Ode to My Lifetime Achievements At This Particular Point in Time Through the Dubious Media of Vogon Poetry – by Arthur Dent

Hey all!

Ready for Towel Day?!

For any of you that have read any of the novel I am posting on this website (In That Other Dimension), it’s possible that you have already guessed one of the biggest influences in my writing – the genius that was Douglas Adams.

Now, if any of you haven’t read the epic masterpiece that is “The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” series, seriously, what have you been doing with your life?! Get to the nearest bookshop, buy it, and prepare to laugh. A lot.

The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide is unlike any other book I’ve ever read in my life, in terms of originality, imagination, silliness and compulsiveness. The characters are brilliant and ridiculous, the places they go to are brilliant and ridiculous and the storyline, surprisingly, is brilliant and ridiculous. And despite Adams’ undeniable silliness, it is also unbelievably clever. Anyway, if you’ve read it, well done, you know this already.

Towel Day (otherwise known as Geek Pride Day) is the 25th May. In honour of Douglas Adams’ life and works, I hope you are carrying a towel and that it’s still clean enough for drying yourself. If you’re not, at least take the time to write some Vogon Poetry at lunchtime here.

As HHG fans will know, Vogon poetry is the third worst in the known universe. This is a Vogon.

To celebrate Towel Day, I’ve posted some Vogon Poetry, previously unseen and written by the HHG’s main character, Arthur Dent. In a bizarre slice of luck this close to Towel Day, it was delivered to me by the white mouse who lives in a box of porridge in my kitchen cupboard.  It contains “in jokes”, terrible humour and poor rhythm. That’s just the way it is. Under no circumstances should you read this poetry aloud – unless you work in Guantanamo Bay that is.

Ode to My Lifetime Achievements At This Particular Point in Time Through the Dubious Media of Vogon Poetry – by Arthur Dent

 I like hitch-hiking round the galaxy

So I thought I’d write some poetry

Vogon in nature, I hope you I’ll agree

Or I’ll grubble your fruncheons and cut down your tree.

I said before, that I like to travel

I don’t, but I prefer it to gravel.

I like to hit crabs on the head with a gavel

Shouting “Resistance is useless!” as their brains do unravel.

I’m not a Vogon, I’m really a man

A man not a girl like Trillian

She’s a girl I met in Islington

At a party where she left with a two headed man.

Then those wretched Vogon’s destroyed my home

And ever since I’ve been forced to roam.

And roam I do, though not to Rome

Cos Rome’s not there any more.

You’re getting bored so I’ll write faster

So far it’s borderline disaster

I’m desperate for a gargle blaster

Although they hurt the morning after

Last time it got me really pished

I tripped and lost my babel fish

Tout en parlent avec Eccentrica Gallumbits

I was seeing quintuple, that’s fifteen tits!

Marvin doubts that story’s true

So flumbly grumbles and slimbly poo

I hope you’ve got your towel with you

Go enjoy your life and it’s forty two.

 

If any of you have got this far, you’re obviously big fans of THHGTTG. If so, you probably like my sense of humour and might enjoy my book! Give Chapter 1 a go – it’s only a ten minute read! Thanks 🙂

Fish out.

Matty

Copyright © Matty Millard 2012

http://www.mattymfiction.wordpress.com

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The Stag Do

Hey all!

Today I was supposed be proofreading my novel, but after seeing a friend’s blog 330words I decided to try and write a short story for it. Anyway, once I’d doubled the word limit and realised I hadn’t got a photo for it, I decided I’d have to do that another day. Nonetheless, here’s the short story I came up with. It might possibly remind you of a certain film?!

I won’t apologise for my sense of humour, but I will for my language! I don’t like to swear unless it’s needed! 

Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it – let me know what you think!

 Matty

The Stag Do

Bradley the badger woke up with a stinking hangover.

Wiping the remnants of crack-cocaine from his whiskers, he looked around the apartment. It was dark, but he could see enough to know that it was pretty much destroyed.

“Oh shit” he said, sitting up straight in a panic. “What the fuck happened? Are they scratch-marks on the wall?”

Chris the cat stretched out next to him, yawning loudly. “Yeah, sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re alive then?!” he purred. “What an epic night.”

Davy the dalmatian barked in his sleep and woke himself up. He poked his nose out of the pile of empty pizza boxes he had slept under.

“My god… I feel terrible. I’m never drinking again. I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hair of the dog’s what you need” said Chris.

“Fuck off” snapped Davy. He was not in the mood. “And shut your eyes you twat of a cat. I’m trying to sleep and it’s like I’m on the fucking main road, what with you purring and staring.”

“Ooh!” squealed Harry the hedgehog, who had just uncurled from his slumber. Bradley had dropped a pint on him the night before and his spikes were all matted together. He looked like he’d been run over.

“You’re not still cat-fighting are you? You’ve been at it tooth and claw ever since that bird came back with Chris instead of you last night.”

“Eh? What bird?” asked Chris, panicking. He had a feline and a whole litter of kittens at home.

“You don’t remember?!” laughed Harry. “Precious – the parrot from the strip club. Have a look on the internet. Davy was tweeting about her all night, but she thought you were a pretty boy so she came back with you instead! He was so jealous.”

“Oh shit. The stripper? She came here?.. We didn’t?…Surely not?”

“Haha” giggled Bradley, “she was singing a fine tune all night!”

“And you looked like the cat who’d got the cream!” laughed Freddie the fox.

Chris put his whiskers in his paws, before desperately licking himself clean. He felt so dirty.

“Don’t cry over spilt milk” said Harry, trying to comfort him.

“Where is she now? She’s not still here is she?” asked Chris.

Wayne the weasel jumped up and turned the lights on.

“You’d best ask Davy about that” he said, pointing accusingly at a pile of feathers on the carpet.

“Davy got the late night munchies. He was hungry like the wolf!” guffawed Wayne.

Davy ran to the bathroom and was sick as a parrot.

The hungover friends all laughed.

“Guys” said Davy, walking back into the room, suddenly very sober and serious. “Who shut Leonard in the bathroom?”

“What?” said the friends, all fearful at once. “Leonard? Did he come out?!”

Davy nodded sombrely as Leonard the lion strutted into the room. His mane looked dishevelled after sleeping in a bathtub and he was understandably quite angry.

“Where’s Steve?” he growled. “I’m starving!!”

“Steve?” asked Davy. “Which Steve?”

“Some Best Man you are” piped up Michael, quiet as a mouse until now. “Steve. You know. The Stag? The one you organised this whole thing for?”

Leonard took one look at Michael and fled.

Five minutes later, the front door opened. In walked a bedraggled Steve with a box-full of bacon butties.

“Oh, you’re awake then” he said, shaking the water off vigorously. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

The friends took one look at each other and howled in laughter. 

“That was the best night in history!”

Copyright © Matty Millard 2012

www.mattymfiction.wordpress.com