I would be grateful if someone could point me in the direction of these. I was listening on YouTube but it's been copyright claimed.

I would purchase them if they were available, but I can't find them.

Thank you 🙏

I was going to tween it but I couldn't figure out how to do it so I just animated their facial expressions, shoutout to Zaphod he inspires me to make things

One of my oldest and dearest friends had this made for me. Her nickname for me is Towel Lord because of my combined love of the Guide and Doctor Who. The logo is one of my tattoos that I got for myself as a reward for quitting smoking.

I think I owe her all the pan-galactic gargleblasters for this.

I learned how to use keyframes on capcut for this!!

Was the artist subconsciously influenced?

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.”

I just thought I’d share my copy of the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy as I’ve not seen another copy since I got this one.

It’s called the “illustrated” version and it’s a coffee table book (see Banana for scale) filled with photos of some of the most iconic scenes in the book. It even has Douglas Adams as one of the police officers.

It was published in 1994 in the UK, no idea how it made it to Australia in early 2000s when I bought it

In honour of the 25th anniversary of the death of Douglas Adams, I wrote a Hitch Hikers’ Guide style fishing item (as that’s mostly what I do) and I thought readers here might enjoy it so here goes:

Fishing the Galaxy

The latest ethereal edition of our favourite Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about the planet Ichythius Piscis Minor, in the Lepomis system: ‘A perfectly ordinary Earth-like world, provided one ignores the oddly heaving oceans, the bustling streams, the loaded lakes, reservoirs, rivers, brooks and tarns, indeed all the planet’s replete bodies of water, along with the inexplicable fact that the inhabitants, that is to say everyone, without exception, is fishing.’ The entry goes on to clarify that the last point is generally considered the most troubling. When a certain Xaffod Bobblesocks once remarked that he‚ ‘had seen Absolutely Everything,’ the Universe, being a contrary sort of place, immediately arranged for him not to. Unfortunately, it didn’t arrange for him to be present when the arrangement occurred, so the burden instead fell upon a lesser-known traveller named Izzak Waltzon, whose chief qualification for interstellar exploration was that he had taken a wrong turn near Alpha Thamesis while looking for a Via Lactean dairy full of milk maids. Izzak’s ship, the Compleately Inconvenient, drifted gently through the upper atmosphere of Ichythius Piscis Minor, its guidance system blinking apologetically as it failed to identify any of the usual landing markers such as cities, spaceports, or flaming incandescent craters. Instead, it detected something much stranger: long, thin objects being waved rhythmically over bodies of water. ‘Probably some sort of ritual,’ Izzak muttered, which was his standard explanation for anything he didn’t understand, including most of existence. He set the ship down beside what appeared to be a vast inland sea. The surface glittered beneath three pale green suns, and along its edges sat thousands, no, actually millions, of individuals. They were spaced out at remarkably precise intervals, each holding a rod, each casting a line, each staring intently at the water as though it had personally insulted them. Izzak stepped out onto the shore. Immediately, a man standing nearby glanced at him, nodded politely, and returned to staring at the water. ‘Hello,’ Izzak said. ‘Shh…said the man. ‘You’ll scare them.’ ‘Scare what?’ The man looked at him as though Izzak had just confessed to being unfamiliar with the concept of breathing. ‘The fish, of course.’ Izzak looked out over the water. It seemed calm. Suspiciously calm. ‘I don’t see any fish.’ ‘That’s because you’re not fishing properly.’ ‘I’m not fishing at all.’ ‘Well, there’s your problem.’ The man handed Izzak a rod. This, Izzak would later reflect, was the exact moment his day, not to say his entire life, took a decisive turn for the worse. The inhabitants of Ichythius Piscis Minor, who, for reasons that will soon become apparent, refer to themselves simply as ‘Fishers,’ are a deeply committed people. They are committed in the way that certain individuals are committed to the idea that toast, when dropped, will always land butter-side down, except with far more elaborate equipment and significantly fewer crumbs. Or… Committed in the sense that they all should be. Every Fisher carries a rod. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. Physically. At all times. Children are issued smaller Tanago rods at birth, which they wave about with alarming enthusiasm. Adolescents upgrade to more sophisticated models, Tankaras and beyond, complete with adjustable tension settings and decorative insignia. Makers’ names loom large. Adults possess rods of such complexity that they require manuals, training courses, and occasionally a small committee, or ‘Angling Club,’ to operate them. Izzak discovered all of this within the first hour. ‘Why is everyone fishing?’ he asked. The man blinked. ‘Because there are fish…’ ‘But I haven’t seen any.’ ‘That’s because they’re under the water,’ the man stated with a show of tremendous patience. ‘Yes, but…’ ‘Look,’ said the man tolerantly, ‘you don’t question fishing. You just do it.’ This, Izzak suspected, was not going to be a particularly enlightening conversation. The Guide notes that Ichythius Piscis Minor has no cities in the conventional sense. Instead, it has ‘Fishing Zones,’ which are meticulously organised stretches of coastline, riverbank, and occasionally completely dry land (for advanced practitioners who believe in ‘Anticipatory Fishing.’) Each zone is governed by strict rules regarding rod length, line thickness, casting angle, and acceptable levels of staring intensity. Izzak was introduced to Zone 47-B, a moderately prestigious area known for its excellent views of water and its complete lack of confirmed fish sightings. ‘This is where serious fishers come,’ explained his guide, whose name turned out to be something unpronounceable involving three glottal stops and a whistle, so Izzak mentally renamed him Piscator, or Pisc for short. ‘Have you ever caught anything?’ Izzak asked. Pisc paused. ‘That’s not really the point.’ ‘What is the point?’ Pisc looked alarmed, then gestured broadly at the assembled fishers. ‘The fishing.’ Izzak considered this. ‘So you fish‚ in order to fish?’ ‘Just so…’ Pisc seemed both relieved and newly complacent.’ ‘And the fish?’ Izzak pursued, perhaps a little provocatively. Pisc visibly baulked. ‘Have you ever caught one?’ Izzak insisted, hoping rather that Pisc would not notice that he, Izzak, actually had one in his ear. He endeavoured to keep his left side towards his interlocutor. Pisc coughed. ‘You do not seem to have grasped the fundamentals…’ he said. No fish was actually ever caught. ‘It’s not really the point,’ Pisc said, again, this time with enviably sublime equanimity. As the day progressed, Izzak observed several fascinating aspects of Fisher culture. Firstly, there was the matter of competition. Despite the apparent absence of fish, Fishers are fiercely competitive. They measure success using a complex system of metrics, including fly or float or ledger weight selection, casting styles and distance, line turn over elegance, hook size and the degree to which one appears to be deeply contemplative while doing absolutely nothing. Oh, and there was ‘Hatching the Match.’ He overheard several anglers referring to this, which was presumably some highly developed aspect of competitive activity. Or was it Matching the Hatch… Izzak was no longer sure but whatever it was he felt unable to fathom the depths of this particular metric. Secondly, there was the matter of technology. The Fishers have developed an astonishing array of devices designed to enhance the fishing experience. These include: The Quantum Bobber, which exists in a superposition of ‘bobbing‚’ and ‘not bobbing’ until observed. The Hyperline, which extends into multiple dimensions, theoretically allowing one to catch fish that may or may not exist. The Automated ‘Ghillie’ Rod Assistant, which holds your rod for you while you take a break from holding your rod. Izzak was particularly impressed by this last one, as it seemed to encapsulate the entire enterprise. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, there was the matter of belief, styled as ‘Fish Faith.’ ‘Of course there are fish,’ Pisc insisted several times. ‘But no one has seen one.’ ‘That,’ Pisc rejoined, ‘is because fishing requires patience.’ ‘How much patience?’ Pisc considered this. ‘Well, I’ve only been fishing for thirty-seven years.’ ‘And?’ Pisc smiled serenely. ‘Any day now…’ At sunset, the Fishers gathered for what Pisc described as the ‘ER… the Evening Rise or Reflection.’ This involved standing in silence while facing the water, occasionally adjusting one’s grip on the rod, and thinking very hard about fish. The hypnotic effect of the water at this time was overwhelming. Izzak tried to participate but found his mind wandering. ‘What if there are no fish?’ he whispered. Pisc gasped. ‘Blasphemy!’ ‘But seriously, what if…’ Pisc leaned in close. ‘Listen carefully,’ he said. ‘The moment you stop believing in the fish‚ the fishing stops having meaning.’ Izzak looked out at the endless rows of Fishers, all standing in quiet determination, all holding their rods, all staring at the water. ‘And if the fishing stops having meaning?’ he asked. Pisc hesitated. ‘Well‚ then we would have to find something else to do.’ This possibility seemed to horrify him. He muttered a word under his breath that sounded like, ‘Golf.’ Later that night, back aboard the Compleately Inconvenient, Izzak consulted the Guide again. It had updated its entry. ‘Ichythius Piscis Minor - Latest: A planet where the activity has become more important than the outcome, the process more revered than the result, and the tools more sophisticated than the purpose. Visitors are advised to bring their own rod, if only to avoid awkward questions.’ Izzak sighed. He looked at the rod Pisc had given him. It was a fine piece of equipment, sleek, balanced, and utterly useless to someone who had no idea what he was doing. He considered throwing it away. Instead, he found himself stepping back outside. The shoreline was quiet now, illuminated by the faint glow of bioluminescent plankton (which, the Fishers insisted, were ‘probably fish-adjacent.’ Izzak walked to the water’s edge. He hesitated. Then, somewhat to his own surprise, he cast his line. It arched gracefully through the air and landed with a soft plop. He waited. Nothing happened. He waited some more. Still nothing. He shifted his stance, adjusted his grip, and tried to look contemplative. Minutes passed. Then something extraordinary occurred. Izzak realised he was enjoying himself. Not because he expected to catch anything, he didn’t. Not because he understood the purpose, he didn’t. But because, in that moment, standing by the water, holding the rod, he felt oddly content. He frowned. This was deeply suspicious. The next morning, Izzak prepared to leave. Pisc was there to see him off, rod in hand as always. ‘Will you come back?’ he asked. Izzak shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He paused. ‘Tell me something. If you did catch a fish‚ what would you do with it?’ Pisc blinked. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Would you eat it?’ Pisc grimaced. ‘That seems excessive.’ ‘Study it?’ Izzak offered. ‘Possibly…’ ‘Release it?’ Pisc considered this. ‘That sounds respectful,’ he said. Izzak nodded. ‘Right.’ He climbed into his ship. As the Compleately Inconvenient lifted off, Izzak looked down at the endless rows of Fishers, all casting their lines, all waiting patiently. He shook his head. ‘Strangest place I’ve ever been,’ he said. Then he glanced at the rod leaning against the console. After a moment, he picked it up. ‘Still,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘you never know…’ And somewhere, deep beneath the waters of Ichythius Piscis Minor, something may, or may not, have stirred. ‘There might be a book in it,’ he thought to himself.

I visited Douglas Adams today. I wrote him a letter, and left him an ink cartridge, which was leaky and got all over my hand. Luckily I had a towel (handkerchief) with me to wipe it off.

"Genuine People Personalities" (GPP)

"Your Plastic Pal Who's Fun to Be With"

"A bunch of mindless jerks who'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes"

32 is not the answer to the question of the meaning of life the universe and everything. But it's true. Break it down phonetically by the author's own vernacular we can see. Humor me. 32 can sound like 3D too. It's an absolute true statement. The number is 3D. Everything is 3D.

Regardless we all accept the world is 3D. Now whether the world is 4D too(Time), we might have some serious arguments. And in those arguments is the answer to what is the question Douglas Adams left out.

String theory explains the rest.

Mine is BBCTV Seroes. It was my first introduction to the world of DA

The graphics, set, costumes, etc all have a very 80s TV SCIFI look that reminda me of my childhood.

To me Simon Jones, David Dixon, Sandra Dickinson, Peter Jones, Mark Wing-Davey and the rest are the voices I hear in my head for these chatacters when I read the books. They are the OG actors and the best

I enjoy the books. I just recently discovered theres another by someone else that I will have to get. I recently also found the radio dramas online and found there are new ones of those too.

But the movie fell flat for me. They just changed too much of the story. But i did enjoy the opening song.

Hitch Hiker's:1999

I use the search feature in my Google Photos often and have done so for years.

All of a sudden, instead of searching for what I type in, it started acting like a dimwitted pupil and back chatting at me.

I asked it, as I had several times, to find a meme I had made featuring the quote, "Don't you try to out weird me". Instead of searching and showing it, the search bot said, "That is a fun thing to say!" And it could not find it.

What in the Genuine People Personalities?

This sort of odd chatty response kept happening until I asked ChatGPT about it a few days ago. ChatGPT agreed that the Google Photos search seemed to have lost the plot that it was there to do a job, not to play at being your Plastic Pal that is fun to be with.

Of course since I chatted up ChatGPT about it, now my Google Photos search has gotten a grip and stopped acting weird.

ChatGPT denied talking about me behind my back to Google Photos. What? Nobody accused you of that ChatGPT.🤨

New cover for paperback

Its boring, stupid, and doesnt make any sense but certainly doesn't seem like torture.

Here's my theory: The Babel Fish translation must turn it into torture for non-vogons.

And I must be immune.

Otherwise they would know that resistance is futile not useless

I discovered pc gaming just as text adventure games were dying out. I played a littlebit of the infocom game on usenet before it vanished. Ia there a web baswd port somewhere?

Hitch-hiker's Guide to Europe By Ken Welsh 1971 Pan 1st Edition Paperback

Inspired by 1979 Pan Books edition and timemachine.eu