"Which it isn't," continued Ford. "What do you want with it anyway? There's nothing there."
"Not on the surface," said Zaphod.
"All right, just supposing there's something. I take it you're not here for the sheer industrial archaeology of it all. What were you after?"
One of Zaphod's heads looked away. The other one looked round to see what the first was looking at, but it wasn't looking at anything very much.
"Well," said Zaphod airily, "it's partly the curiosity, partly the sense of adventure, but mostly I think it's the fame and the money . . ."
Ford glanced at him sharply. He got a very strong impression that Zaphod hadn't the faintest idea why he was there at all.
"You know, I don't like the look of that planet at all," said Trillian, shivering.
"Ah, take no notice," said Zaphod; "with half the wealth of the former Galactic Empire stored on it somewhere it can afford to look frumpy."
Bullshit, thought Ford. Even supposing this was the home of some ancient civilization now gone to dust, even supposing a number of exceedingly unlikely things, there was no way that vast treasures of wealth were going to be stored there in any form that would still have meaning now. He shrugged.
"I think it's just a dead planet," he said.
"The suspense is killing me," said Arthur testily.
Stress and nervous tension are now serious social problems in all parts of the Galaxy, and it is in order that this situation should not be in any way exacerbated that the following facts will now be revealed in advance.
The planet in question is in fact the legendary Magrathea.
The deadly missile attack shortly to be launched by an ancient automatic defense system will result merely in the breakage of three coffee cups and a mouse cage, the bruising of somebody's upper arm, and the untimely creation of sudden demise of a bowl of petunias and an innocent sperm whale.
In order that some sense of mystery should still be preserved, no revelation will yet be made concerning whose upper arm sustains the bruise. This fact may safely be made the subject of suspense since it is of no significance whatsoever.
Can I tell you something about the end of this post, so there is no suspense or stress or nervous tension? Here it is: my son is graduating this year, too.
There. Now that I have done my part to make the Galaxy a better, safer place, let's do a little experiment in time travel. Let's set the Delorean for May 19, 2011 . . .
May 19, 2011: Telling Lies, Fibs, Transgressions
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| Don't piss off the Blue Fairy! |
I have a new poem for today. It was inspired by something that happened at the medical office where I work. A patient told the nurses a lie, and, because of his lie, he ended up spending the entire day waiting for his wife to come pick him up after his surgery. The man, who was in his fifties, was humiliated and humbled, and his wife, who was working, had to leave her job and drive two hours to discharge him. She was not amused.
It got me thinking how even the tiniest of white lies can cause huge problems. Think about it. Bill Clinton was impeached by the House of Representatives because he didn't come clean about his affair with Monica Lewinsky. Countries have gone to war because of lies. Marriages have ended because of lies. People have woken up on beaches naked because of lies. (OK, that may just be me, but it happened.) My son, who is only two, has already started to deny things that are obviously true. Just last night, I asked him if he'd taken a bath. He looked up at me, with muddy cheeks and dirty hands, and said, "Yeah." The impulse to lie is built into all of us at a very young age, I guess.
That's what this poem is about. Brace yourself. It's another language poem.
Saint Marty has had a much better day today. Honest.
Lies
Presidents do it, bear false witness,
Dupe, dissemble, dissimulate
About weapons of mass destruction,
Dresses stained with seminal fluid.
Husbands do it to wives, wives to husbands,
Boyfriends to girlfriends and vice versa,
Repeat disinformation, deceptions, distortions,
Fictions, myths, tales about old/current lovers,
Romeos, Juliets, flames, fuckbuddies.
Guys do it all the time, invent whoppers
Regarding the size of fish, trout, salmon,
The size of penises, manhoods, members.
Women won’t come clean about age or weight,
Density or mass, poundage or size.
My daughter, in the throes of adolescence,
Misleads, misinforms, misspeaks,
Misstates, misrepresents, maligns
In her quest for cell phones and laptops,
Sleepovers, makeup and piercings.
My two-year-old son does it, fibs,
Fudges, fabricates, fakes when I ask him
If he’s soiled his diaper, says “no”
Although the room reeks of bowel,
Methane, manure, shit. Even a wooden
Puppet does it, cons, concocts,
Beguiles, equivocates, perjures,
Plants, prevaricates, snows, soft-soaps
In his need to be a real boy, not
Realizing, by calumny and subterfuge,
He’s just as human as the rest of us,
Regardless of the length or timber of his nose.
Regardless of the length or timber of his nose.
Welcome back, time travelers.
Presidents lying. Some things change over time. Some things don't.
Oh, by the way, on top of all of the other changes happening in my life, my son is also graduating this year. He's moving from elementary to middle school.
Saint Marty can't take it!
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