Don't Panic, listen to Vogon poetry and don't forget your towel. So long and thanks for all the fish.
Don't Panic, listen to Vogon poetry and don't forget your towel. So long and thanks for all the fish.
This is what will be inscribed on my headstone.
Mine will be:
God Damn You All I Told You So.
Oh freddled gruntbuggly, Thy micturations are to me, (with big yawning) As plurdled gabbleblotchits, in midsummer morning On a lurgid bee, That mordiously hath blurted out, Its earted jurtles, grumbling Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming] Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles, Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts, And living glupules frart and stipulate, Like jowling meated liverslime, Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes, And hooptiously drangle me, With crinkly bindlewurdles,mashurbitries. Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, See if I don't!
(But by all means avoid the blurberings of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Sussex. Lest ye die.)
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