Life, the Universe and Everything (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)
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--The Philadelphia Inquirer
The unhappy inhabitants of planet Krikkit are sick of looking at the night sky above their heads--so they plan to destroy it. The universe, that is. Now only five individuals stand between the white killer robots of Krikkit and their goal of total annihilation.
They are Arthur Dent, a mild-mannered space and time traveler, who tries to learn how to fly by throwing himself at the ground and missing; Ford Prefect, his best friend, who decides to go insane to see if he likes it; Slartibartfast, the indomitable vicepresident of the Campaign for Real Time, who travels in a ship powered by irrational behavior; Zaphod Beeblebrox, the two-headed, three-armed ex-head honcho of the Universe; and Trillian, the sexy space cadet who is torn between a persistent Thunder God and a very depressed Beeblebrox.
How will it all end? Will it end? Only this stalwart crew knows as they try to avert "universal" Armageddon and save life as we know it--and don't know it!
"ADAMS IS ONE OF THOSE RARE TREASURES: an author who, one senses, has as much fun writing as one has reading."
--The Arizona Daily Star
had been soulful music playing on the ship’s sound system—of course. And he had, of course, been slightly drunk. In other words, all the usual conditions that bring on a bout of soul-searching had applied, but it had, nevertheless, clearly been an error. Standing now, silent and alone in the dark corridor, he remembered the moment and shivered. His one head looked one way and his other the other and each decided that the other way was the way to go. He listened but could hear nothing. All
off lightly, only you didn’t mention it so he couldn’t.” “Oh,” said Arthur, “oh, well, I’m sorry I didn’t. What was it for?” “The Most Gratuitous Use of the Word ‘Belgium’ in a Serious Screenplay. It’s very prestigious.” “The most gratuitous use of which word?” asked Arthur, with a determined attempt to keep his brain in neutral. “Belgium,” said the girl, “I hardly like to say it.” “Belgium?” exclaimed Arthur. A drunken seven-toed sloth staggered past, gawked at the word and threw itself
above them dark activity continued in the Robot Zones. “It’s just,” continued the Krikkiter uneasily, “something we heard about, probably nothing important. Well, I suppose we’d better kill you, then.” He looked down at his gun as if he were trying to find which bit to press. “That is,” he said, looking up again, “unless there’s anything you want to chat about?” Slow numb astonishment crept up the bodies of Slartibartfast, Ford and Arthur. Very soon it would reach their brains, which were at
brilliant,” said Marvin, “they’re not. They got as far as designing it before they were locked in the envelope. They’ve spent the last five years building it. They think they’ve got it right but they haven’t. They’re as stupid as any other organic life-form. I hate them.” Trillian was continuing. Zaphod tried to pull the Krikkit robot away by its leg, but it kicked and growled at him, and then quaked with a fresh outburst of sobbing. Then suddenly it slumped over and continued to express its
peculiar alien tallness, a peculiar alien flattened head, peculiar slitty little alien eyes, extravagantly draped golden robes with a peculiarly alien collar design, and pale gray green alien skin that had that lustrous sheen about it that most gray green races can acquire only with plenty of exercise and very expensive soap. Arthur boggled at it. It gazed levelly at him. Arthur’s first sensations of hope and trepidation had instantly been overwhelmed by astonishment, and all sorts of thoughts