? Why don't you come talk to me instead? I'm from a different planet. Seriously!
Zaphod: You want to see my spaceship?
Ford: [talking about Zaphod] He's my semi half brother.
Zaphod: He shares three of the same mothers as me.
Humma Kavula: Even an improbability drive needs coordinates which I happen to have.
Humma Kavula: What does Zaphod Beeblebrox treasure most?
Ford: What's with the whole two-head thing?
Zaphod: Oh, yeah, apparently you can't be president with a whole brain.
Arthur: So you're not from Guildford. Which would explain the accent.
Lunkwill: Drink up.
Arthur: Thank you.
Fook: Now, to business.
Zaphod: [quietly] Sorry.
Trillian: We don't know why we're here. We were trying to get to Magrathea and our ship brought us here.
Humma Kavula: How very... improbable.
Ford: [watching the Magrathean recording of Deep Thought] Is that it?
Zaphod: No, there's more. They go back.
Arthur: What, seven and a half million years later?
Zaphod: Yeah, they do.
[Cuts to 7.5 million years later and the answer being received]
Arthur: She was amazing though, Ford. Beautiful, witty, mad as a balloon.
Ford: [about Vogons] They don't think, they don't imagine, most of them can't even spell, they just run things. And if we don't hitch a ride soon, you won't need the guide to tell you just how unpleasant they can be. They already destroyed a planet today, and that always makes them a little... eeee!
Arthur: I think that door just sighed.
Marvin: Ghastly, isn't it? All the doors on this spaceship have been programmed to have a cheery and sunny disposition.
Zaphod: [everything appears to be made of yarn] WOW! Is this gonna happen every time we hit that button?
Trillian: Very probably, yes.
Marvin: I have a million ideas, but, they all point to certain death.
Arthur: Thanks very much, Marv!
Ghostly Image: Greetings. This is a recorded announcement as we are all out at the moment. The Commercial Council of Magrathea thanks you for your esteemed visit but regrets that the entire planet is temporarily closed. If you would like to leave your name and a planet where you can be contacted, kindly do so at the tone.
Eddie the Computer: Engaging Infinite Improbability Drive...
Ford: No, no, no... Zaphod, buttons aren't toys! What did you do?
Jeltz: Either die in the vacuum of space, or tell me what you thought of my poem.
[other Vogons chuckle]
Arthur: A... a... actually, I rather liked it.
Ford: Yeah. That's good. Run with it.
Arthur: Uh, some of the words I didn't understand, but I found the imagery quite effective.
Arthur: Well, uh, yes, interesting rhythmic devices, which seemed to counterpoint the underlying metaphor of the humanity of, of the poet's soul.
Jeltz: So what you're saying is, I write poetry because underneath this mean, callous, heartless exterior, I just want to be loved?
Ford: [whispers] Yes, yes, yes.
Arthur: Yes, yes, yeah, please.
[other Vogons ooh-ing and aah-ing]
Jeltz: Throw them off the ship!
Humma Kavula: Zaphod Beeblebrox, our infamous President. What brings you to our humble planet?
Zaphod: Oh, I think you know why I'm here.
Humma Kavula: No, I don't think I do.
Zaphod: I think you think you don't. But we both know, you do.
Humma Kavula: Eloquent as always. Your ability to articulate never ceases to amaze.
Zaphod: Have you calculated the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything?
Deep Thought: No. I've been watching TV. I built another computer to do that.
Zaphod: Oh, right, I forgot. Is it here?
Deep Thought: No, it's not here. It's another world.
Zaphod: It's on another world...
Deep Thought: It *is* another world, stupid. Or it was until the Vogons destroyed it for a hyperspace expressway.
Zaphod: Well, Okay. You sure you don't have the question, or a way to, you know, access it or something? 'Cause I think I've done a lot to get here.
Deep Thought: [TV lights up again] Oh, shh, shh. The show's back on.
Zaphod: Well, I don't wanna bother you, so I'm gonna... Good stuff. Great.
Zaphod: I'm gonna go and find something else for my entire life to be about.
Slartibartfast: Earthman, you must realize that the planet you lived on was commissioned, paid for and run by mice.
Arthur: When you say mice, do you mean the little furry white creatures with whiskers, ears, cheese?
Slartibartfast: Yeah, but they're protrusions into our dimension of hyper-intelligent beings. I don't know this cheese of which you speak, but they were there on Earth as mice experimenting on you.
Arthur: I see where you've become confused now. You see, *we* were experimenting on *them*.
Slartibartfast: Ah, no, well, yeah, no. That's what they wanted you to think, but you were actually elements in their computer program.
Arthur: Actually, this explains a lot. All my life I've had this strange feeling there's something big and sinister going on in the world.
Slartibartfast: No, that's normal paranoia. Everyone in the universe gets that.