Pointless stuff me and my friend were talking about the other day. It's cool.
I do not own Hitchhiker series or anything related to it. And I am not Douglas Adams.
Ford stared, puzzled, at his hand, which was now empty, but was not a second before.
Arthur noticed this. He spoke to Ford. "Why are you staring, puzzled, at your hand, as if there was something there not a second before?"
Ford shook his head. "Ah, he has struck again."
Arthur tilted his head, now thoroughly confused, even though he did not just a have something snatched out of his hand, and that something was definitely not valuable, in fact, it did not exist at all, but even so, he was still thoroughly confused.
Ford, sensing Arthur's confusion, quickly answered the next three and two-thirds questions that were about to pass from Arthur's lips. Theoretically, of course, but since he answered them before they were spoken, he effectively removed that chunk of the future.
However, that particular chunk of the future was, at the moment dancing with another chunk of the future, and one partner suddenly disappearing in the middle of a tango is enough to cause a stir in any situation. In this case, it so happened that this particular future that was still existing became angry, formed a union, and went on strike until God gave them better working conditions. But, naturally, that's a completely different story.
The story at hand is far more current and relevant, if not quite as much interesting, so we shall get back to that other one later.
Ford answered Arthur's first question, the one already asked, and therefore the one whose future was no longer the future, but the present, and therefore could not join the labor union. It was currently sitting in a huff in an imaginary corner somewhere in the imaginary wrinkles of space, imaginarily sulking. But, again, that's a whole different story.
Ford answered Arthur's next question, or, rather, what would have been his next question.
"The answer to your next question, or, rather, what would have been your next question, is that my Hitchhiker's Guide Certified Genuine False Pure Gold Mug that I got for my first year working at the Guide was just stolen."
He then proceeded to answer…let's not go through that again.
"It was stolen by Long Gone. He's an intergalactic thief."
Arthur couldn't speak; he wouldn't have, anyway. As usual, these things of the Galaxy were beyond his comprehension.
"Long Gone is always, well, long gone. He can appear any where he wants to, because he's always long gone from somewhere. And as soon as you realize that he's there, he's Long Gone again. It's like flying. As soon as nature looks at him and says, 'Hey! He's long gone!' then poof. He is."
Again, Arthur didn't speak.
Ford shrugged. "It's all right. Someday we must send in some applications to the Universal Naming Tribunal. That shall be quite a hilarious thing, I tell you. Because as soon as you send in a request, they cross-reference your name to everyone else's in the galaxy. And if two of you with the same name exist, one of you fades, because two of the same person can't exist in the same universe. Simple, I know, right?"
"But," Arthur complained, finding his voice, rhetorically speaking. "it's just a name!"
"Ah, the laws of Universal Grammar are very complex."
"Who created the Naming Tribunal?" Arthur wanted to know, for no particular reason except to expand this story and give it a very good, solid, ending.
"Who knows? He's long gone."
"Literally or metaphorically?"
Ford smirked. "You decide."
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r&r!