"So this is really heaven and not hell?" Arthur asked Ford as they sat consulting the guide in their laps that was displaying information on heaven and hell that Arthur had never seen.

"Well of course it is," Ford said, exasperated. "Do you have any idea how many species there are other than you out there? It's just you, you, you, you, you with all of you humans. Some species enjoy fire and brimstone and all that lot. As a matter of fact, must of them do. That's why hell is in the clouds and heaven is in this burning cavern."

"Hold on just a second, there," Arthur said, a smile starting to come to his face. "Are you telling me that I can be a complete and total bastard and still get to go to my version of heaven which is really hell?"

"Yes, I never thought of that, I suppose," Ford said, sighing wistfully. "You monkey-men have it so good…"

"Ow," said Bob, getting up and rubbing his head.

"Bob!" cried Arthur, "You're getting up and rubbing your head! Yes!"

Arthur turned back to Ford who sighed once again and surrendered the appropriate amount of money. Someone else screamed somewhere else.

"For the love of Zark, who is stealing my job?" Arthur asked, sounding more than a little ticked off.

"Probably some stupid Earth man that prayed all his life and behaved all the time. Loser," Zaphod said, shaking his heads as he came around the same corner that Bob had come from that he had failed to notice, owing in large part to the fact that he was small and lemon flavored at the time, and that Bob had kept his distance in an effort not be contaminated with lemon flavoring.

"Gah!" yelled Bob, running as far away from Zaphod as he could in an effort to escape being contaminated with lemon flavoring.

"First of all 'gah' isn't a word, and second of all, I'm not lemon flavored anymore."

"You were once lemon flavored, though! You're contaminated!"

"I am not!"

"You are, too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Look," said Bob, "This is pointless and is getting us nowhere. Let's settle this like civilized gentlemen."

"Yes," said Zaphod, nodding his heads agreeably, "Let's. I'll go with Whyren's Reserve, what'll you have?"

"Excuse me?" Bob asked sounding confused.

"You said you wanted to settle this like gentlemen. What's more civilized than a drinking contest?"

"Zaphod?"

"What, monkey-man?" Zaphod asked Arthur, sounding more than a little ticked off.

"Hey, I'm the 'more than a little ticked off' one, here! Anyways, Zaphod, we have no alcohol. How, exactly, do you propose we hold a drinking contest?"

"Arthur!" Zaphod exclaimed, looking shocked, "have you lost the power of imagination?"

"Sorry, what in the name of Zark did you just say?"

"We can use our imagination for this drinking contest. It's that simple. So I'll just imagine that I'm drinking Whyren's Reserve, and you can imagine that you're drinking pan galactic gargle blasters. Whoever imagines that they pass out first loses."

"Hold on- I thought pan galactic gargle blasters were much higher in alcohol than-"

"Shut up, monkey-boy," Zaphod said, leaning one of his heads in very close to Arthur's face. "Just shut up. I'm going to win. So there."

"You know, I can hear everything you're saying, right?" Bob said, having suddenly materialized right next to Zaphod.

"And, by the way, I don't accept. We need to be civilized. Such as seeing who can kill the cutest and most innocent young child down here. Shall we say, from age five on down?"

"You disgust me!" cried Arthur.

"Oh, no!" Ford cried, feeling woozy, "I haven't said anything in several paragraphs! I'm going to-"

"Imagine a bucket! Imagine a bucket!" Zaphod cried desperately.

Ford heaved into his imaginary bucket, getting goop from his stomach all over it until it burst the bucket asunder, disintegrating into tiny little pieces that would mutate into vampire penguins soon, but not too soon.

"You didn't imagine a bucket!" Zaphod yelled.

"Yes I did," Ford said indignantly. "It just burst asunder, disintegrating into tiny little pieces.

"Oh, lovely," Bob said in disgust. "Now I have to go get Fred."

"Who's Fred?" Arthur asked curiously. "Fred is the man in charge of taxing people for throwing up in imaginary buckets that don't work. I'll be right back. Oh, and have a vampire penguin ready. He charges one vampire penguin by way of tax.

"Well that's odd. Have you noticed that the consequences for all of your actions here are that you have to give them a load of rubbish?" Arthur asked.

Suddenly, it had become soon, but not too soon.

"Uh-oh," said Ford.

The hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy has this to say about imagination: DO not imagine things. It can be extremely dangerous, and might just cost you your life depending on where you come from. Most species are capable of imagining items and causing them to appear in at least some form. Species in the nearby vicinity of Alpha Centauri are known to have no talent for this, but every other species is capable.

The guide then goes on to give descriptions of what the outcome will be if certain events are to happen. For instance, it states that if Betelguisian is to throw up into an imaginary bucket in heaven, near a corner with a demon, two-headed and three armed man who was once president of the galaxy, and carbon based life form from a planet that had been destroyed who's name included five vowels, none of them being "O", then the result will be several vampire penguins sprouting from it. This is not unusual if a Betelguisian is to imagine a vessel to contain bile and fail to do so. However, under these circumstances-. The guide then tells you to go to the next electronic "page" before displaying a message that it is experiencing technical difficulties and will most likely have the data back on line by the fifty-eight billionth rotation of the red dwarf star that is currently on it it's first rotation. It will finish with that rotation in one Earth millennium.

A/n: Yes, I am leaving you all hanging on the edge of your seats wondering about this one! What will the vampire penguins mutate into? Will Ford remember to speak every few paragraphs? Will Zaphod remember not to expose the plot holes again? And where the hell were the meat tenderizers in this fic? Find out all of this and more on another exciting chapter of: The True Story!

Because I felt like it. That was just to keep you all from asking me why I wrote that like it was the end of an old "Speed Racer" adventure, or something.

Thank you all reviewers. But I still have one question for you: Would the one known as cat please tell me why my story made them feel dirty? Really, I need to know this if I'm ever going to have any luck with a girl! Umm… I didn't say that. I'm not desperate, honest! GAH! Oh, wait, I can't say "GAH!" it isn't a word… darn.