'This is the story
'of the Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy...
'perhaps the most remarkable,
'certainly the most successful book
'ever to come out of the great publishers of Ursa Minor.
'More popular 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?
'And in many of the more relaxed civilisations
'on the Outer Eastern Rim of the Galaxy,
'the Hitchhiker's Guide has already supplanted
'the great Encyclopaedia Galactica
'as the standard repository of all knowledge and wisdom,
'for though it has many omissions and contains much that is apocryphal,
'it scores over the older, more pedestrian work
'in two important respects.
'First, it is slightly cheaper and, secondly, it has the words:
'inscribed in large, friendly letters on the cover.
'To tell the story of the book,
'it is best to tell the story of some of those whose lives it affected.
'A human from the planet Earth was one of them,
'though, as our story opens,
'he no more knows his destiny
'than a tea leaf knows the history of the East India Company.
'His name is Arthur Dent, he is a six-foot-tall ape descendant,
'and someone is trying to drive a bypass through his home.'
Come off it, Mr Dent - you can't win, you know.
You can't lie in front of the bulldozers indefinitely.
I'm game. We'll see who rusts first!
You're going to have to accept it. This bypass has got to be built.
Why's it got to be built?
What do you mean - why's it got to be built?
It's a bypass! You've got to build bypasses.
You were entitled to make suggestions or protests at the appropriate time.
Appropriate time?!
The first I heard about it was when a workman arrived yesterday.
I thought he'd come to clean the windows.
He said he'd come to demolish the house!
He didn't tell me straightaway, of course.
He wiped a couple of windows and charged me Â£5! Then he told me!
But, Mr Dent, the plans have been available
in the planning office for the last nine months!
Yes, of course. As soon as I heard, I went straight round to see them.
You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to draw attention to them!
But the plans were on display!
On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar!
- That's the display department! - With a torch!
- No lights. - No stairs!
- But you did see the notice? - Oh, yes.
It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet,
in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door, "Beware of the leopard!"
Ever thought of going into advertising?
And you don't get me like that either!
Mr Dent...
have you any idea how much damage this bulldozer would suffer
if I were to let it run over you?
How much?
None at all!
'By a strange coincidence, "None at all"
'is exactly how much suspicion the ape descendant Arthur Dent had
'that one of his closest friends was not descended from an ape,
'but was in fact from a small planet
'somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse.
'Arthur Dent's failure to suspect this
'reflects the care with which his friend blended into human society,
'after a fairly shaky start, when he first arrived 15 years ago.
'The minimal research he had done suggested to him
'that the name Ford Prefect would be nicely inconspicuous.
'He will enter our story in 30 seconds and say,
"'Hello, Arthur."
'The ape descendant will greet him in return
'but, in deference to a million years of human evolution,
'won't attempt to pick fleas off him.
'Earthmen are not proud of their ancestors
'and never invite them to dinner.'
Hello, Arthur.
Ford, hi. How are you?
Fine.
Look, are you busy?
Busy?! Well, I've just got this bulldozer to lie in front of,
or it'll knock my house down, but otherwise... no, not especially. Why?
- Good. Anywhere we can talk? - What?
- We've got to talk. - Fine! Talk.
And drink. It's vitally important that we talk and drink. Now!
- We'll go to the pub. - You don't understand.
He wants to knock my house down.
- He can do it whilst you're away. - I don't want him to!
Ford? What's the matter?
Nothing... nothing's the matter.
I've got to tell you the most important thing you've ever heard.
- I've got to tell you NOW in the pub. - Why?
- Because you'll need a stiff drink! - No! No! What about my house?
- He wants to knock your house down? - Yes.
- But you're lying in the way? - Exactly!
I think we can come to some arrangement.
- Excuse me! - Hello? Yes?
Has Mr Dent come to his senses yet?
Can we, for the moment, assume he hasn't?
Well?
Can we also assume that he's going to be staying there all day?
So?
So all your men are going to be standing around, doing nothing.
Could be, could be...
If you're resigned to that, you don't actually need him to lie there?
Not as such. Not exactly "need"...
So pretend he's there. Then we could go to the pub. How does that sound?
Er... that sounds perfectly reasonable... I suppose.
And if you want to pop off for a quick one yourself later on,
we'll always cover for you in return.
Yes, thank you very much. That's very kind.
So if you'd just like to lie down...
What?
It's very simple.
Mr Dent will stop lying in the mud
- On condition that you take over. - What?
Sorry?
You want me... to come and lie down there?
- Yes. - In front of the bulldozer?
- Yes. - Instead of Mr Dent?
- Yes. - In the mud?
In, as you say, the mud.
In return for which, you will take Mr Dent down to the pub?
Yes.
Promise?
Promise.
- Get up and let the man lie down. - Thank you.
And no sneaky knocking Mr Dent's house down while he's away.
The slightest thought hadn't even begun to speculate
about the merest possibility of crossing my mind.
- But can we trust him? - To the end of the Earth.
- Yes, but how far's that? - About 12 minutes away.
Come on. We've got to get some alcohol.
'Here's what the Encyclopaedia Galactica has to say about alcohol.
'It says that alcohol is a colourless volatile liquid
'formed by the fermentation of sugars,
'and also notes its intoxicating effect
'on certain carbon-based lifeforms.
'The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy also mentions alcohol.
'It says the:
'... the effect of which
'is like having your brain smashed out with a slice of lemon...
'wrapped round a large gold brick.
'The Guide also tells you
'on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed,
'how much you can expect to pay for one
'and what voluntary organisations exist to help you rehabilitate.
'The man who invented this mind-pummelling drink
'also invented the wisest remark ever made, which was this:
'His name is:
'and we shall learn more of his wisdom later.'
Six pints of bitter. And quickly, please. The world's about to end.
Oh, yes, sir? Nice weather for it.
- Going to the match today, sir? - No. No point.
Foregone conclusion, then?
- Arsenal no chance? - No, the world's about to end.
Oh, yes, sir. So you said. Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did.
- No, not really. - There you are, sir. Six pints.
Keep the change.
What? From a fiver? Thank you, sir!
You've got ten minutes to spend it!
What the hell's going on? I'm losing my grip on the day.
- Drink up. Three pints to go! - Three pints? At lunchtime?
Time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so.
Send that in to the Reader's Digest. There's a page for people like you!
- Drink up. - Why three pints?
Muscle relaxant. You're going to need it.
Did I do something wrong this morning
or has the world always been like this,
and I was too wrapped up in myself to notice?
I'll try to explain.
- How long have we known each other? - Er, five years, maybe six.
Most of it made some kind of sense at the time.
How would you react if I told you I'm not from Guildford after all,
but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?
Why-do you think it's the sort of thing you're likely to say?
Drink up. The world is about to end.
This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
'On this particular Thursday,
'things were moving through the ionosphere.
'Many miles above the surface of the planet,
'several huge yellow slab-like somethings...
'huge as office blocks, silent as birds,
'they hung in the air exactly the same way that bricks don't.
'The planet was almost totally oblivious of their presence.
'They went unnoticed at Goonhilly,
'they passed over Cape Canaveral without a blip,
'and Woomera and Jodrell Bank looked straight through them;
'a pity, because it was the sort of thing they'd looked for for ages.
'Arthur Dent, too, had other things on his mind.'
What's that?
- They haven't started yet. - Good.
- Probably your house. - What?
- Five minutes to go. - Damn you and your fairy stories!
Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!
- You half-crazed Visigoths, stop! - Arthur! Stop! It's pointless!
Barman, quickly, can you just give me four packets of peanuts?
I'm just serving this gentleman.
He's going to die shortly! Come on!
Just a minute, sir.
Do you mind, sir?
Pork scratchings...
- Peanuts! How much? - What?
Have it.
Have it. Keep it!
Is the world really going to end this afternoon?
Yes, in just over 3 minutes and 5 seconds.
- But isn't there anything we can do? - No, nothing.
I thought we were meant to lie down or put a paper bag over our head.
Yes, if you like.
- Oh, will that help? - No. Excuse me. I've got to go.
Oh, well, then...
Last orders, please!
You pin-striped barbarians! I'll sue the council for every penny it's got!
I'll have you hung, drawn, quartered,
and whipped and boiled... until...
until you've had enough!
Arthur, don't... There's no point. There's only a minute or so left.
And then I'll do it some more!
I'll take all the little bits and jump on them till I get blisters,
or I think of something worse... What the hell's that?
Arthur, quick! Over here!
What the hell is it?
It's a fleet of flying saucers - what do you think it is?
Hold this.
- What do you mean, flying saucers? - A Vogon constructor fleet.
- What? - A Vogon constructor fleet.
I picked up news of their arrival a few hours ago on my sub-etha radio.
I can't cope with this. I'm going to have to have a lie-down.
No, stay here. Stay calm.
Take hold of this...
People of Earth, attention, please!
This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council.
As you are probably aware,
the plans for the outlying regions of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy
require a hyperspace express route to be built through your star system,
and, regrettably, your planet is one of those scheduled for demolition.
The process will take slightly less than two of your Earth minutes.
Thank you very much.
- Get out of it! - No! No! No! Go away!
All the planning charts and demolition orders
have been on display in your local planning department in Alpha Centauri
for 50 Earth years,
and so you've had plenty of time to lodge any complaints...
It's far too late to make a fuss now!
What do you mean you've never been to Alpha Centauri?
Oh, for heaven's sake, mankind! It's only four light years away!
Sorry, but if you can't be bothered to take an interest in local affairs,
that's your own lookout! Energise the demolition beam!
God, I don't know! Apathetic bloody planet, I've no sympathy at all!
- I bought some peanuts. - Uh...?
We've just been through a matter-transference beam.
You've lost some salt and protein.
The beer should have helped.
- How do you feel? - Like a military academy.
Bits of me keep passing out!
Ford, if I asked you where the hell we were, would I regret it?
We're safe.
Ah, good.
We're in a cabin of one of the ships of the Vogon constructor fleet.
Ah, this is obviously some strange usage of the word "safe"
I wasn't previously aware of. What are you doing?
Looking for the light.
- How did we get here? - We hitched a lift.
Excuse me! Are you telling me we just stuck our thumbs out
and some green bug-eyed monster said,
"Hop in! I can take you as far as Basingstoke roundabout"?
Well, the thumb's a sub-etha device,
and the roundabout's at Barnard's Star, but that's more or less right.
- And the bug-eyed monster? - Is green!
Fine.
- When can I go home? - You can't. Ah!
Good grief! Is this really the interior of a flying saucer?
Yes. What do you think?
It's a bit squalid, isn't it?
- What the hell is it, Ford? - Come on! Let's get out of here!
It's going to attack us.
No, no, no, it just wants us to turn the lights out.
Come on.
Shh! Sleeping quarters. We woke them up.
Ford, they were...
What?
Aliens?
Dentrassi.
But, Ford...
What's going on?
- Here, have a look at this. - What is it?
The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, an electronic book.
- It'll tell you everything. - I like the cover. "Don't panic"!
- First helpful thing anyone's said! - That's why it sells so well. Shh!
What?
"Don't panic"!
Look...
Fast wind index... V.
Vogon Constructor Fleets. Enter that code and see what it says.
I'll keep watch.
Vogon Constructor Fleets:
What an extraordinary book!
- How did we get on board, then? - The Dentrassi let us on board.
- You said Bogons. - Vogons.
- Not Dentrassi? - No.
Dentrassi are the in-flight caterers.
Hey, Hagra biscuit! The greatest!
You'll love these guys! They cook the hoopiest frood food in the West Galaxy!
Here, have a bite.
Go on, try it. Your mouth will love you for the rest of your life.
It's revolting!
Oh, come on! This stuff is the greatest.
Mmm!
I think those guys must really hate the Vogons.
Now, remember this - Dentrassi hate Vogons.
That's why they let us on board. Let's go!
But if they let us on board, why doesn't the Guide mention them?
Oh, it's not very accurate.
Oh?
I'm researching the new edition.
Ah, storeroom.
Where are we going?
Who knows? Off this ship, that's for sure!
We've only just arrived. Shouldn't we say hello and thank you and things?
Listen, this is a Vogon spaceship.
We just pick up what we need and get off it! Right?
Right.
- Stun guns. - Any good?
No.
Ford, who are you?
I told you - I'm a field researcher for the Guide.
Telecom systems.
I got stuck on Earth longer than I meant.
Went for a week, got stuck for 15 years.
Telepsychic helmets.
Huh-huh!
How did you get here in the first place?
Easy. I got a lift with a teaser... Hypno rays?
Teasers?
Rich kids with nothing to do.
They cruise around the Galaxy
Iooking for planets that no one's made contact with yet and buzz them.
- Buzz them? - Yeah. They find some isolated spot,
land right by some unsuspecting soul that no one's ever going to believe,
and strut up and down in front of them, making beep-beep noises.
Rather childish, really.
Ah!
A towel! Keep this.
- Guard it with your life. - Huh?
Listen, it's a tough universe.
All sorts of people trying to kill you, rip you off, everything...
If you're going to survive out there,
you've really got to know where your towel is.
Now, fish.
Huh?
Fish. Over here, I think.
Fish?
Fish.
- Very nice. - Very, very useful.
- What do I do with it? - Stick it in your ear.
It's only little! Listen...
- What? - The Vogon captain.
- But I can't speak Vogon. - Put this in your ear!
... should have a good time. Message repeat.
This is your captain speaking, so pay attention.
First of all, I see from our instruments
that we have a couple of hitchhiker's on board. Hello, wherever you are!
I just want to make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome.
I worked hard to get where I am today
and I didn't become captain of a Vogon ship
simply to turn it into a taxi service for a lot of degenerate freeloaders.
I have sent out a search party
and, as soon as they find you, I shall turn you off the ship.
If you're very lucky, I might read you some of my poetry first.
Secondly, we are about to jump into hyperspace
for the journey to Barnard's Star.
We will stay in dock for 72 hours and all planet leave is cancelled.
I've just had an unhappy love affair,
so I don't see why anybody else should have a good time.
- Message ends. - Poetry?
What are you doing?
Preparing for hyperspace. It's unpleasantly like being drunk.
- What's so wrong about being drunk? - Ask a glass of water. Lie down.
- Grip the towel between your ankles. - What?
Just do it!
Like this?
Right.
Now wait...
What exactly am I doing with this fish in my ear?
It's translating for you. Look in the book under Babel Fish.
What's happening?
We're going into hyperspace.
I'll never be cruel to a gin and tonic again!
Hey, this towel's moved!
Yes. That's a six-light-year jump. Good.
We must be near Barnard's Star.
- We can jump a ship there. - Can we?
Ford, I hate to ask this, but what am I doing here?
Simple. I rescued you from the Earth.
- What happened to the Earth? - It's been disintegrated.
- Has it? - Yes. Just boiled away into space.
Listen, I'm a bit upset about that...
Oh, well...
All gone? Nothing left?
What about the book? Maybe the book's got something!
It doesn't seem to have an entry.
Yes, it does-at the bottom.
Under Eccentrica Gullumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon 6.
Oh, yes. What does it say?
- Harmless. One word? Harmless? - Well, it's the old edition.
There are 100 billion stars in the Galaxy.
- No one knew much about Earth then! - I hope you managed to rectify that!
- I sent a new entry to the editor. - What does it say now?
- Mostly harmless. - Mostly harmless?
I think that's pretty good coverage for a disintegrated pile of rubble!
That's meant to make me feel better?
Come on! Let's get to the teleport.
What's the hell's that?
If we're lucky, it's a Vogon come to throw us out into space.
And if we're unlucky?
The Vogon captain might want to read us some of his poetry first.