mboost-dp1
SAY NR. 1!!!
Chapter 5 Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz was not a pleasant sight, even for otherVogons. His highly domed nose rose high above a small piggyforehead. His dark green rubbery skin was thick enough for him toplay the game of Vogon Civil Service politics, and play it well,and waterproof enough for him to survive indefinitely at seadepths of up to a thousand feet with no ill effects. Not that he ever went swimming of course. His busy schedule wouldnot allow it. He was the way he was because billions of years agowhen the Vogons had first crawled out of the sluggish primevalseas of Vogsphere, and had lain panting and heaving on theplanet's virgin shores... when the first rays of the bright youngVogsol sun had shone across them that morning, it was as if theforces of evolution ad simply given up on them there and then,had turned aside in disgust and written them off as an ugly andunfortunate mistake. They never evolved again; they should neverhave survived. The fact that they did is some kind of tribute to the thick-willed slug-brained stubbornness of these creatures. Evolution?they said to themselves, Who needs it?, and what nature refusedto do for them they simply did without until such time as theywere able to rectify the grosser anatomical inconveniences withsurgery. Meanwhile, the natural forces on the planet Vogsphere had beenworking overtime to make up for their earlier blunder. Theybrought forth scintillating jewelled scuttling crabs, which theVogons ate, smashing their shells with iron mallets; tallaspiring trees with breathtaking slenderness and colour which theVogons cut down and burned the crab meat with; elegant gazelle-like creatures with silken coats and dewy eyes which the Vogonswould catch and sit on. They were no use as transport becausetheir backs would snap instantly, but the Vogons sat on themanyway. Thus the planet Vogsphere whiled away the unhappy millennia untilthe Vogons suddenly discovered the principles of interstellartravel. Within a few short Vog years every last Vogon hadmigrated to the Megabrantis cluster, the political hub of theGalaxy and now formed the immensely powerful backbone of theGalactic Civil Service. They have attempted to acquire learning,they have attempted to acquire style and social grace, but inmost respects the modern Vogon is little different from hisprimitive forebears. Every year they import twenty-seven thousandscintillating jewelled scuttling crabs from their native planetand while away a happy drunken night smashing them to bits withiron mallets. Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz was a fairly typical Vogon in that he wasthoroughly vile. Also, he did not like hitch hikers. Somewhere in a small dark cabin buried deep in the intestines ofProstetnic Vogon Jeltz's flagship, a small match flarednervously. The owner of the match was not a Vogon, but he knewall about them and was right to be nervous. His name was FordPrefect*. He looked about the cabin but could see very little; strangemonstrous shadows loomed and leaped with the tiny flickeringflame, but all was quiet. He breathed a silent thank you to theDentrassis. The Dentrassis are an unruly tribe of gourmands, awild but pleasant bunch whom the Vogons had recently taken toemploying as catering staff on their long haul fleets, on thestrict understanding that they keep themselves very much tothemselves. This suited the Dentrassis fine, because they loved Vogon money,which is one of the hardest currencies in space, but loathed theVogons themselves. The only sort of Vogon a Dentrassi liked tosee was an annoyed Vogon. It was because of this tiny piece of information that FordPrefect was not now a whiff of hydrogen, ozone and carbonmonoxide. He heard a slight groan. By the light of the match he saw a heavyshape moving slightly on the floor. Quickly he shook the matchout, reached in his pocket, found what he was looking for andtook it out. He crouched on the floor. The shape moved again. Ford Prefect said: "I bought some peanuts." Arthur Dent moved, and groaned again, muttering incoherently. "Here, have some," urged Ford, shaking the packet again, "ifyou've never been through a matter transference beam beforeyou've probably lost some salt and protein. The beer you hadshould have cushioned your system a bit." "Whhhrrrr..." said Arthur Dent. He opened his eyes. "It's dark," he said. "Yes," said Ford Prefect, "it's dark." "No light," said Arthur Dent. "Dark, no light." One of the things Ford Prefect had always found hardest tounderstand about human beings was their habit of continuallystating and repeating the obvious, as in It's a nice day, orYou're very tall, or Oh dear you seem to have fallen down athirty-foot well, are you alright? At first Ford had formed atheory to account for this strange behaviour. If human beingsdon't keep exercising their lips, he thought, their mouthsprobably seize up. After a few months' consideration andobservation he abandoned this theory in favour of a new one. Ifthey don't keep on exercising their lips, he thought, theirbrains start working. After a while he abandoned this one as wellas being obstructively cynical and decided he quite liked humanbeings after all, but he always remained desperately worriedabout the terrible number of things they didn't know about. "Yes," he agreed with Arthur, "no light." He helped Arthur tosome peanuts. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Like a military academy," said Arthur, "bits of me keep onpassing out." Ford stared at him blankly in the darkness. "If I asked you where the hell we were," said Arthur weakly,"would I regret it?" Ford stood up. "We're safe," he said. "Oh good," said Arthur. "We're in a small galley cabin," said Ford, "in one of thespaceships of the Vogon Constructor Fleet." "Ah," said Arthur, "this is obviously some strange usage of theword safe that I wasn't previously aware of." Ford struck another match to help him search for a light switch.Monstrous shadows leaped and loomed again. Arthur struggled tohis feet and hugged himself apprehensively. Hideous alien shapesseemed to throng about him, the air was thick with musty smellswhich sidled into his lungs without identifying themselves, and alow irritating hum kept his brain from focusing. "How did we get here?" he asked, shivering slightly. "We hitched a lift," said Ford. "Excuse me?" said Arthur. "Are you trying to tell me that we juststuck out our thumbs and some green bug-eyed monster stuck hishead out and said, Hi fellas, hop right in. I can take you as faras the Basingstoke roundabout?" "Well," said Ford, "the Thumb's an electronic sub-etha signallingdevice, the roundabout's at Barnard's Star six light years away,but otherwise, that's more or less right." "And the bug-eyed monster?" "Is green, yes." "Fine," said Arthur, "when can I get home?" "You can't," said Ford Prefect, and found the light switch. "Shade your eyes ..." he said, and turned it on. Even Ford was surprised. "Good grief," said Arthur, "is this really the interior of aflying saucer?" Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz heaved his unpleasant green body round thecontrol bridge. He always felt vaguely irritable afterdemolishing populated planets. He wished that someone would comeand tell him that it was all wrong so that he could shout at themand feel better. He flopped as heavily as he could on to hiscontrol seat in the hope that it would break and give himsomething to be genuinely angry about, but it only gave acomplaining sort of creak. "Go away!" he shouted at a young Vogon guard who entered thebridge at that moment. The guard vanished immediately, feelingrather relieved. He was glad it wouldn't now be him who deliveredthe report they'd just received. The report was an officialrelease which said that a wonderful new form of spaceship drivewas at this moment being unveiled at a government research baseon Damogran which would henceforth make all hyperspatial expressroutes unnecessary. Another door slid open, but this time the Vogon captain didn'tshout because it was the door from the galley quarters where theDentrassis prepared his meals. A meal would be most welcome. A huge furry creature bounded through the door with his lunchtray. It was grinning like a maniac. Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz was delighted. He knew that when aDentrassi looked that pleased with itself there was somethinggoing on somewhere on the ship that he could get very angryindeed about. Ford and Arthur stared about them. "Well, what do you think?" said Ford. "It's a bit squalid, isn't it?" Ford frowned at the grubby mattress, unwashed cups andunidentifiable bits of smelly alien underwear that lay around thecramped cabin. "Well, this is a working ship, you see," said Ford. "These arethe Dentrassi sleeping quarters." "I thought you said they were called Vogons or something." "Yes," said Ford, "the Vogons run the ship, the Dentrassis arethe cooks, they let us on board." "I'm confused," said Arthur. "Here, have a look at this," said Ford. He sat down on one of themattresses and rummaged about in his satchel. Arthur prodded themattress nervously and then sat on it himself: in fact he hadvery little to be nervous about, because all mattresses grown inthe swamps of Squornshellous Zeta are very thoroughly killed anddried before being put to service. Very few have ever come tolife again. Ford handed the book to Arthur. "What is it?" asked Arthur. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It's a sort of electronicbook. It tells you everything you need to know about anything.That's its job." Arthur turned it over nervously in his hands. "I like the cover," he said. "Don't Panic. It's the first helpfulor intelligible thing anybody's said to me all day." "I'll show you how it works," said Ford. He snatched it fromArthur who was still holding it as if it was a two-week-dead larkand pulled it out of its cover. "You press this button here you see and the screen lights upgiving you the index." A screen, about three inches by four, lit up and characters beganto flicker across the surface. "You want to know about Vogons, so I enter that name so." Hisfingers tapped some more keys. "And there we are." The words Vogon Constructor Fleets flared in green across thescreen. Ford pressed a large red button at the bottom of the screen andwords began to undulate across it. At the same time, the bookbegan to speak the entry as well in a still quiet measured voice.This is what the book said. "Vogon Constructor Fleets. Here is what to do if you want to geta lift from a Vogon: forget it. They are one of the mostunpleasant races in the Galaxy -- not actually evil, but badtempered, bureaucratic, officious and callous. They wouldn't evenlift a finger to save their own grandmothers from the RavenousBugblatter Beast of Traal without orders signed in triplicate,sent in, sent back, queried, lost, found, subjected to publicinquiry, lost again, and finally buried in soft peat and recycledas firelighters. "The best way to get a drink out of a Vogon is to stick yourfinger down his throat, and the best way to irritate him is tofeed his grandmother to the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal. "On no account allow a Vogon to read poetry at you." Arthur blinked at it. "What a strange book. How did we get a lift then?" "That's the point, it's out of date now," said Ford, sliding thebook back into its cover. "I'm doing the field research for theNew Revised Edition, and one of the things I'll have to includeis a bit about how the Vogons now employ Dentrassi cooks whichgives us a rather useful little loophole." A pained expression crossed Arthur's face. "But who are theDentrassi?" he said. "Great guys," said Ford. "They're the best cooks and the bestdrink mixers and they don't give a wet slap about anything else.And they'll always help hitch hikers aboard, partly because theylike the company, but mostly because it annoys the Vogons. Whichis exactly the sort of thing you need to know if you're animpoverished hitch hiker trying to see the marvels of theUniverse for less than thirty Altairan Dollars a day. And that'smy job. Fun, isn't it?" Arthur looked lost. "It's amazing," he said and frowned at one of the othermattresses. "Unfortunately I got stuck on the Earth for rather longer than Iintended," said Ford. "I came for a week and got stuck forfifteen years." "But how did you get there in the first place then?" "Easy, I got a lift with a teaser." "A teaser?" "Yeah." "Er, what is ..." "A teaser? Teasers are usually rich kids with nothing to do. Theycruise around looking for planets which haven't made interstellarcontact yet and buzz them." "Buzz them?" Arthur began to feel that Ford was enjoying makinglife difficult for him. "Yeah", said Ford, "they buzz them. They find some isolated spotwith very few people around, then land right by some poor soulwhom no one's ever going to believe and then strut up and down infront of him wearing silly antennae on their heads and makingbeep beep noises. Rather childish really." Ford leant back on themattress with his hands behind his head and looked infuriatinglypleased with himself. "Ford," insisted Arthur, "I don't know if this sounds like asilly question, but what am I doing here?" "Well you know that," said Ford. "I rescued you from the Earth." "And what's happened to the Earth?" "Ah. It's been demolished." "Has it," said Arthur levelly. "Yes. It just boiled away into space." "Look," said Arthur, "I'm a bit upset about that." Ford frowned to himself and seemed to roll the thought around hismind. "Yes, I can understand that," he said at last. "Understand that!" shouted Arthur. "Understand that!" Ford sprang up. "Keep looking at the book!" he hissed urgently. "What?" "Don't Panic." "I'm not panicking!" "Yes you are." "Alright so I'm panicking, what else is there to do?" "You just come along with me and have a good time. The Galaxy's afun place. You'll need to have this fish in your ear." "I beg your pardon?" asked Arthur, rather politely he thought. Ford was holding up a small glass jar which quite clearly had asmall yellow fish wriggling around in it. Arthur blinked at him.He wished there was something simple and recognizable he couldgrasp hold of. He would have felt safe if alongside the Dentrassiunderwear, the piles of Squornshellous mattresses and the manfrom Betelgeuse holding up a small yellow fish and offering toput it in his ear he had been able to see just a small packet ofcorn flakes. He couldn't, and he didn't feel safe. Suddenly a violent noise leapt at them from no source that hecould identify. He gasped in terror at what sounded like a mantrying to gargle whilst fighting off a pack of wolves. "Shush!" said Ford. "Listen, it might be important." "Im ... important?" "It's the Vogon captain making an announcement on the T'annoy." "You mean that's how the Vogons talk?" "Listen!" "But I can't speak Vogon!" "You don't need to. Just put that fish in your ear." Ford, with a lightning movement, clapped his hand to Arthur'sear, and he had the sudden sickening sensation of the fishslithering deep into his aural tract. Gasping with horror hescrabbled at his ear for a second or so, but then slowly turnedgoggle-eyed with wonder. He was experiencing the aural equivalentof looking at a picture of two black silhouetted faces andsuddenly seeing it as a picture of a white candlestick. Or oflooking at a lot of coloured dots on a piece of paper whichsuddenly resolve themselves into the figure six and mean thatyour optician is going to charge you a lot of money for a newpair of glasses. He was still listening to the howling gargles, he knew that, onlynow it had taken on the semblance of perfectly straightforwardEnglish. This is what he heard ...
Fandt lige det bedste (IMHO) bedste newz.dk indlæg nogen sinde... det var ihvertfald så godt jeg gemte det i en txt fil i sin tid
********************************************
det minder ret meget om Darwins evolutionsteori. Livet på jorden startede jo med éncellede organismer, der ikke kunne andet end at reproducere sig selv. De udviklede sig så videre til lidt mere avancerede væsner. Jeg tror nok at virus var trin 2 på evolutionsstigen. Virus eller bakterier eller noget i den retning. Og det er jo interessant, for hvis man ser på de vira og mail-orme, vi har i dag, så befinder de sig nok på et kompleksitetsniveau, der minder om de første trin i evolutionen. Nu har vi så set det første eksempel på, at de her simple væsner begynder at parre sig og danne mere avancerede livsformer. Så vidt jeg kan se, er der ingen grænser for, hvor meget de her ukontrollable programmer kan kombinere sig. Fidusen med vira er jo, at de ofte hæfter sig på et andet program, man kan sige at de "udvider" programmet. Noget andet interessant ved evolutionen er, at den sker eksponentielt. I milliarder af år var der jo ikke andet end bakterier og andre smådyr, som fjollede rundt ude i verdenshavene. Men pludselig begyndte der at opstå plankton, så fisk, landdyr, dinoer, pattedyr, mennesker. Den tid, hvor der har eksisteret dyr på jorden, er kun en lille brøkdel af den tid, hvor der har eksisteret liv. Jeg kan ikke lige huske hvor stor den brøkdel er. Anyone? Det kunne være interessant at sammenligne den hidtidige udvikling indenfor computervira med den tilsvarende udvikling ved livets opståen. Måske kunne man endda lave nogen forholdsvis præcise gæt på, hvornår vi f.eks. ser den første computer-"dino" (Dvs. et program af en størrelse og kompleksitet, der svarer til dinosaurus, udelukkende baseret på tilfældig parring af vira og vira-efterkommere)? Huhej, nu kører min associationsrække bare derudaf... Hvis man accepterer det som en naturlig ting, at vira og orme vil parre sig og udvikle sig... Hvor hurtigt vil det så gå? Den organiske evolution fulgte en eksponentiel kurve. Fordobling og fordobling og fordobling Men den organiske evolution fandt sted under ensartede betingelser. Dvs. jordkloden udvidede sig ikke. Der blev ikke mere ilt undervejs i evolutionen, og planeten voksede ikke. For digitale væsener bliver livsbetingelserne forbedret konstant. Den plads de har at udfolde sig på, vokser hele tiden. Der bliver hele tiden koblet nye computere på internettet, og hver enkelt computer får hele tiden mere og mere lagerkapacitet. Processorerne, de digitale livsformers ilt, bliver hele tiden hurtigere. Hver 18. måned fordobles processorernes regnekraft. Prøv at forestille jer, hvordan livet ville have udviklet sig, hvis mængden af ilt på jorden blev fordoblet hver 18. måned. Og hvis planeten voksede konstant. Samtidig vokser båndbredden på internettet, så livsformer kan sprede sig (og parre sig) hurtigere. Samtidig bliver der mulighed for, at større og større livsformer kan bevæge sig lynhurtigt udover nettet, måske endda så hurtigt, at ingen opdager dem. Så måske er vi vidner til en eksponentiel udvikling, hvis udviklingsgrundlag også udvikler sig eksponentielt. (2^x) * (2^y) = ..... Hvordan ser situationen ud om 18 måneder? Hvor mange nye livsformer der opstået? Hvordan ser det ud om 36 måneder? (2^x) * (2^y). Menneskene forsker i at udvikle kunstig intelligens. Men måske kommer "naturen" os i forkøbet. Der er éen faktor som måske kan forhindre en digital evolution, eller i det mindste forsinke den. Da det biologiske liv udviklede sig, havde det jo ikke nogen konkurrenter. Men det digitale liv skal forsøge at overleve i et miljø, der er domineret af menneskeskabt software. Nettets maskiner er fyldt med antivirusprogrammer; organismer med det ene formål at dræbe. Organismer hvis eksistensberettigelse er deres organiske herskere trang til at kontrollere ned til mindste detalje, hvilket liv der skal have lov til at eksistere på nettet. Antivirusprogrammerne vil blive de digitale livsformers værste fjende. ... ...Om fem år sidder jeg måske på newz.dk og læser om, hvordan NASAs eksterne servere er blevet lagt ned af ukendte gerningsmænd. Hackerne har været i stand til at bryde igennem nærmest umenneskelige forsvarsværker, overskrive al ledig plads med uforståelige BIN-filer, inficere alle programdele med et hav af destruktive vira, slette alle log-filer, der skulle kunne give et spor til, hvor angrebet kom fra, og forsvinde igen. Sporløst. Det burde ikke kunne lade sig gøre. NASA har ellers i de sidste par år haft en netværksansvarlig siddende i døgndrift, med det ene formål at holde øje med netværket for at kunne afværge den slags angreb. Men angrebet kom imens han blinkede. Og det var overstået, inden hans hjerne kunne nå at forstå, hvad der skete... ...der popper et vindue op. Du har ikke mere diskplads... ...For en time siden havde jeg 76 GB fri. Hvordan kan det ske? Jeg åbner stifinder... ...kaos... ...tusindvis af filer... ...Jeg har aldrig set en eneste af dem før... ...Starter mit antivirus-program op. Scanningen afslører et netværk af uidentificerede filer, spredt ud over min harddisk. I den grafiske gengivelse ligner det næsten... ...der dumper en email ind fra min udbyder... ...internet-abonnementet overskredet med 130 GB upload. De skriver for at advare om, at de nu vil begynde at opkræve 30 øre pr. GB... .Panik. Jeg åbner NetWatch. Linjen er rødglødende. Informationer, tonsvis af uforståeligt kaudervælsk, mp3-filer, billeder, film, og binaries, gigabyte efter gigabyte af binaries med alfanumeriske navne, jeg begynder at få kvalme. Min linje må have køre på maximal kapacitet i de sidste mange timer, uden at jeg har opdaget det. Linjen Jeg falder ned på knæ, roder rundt under mit skrivebord efter netværkskablet, får fat i det, rykker, computeren hopper et par centimeter hen over gulvet og lander på mine fingre, pludselig udstøder mine højttalere en forfærdelig larm, infernalsk, skrigende, værre end den værste noise-kunst jeg nogensinde har hørt, jeg springer op, rammer hovedet imod mit bord, bander, kanter mig ud, væk fra den skarpe bordkant, løfter mig op på en stol, fumler efter højttalerne, off, larmen stopper, skærmen er en flimrende orkan af farver og mønstre, et screenshot fra Project Ego, internetporno, mine bankoplysninger farer hen over skærmen og opløses i et pixeleret mareridt, jeg langer ud efter powerknappen. Ro. Computeren er slukket. Død. Jeg forsøger at trække vejret roligt igen. Efter et par minutter går jeg igen ned på knæ. Kravler ind under bordet og hiver forsigtigt netværkskablet ud. Denne gang husker jeg, at der er sådan en lille kontaktagtig sag som skal trykkes ned, for at kablet vil slippe sig fri af stikket. Sådan. Nu kan der ikke kommer mere lort ind eller ud af min computer. Jeg sætter mig op igen. Tænder. Booter uden om windows. Forbandet. Det er satme flere måneder siden jeg sidst har taget backup. Og nu bliver jeg nødt til at slette hele lortet igen. DOS-promptens sort/hvide minimalisme blinker afventende foran mig. C:> fo C:> forma C:> format C:> format c: Min finger hænger og svæver over return. Har jeg nu alligevel lyst til det her? C:> form C:> fo C:> f C:> C:> C:> martin. C:> martin. C:> lad vaere C:> vil du ikke nok lade mig leve? C:> martin? C:> vil du ikke nok?
********************************************
det minder ret meget om Darwins evolutionsteori. Livet på jorden startede jo med éncellede organismer, der ikke kunne andet end at reproducere sig selv. De udviklede sig så videre til lidt mere avancerede væsner. Jeg tror nok at virus var trin 2 på evolutionsstigen. Virus eller bakterier eller noget i den retning. Og det er jo interessant, for hvis man ser på de vira og mail-orme, vi har i dag, så befinder de sig nok på et kompleksitetsniveau, der minder om de første trin i evolutionen. Nu har vi så set det første eksempel på, at de her simple væsner begynder at parre sig og danne mere avancerede livsformer. Så vidt jeg kan se, er der ingen grænser for, hvor meget de her ukontrollable programmer kan kombinere sig. Fidusen med vira er jo, at de ofte hæfter sig på et andet program, man kan sige at de "udvider" programmet. Noget andet interessant ved evolutionen er, at den sker eksponentielt. I milliarder af år var der jo ikke andet end bakterier og andre smådyr, som fjollede rundt ude i verdenshavene. Men pludselig begyndte der at opstå plankton, så fisk, landdyr, dinoer, pattedyr, mennesker. Den tid, hvor der har eksisteret dyr på jorden, er kun en lille brøkdel af den tid, hvor der har eksisteret liv. Jeg kan ikke lige huske hvor stor den brøkdel er. Anyone? Det kunne være interessant at sammenligne den hidtidige udvikling indenfor computervira med den tilsvarende udvikling ved livets opståen. Måske kunne man endda lave nogen forholdsvis præcise gæt på, hvornår vi f.eks. ser den første computer-"dino" (Dvs. et program af en størrelse og kompleksitet, der svarer til dinosaurus, udelukkende baseret på tilfældig parring af vira og vira-efterkommere)? Huhej, nu kører min associationsrække bare derudaf... Hvis man accepterer det som en naturlig ting, at vira og orme vil parre sig og udvikle sig... Hvor hurtigt vil det så gå? Den organiske evolution fulgte en eksponentiel kurve. Fordobling og fordobling og fordobling Men den organiske evolution fandt sted under ensartede betingelser. Dvs. jordkloden udvidede sig ikke. Der blev ikke mere ilt undervejs i evolutionen, og planeten voksede ikke. For digitale væsener bliver livsbetingelserne forbedret konstant. Den plads de har at udfolde sig på, vokser hele tiden. Der bliver hele tiden koblet nye computere på internettet, og hver enkelt computer får hele tiden mere og mere lagerkapacitet. Processorerne, de digitale livsformers ilt, bliver hele tiden hurtigere. Hver 18. måned fordobles processorernes regnekraft. Prøv at forestille jer, hvordan livet ville have udviklet sig, hvis mængden af ilt på jorden blev fordoblet hver 18. måned. Og hvis planeten voksede konstant. Samtidig vokser båndbredden på internettet, så livsformer kan sprede sig (og parre sig) hurtigere. Samtidig bliver der mulighed for, at større og større livsformer kan bevæge sig lynhurtigt udover nettet, måske endda så hurtigt, at ingen opdager dem. Så måske er vi vidner til en eksponentiel udvikling, hvis udviklingsgrundlag også udvikler sig eksponentielt. (2^x) * (2^y) = ..... Hvordan ser situationen ud om 18 måneder? Hvor mange nye livsformer der opstået? Hvordan ser det ud om 36 måneder? (2^x) * (2^y). Menneskene forsker i at udvikle kunstig intelligens. Men måske kommer "naturen" os i forkøbet. Der er éen faktor som måske kan forhindre en digital evolution, eller i det mindste forsinke den. Da det biologiske liv udviklede sig, havde det jo ikke nogen konkurrenter. Men det digitale liv skal forsøge at overleve i et miljø, der er domineret af menneskeskabt software. Nettets maskiner er fyldt med antivirusprogrammer; organismer med det ene formål at dræbe. Organismer hvis eksistensberettigelse er deres organiske herskere trang til at kontrollere ned til mindste detalje, hvilket liv der skal have lov til at eksistere på nettet. Antivirusprogrammerne vil blive de digitale livsformers værste fjende. ... ...Om fem år sidder jeg måske på newz.dk og læser om, hvordan NASAs eksterne servere er blevet lagt ned af ukendte gerningsmænd. Hackerne har været i stand til at bryde igennem nærmest umenneskelige forsvarsværker, overskrive al ledig plads med uforståelige BIN-filer, inficere alle programdele med et hav af destruktive vira, slette alle log-filer, der skulle kunne give et spor til, hvor angrebet kom fra, og forsvinde igen. Sporløst. Det burde ikke kunne lade sig gøre. NASA har ellers i de sidste par år haft en netværksansvarlig siddende i døgndrift, med det ene formål at holde øje med netværket for at kunne afværge den slags angreb. Men angrebet kom imens han blinkede. Og det var overstået, inden hans hjerne kunne nå at forstå, hvad der skete... ...der popper et vindue op. Du har ikke mere diskplads... ...For en time siden havde jeg 76 GB fri. Hvordan kan det ske? Jeg åbner stifinder... ...kaos... ...tusindvis af filer... ...Jeg har aldrig set en eneste af dem før... ...Starter mit antivirus-program op. Scanningen afslører et netværk af uidentificerede filer, spredt ud over min harddisk. I den grafiske gengivelse ligner det næsten... ...der dumper en email ind fra min udbyder... ...internet-abonnementet overskredet med 130 GB upload. De skriver for at advare om, at de nu vil begynde at opkræve 30 øre pr. GB... .Panik. Jeg åbner NetWatch. Linjen er rødglødende. Informationer, tonsvis af uforståeligt kaudervælsk, mp3-filer, billeder, film, og binaries, gigabyte efter gigabyte af binaries med alfanumeriske navne, jeg begynder at få kvalme. Min linje må have køre på maximal kapacitet i de sidste mange timer, uden at jeg har opdaget det. Linjen Jeg falder ned på knæ, roder rundt under mit skrivebord efter netværkskablet, får fat i det, rykker, computeren hopper et par centimeter hen over gulvet og lander på mine fingre, pludselig udstøder mine højttalere en forfærdelig larm, infernalsk, skrigende, værre end den værste noise-kunst jeg nogensinde har hørt, jeg springer op, rammer hovedet imod mit bord, bander, kanter mig ud, væk fra den skarpe bordkant, løfter mig op på en stol, fumler efter højttalerne, off, larmen stopper, skærmen er en flimrende orkan af farver og mønstre, et screenshot fra Project Ego, internetporno, mine bankoplysninger farer hen over skærmen og opløses i et pixeleret mareridt, jeg langer ud efter powerknappen. Ro. Computeren er slukket. Død. Jeg forsøger at trække vejret roligt igen. Efter et par minutter går jeg igen ned på knæ. Kravler ind under bordet og hiver forsigtigt netværkskablet ud. Denne gang husker jeg, at der er sådan en lille kontaktagtig sag som skal trykkes ned, for at kablet vil slippe sig fri af stikket. Sådan. Nu kan der ikke kommer mere lort ind eller ud af min computer. Jeg sætter mig op igen. Tænder. Booter uden om windows. Forbandet. Det er satme flere måneder siden jeg sidst har taget backup. Og nu bliver jeg nødt til at slette hele lortet igen. DOS-promptens sort/hvide minimalisme blinker afventende foran mig. C:> fo C:> forma C:> format C:> format c: Min finger hænger og svæver over return. Har jeg nu alligevel lyst til det her? C:> form C:> fo C:> f C:> C:> C:> martin. C:> martin. C:> lad vaere C:> vil du ikke nok lade mig leve? C:> martin? C:> vil du ikke nok?
Tjah, jeg prøver da på at gøre mit. Er der overhovedet nogen folk der læser her inde mere?
Chapter 6 "Howl howl gargle howl gargle howl howl howl gargle howl garglehowl howl gargle gargle howl gargle gargle gargle howl slurrpuuuurgh should have a good time. Message repeats. This is yourcaptain speaking, so stop whatever you're doing and payattention. First of all I see from our instruments that we have acouple of hitchhikers aboard. Hello wherever you are. I just wantto make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome. Iworked hard to get where I am today, and I didn't become captainof a Vogon constructor ship simply so I could turn it into a taxiservice for a load of degenerate freeloaders. I have sent out asearch party, and as soon that they find you I will put you offthe ship. If you're very lucky I might read you some of my poetryfirst. "Secondly, we are about to jump into hyperspace for the journeyto Barnard's Star. On arrival we will stay in dock for aseventy-two hour refit, and no one's to leave the ship duringthat time. I repeat, all planet leave is cancelled. I've just hadan unhappy love affair, so I don't see why anybody else shouldhave a good time. Message ends." The noise stopped. Arthur discovered to his embarrassment that he was lying curledup in a small ball on the floor with his arms wrapped round hishead. He smiled weakly. "Charming man," he said. "I wish I had a daughter so I couldforbid her to marry one ..." "You wouldn't need to," said Ford. "They've got as much sexappeal as a road accident. No, don't move," he added as Arthurbegan to uncurl himself, "you'd better be prepared for the jumpinto hyperspace. It's unpleasantly like being drunk." "What's so unpleasant about being drunk?" "You ask a glass of water." Arthur thought about this. "Ford," he said. "Yeah?" "What's this fish doing in my ear?" "It's translating for you. It's a Babel fish. Look it up in thebook if you like." He tossed over The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy and thencurled himself up into a foetal ball to prepare himself for thejump. At that moment the bottom fell out of Arthur's mind. His eyes turned inside out. His feet began to leak out of the topof his head. The room folded flat about him, spun around, shifted out ofexistence and left him sliding into his own navel. They were passing through hyperspace. "The Babel fish," said The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxyquietly, "is small, yellow and leech-like, and probably theoddest thing in the Universe. It feeds on brainwave energy notfrom its carrier but from those around it. It absorbs allunconscious mental frequencies from this brainwave energy tonourish itself with. It then excretes into the mind of itscarrier a telepathic matrix formed by combining the consciousthought frequencies with nerve signals picked up from the speechcentres of the brain which has supplied them. The practicalupshot of all this is that if you stick a Babel fish in your earyou can instantly understand anything said to you in any form oflanguage. The speech patterns you actually hear decode thebrainwave matrix which has been fed into your mind by your Babelfish. "Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anythingso mindboggingly useful could have evolved purely by chance thatsome thinkers have chosen to see it as the final and clinchingproof of the non-existence of God. "The argument goes something like this: `I refuse to prove that Iexist,' says God, `for proof denies faith, and without faith I amnothing.' "`But,' says Man, `The Babel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it?It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and sotherefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED.' "`Oh dear,' says God, `I hadn't thought of that,' and promptlyvanished in a puff of logic. "`Oh, that was easy,' says Man, and for an encore goes on toprove that black is white and gets himself killed on the nextzebra crossing. "Most leading theologians claim that this argument is a load ofdingo's kidneys, but that didn't stop Oolon Colluphid making asmall fortune when he used it as the central theme of his best-selling book Well That About Wraps It Up For God. "Meanwhile, the poor Babel fish, by effectively removing allbarriers to communication between different races and cultures,has caused more and bloddier wars than anything else in thehistory of creation." Arthur let out a low groan. He was horrified to discover that thekick through hyperspace hadn't killed him. He was now six lightyears from the place that the Earth would have been if it stillexisted. The Earth. Visions of it swam sickeningly through his nauseated mind. Therewas no way his imagination could feel the impact of the wholeEarth having gone, it was too big. He prodded his feelings bythinking that his parents and his sister had gone. No reaction.He thought of all the people he had been close to. No reaction.Then he thought of a complete stranger he had been standingbehind in the queue at the supermarket before and felt a suddenstab - the supermarket was gone, everything in it was gone.Nelson's Column had gone! Nelson's Column had gone and therewould be no outcry, because there was no one left to make anoutcry. From now on Nelson's Column only existed in his mind.England only existed in his mind - his mind, stuck here in thisdank smelly steel-lined spaceship. A wave of claustrophobiaclosed in on him. England no longer existed. He'd got that - somehow he'd got it.He tried again. America, he thought, has gone. He couldn't graspit. He decided to start smaller again. New York has gone. Noreaction. He'd never seriously believed it existed anyway. Thedollar, he thought, had sunk for ever. Slight tremor there. EveryBogart movie has been wiped, he said to himself, and that gavehim a nasty knock. McDonalds, he thought. There is no longer anysuch thing as a McDonald's hamburger. He passed out. When he came round a second later he found he wassobbing for his mother. He jerked himself violently to his feet. "Ford!" Ford looked up from where he was sitting in a corner humming tohimself. He always found the actual travelling-through-space partof space travel rather trying. "Yeah?" he said. "If you're a researcher on this book thing and you were on Earth,you must have been gathering material on it." "Well, I was able to extend the original entry a bit, yes." "Let me see what it says in this edition then, I've got to seeit." "Yeah OK." He passed it over again. Arthur grabbed hold of it and tried to stop his hands shaking. Hepressed the entry for the relevant page. The screen flashed andswirled and resolved into a page of print. Arthur stared at it. "It doesn't have an entry!" he burst out. Ford looked over his shoulder. "Yes it does," he said, "down there, see at the bottom of thescreen, just under Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breastedwhore of Eroticon 6." Arthur followed Ford's finger, and saw where it was pointing. Fora moment it still didn't register, then his mind nearly blew up. "What? Harmless? Is that all it's got to say? Harmless! Oneword!" Ford shrugged. "Well, there are a hundred billion stars in the Galaxy, and onlya limited amount of space in the book's microprocessors," hesaid, "and no one knew much about the Earth of course." "Well for God's sake I hope you managed to rectify that a bit." "Oh yes, well I managed to transmit a new entry off to theeditor. He had to trim it a bit, but it's still an improvement." "And what does it say now?" asked Arthur. "Mostly harmless," admitted Ford with a slightly embarrassedcough. "Mostly harmless!" shouted Arthur. "What was that noise?" hissed Ford. "It was me shouting," shouted Arthur. "No! Shut up!" said Ford. I think we're in trouble." "You think we're in trouble!" Outside the door were the sounds of marching feet. "The Dentrassi?" whispered Arthur. "No, those are steel tipped boots," said Ford. There was a sharp ringing rap on the door. "Then who is it?" said Arthur. "Well," said Ford, "if we're lucky it's just the Vogons come tothrow us in to space." "And if we're unlucky?" "If we're unlucky," said Ford grimly, "the captain might beserious in his threat that he's going to read us some of hispoetry first ..."
Chapter 6 "Howl howl gargle howl gargle howl howl howl gargle howl garglehowl howl gargle gargle howl gargle gargle gargle howl slurrpuuuurgh should have a good time. Message repeats. This is yourcaptain speaking, so stop whatever you're doing and payattention. First of all I see from our instruments that we have acouple of hitchhikers aboard. Hello wherever you are. I just wantto make it totally clear that you are not at all welcome. Iworked hard to get where I am today, and I didn't become captainof a Vogon constructor ship simply so I could turn it into a taxiservice for a load of degenerate freeloaders. I have sent out asearch party, and as soon that they find you I will put you offthe ship. If you're very lucky I might read you some of my poetryfirst. "Secondly, we are about to jump into hyperspace for the journeyto Barnard's Star. On arrival we will stay in dock for aseventy-two hour refit, and no one's to leave the ship duringthat time. I repeat, all planet leave is cancelled. I've just hadan unhappy love affair, so I don't see why anybody else shouldhave a good time. Message ends." The noise stopped. Arthur discovered to his embarrassment that he was lying curledup in a small ball on the floor with his arms wrapped round hishead. He smiled weakly. "Charming man," he said. "I wish I had a daughter so I couldforbid her to marry one ..." "You wouldn't need to," said Ford. "They've got as much sexappeal as a road accident. No, don't move," he added as Arthurbegan to uncurl himself, "you'd better be prepared for the jumpinto hyperspace. It's unpleasantly like being drunk." "What's so unpleasant about being drunk?" "You ask a glass of water." Arthur thought about this. "Ford," he said. "Yeah?" "What's this fish doing in my ear?" "It's translating for you. It's a Babel fish. Look it up in thebook if you like." He tossed over The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy and thencurled himself up into a foetal ball to prepare himself for thejump. At that moment the bottom fell out of Arthur's mind. His eyes turned inside out. His feet began to leak out of the topof his head. The room folded flat about him, spun around, shifted out ofexistence and left him sliding into his own navel. They were passing through hyperspace. "The Babel fish," said The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxyquietly, "is small, yellow and leech-like, and probably theoddest thing in the Universe. It feeds on brainwave energy notfrom its carrier but from those around it. It absorbs allunconscious mental frequencies from this brainwave energy tonourish itself with. It then excretes into the mind of itscarrier a telepathic matrix formed by combining the consciousthought frequencies with nerve signals picked up from the speechcentres of the brain which has supplied them. The practicalupshot of all this is that if you stick a Babel fish in your earyou can instantly understand anything said to you in any form oflanguage. The speech patterns you actually hear decode thebrainwave matrix which has been fed into your mind by your Babelfish. "Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anythingso mindboggingly useful could have evolved purely by chance thatsome thinkers have chosen to see it as the final and clinchingproof of the non-existence of God. "The argument goes something like this: `I refuse to prove that Iexist,' says God, `for proof denies faith, and without faith I amnothing.' "`But,' says Man, `The Babel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it?It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and sotherefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED.' "`Oh dear,' says God, `I hadn't thought of that,' and promptlyvanished in a puff of logic. "`Oh, that was easy,' says Man, and for an encore goes on toprove that black is white and gets himself killed on the nextzebra crossing. "Most leading theologians claim that this argument is a load ofdingo's kidneys, but that didn't stop Oolon Colluphid making asmall fortune when he used it as the central theme of his best-selling book Well That About Wraps It Up For God. "Meanwhile, the poor Babel fish, by effectively removing allbarriers to communication between different races and cultures,has caused more and bloddier wars than anything else in thehistory of creation." Arthur let out a low groan. He was horrified to discover that thekick through hyperspace hadn't killed him. He was now six lightyears from the place that the Earth would have been if it stillexisted. The Earth. Visions of it swam sickeningly through his nauseated mind. Therewas no way his imagination could feel the impact of the wholeEarth having gone, it was too big. He prodded his feelings bythinking that his parents and his sister had gone. No reaction.He thought of all the people he had been close to. No reaction.Then he thought of a complete stranger he had been standingbehind in the queue at the supermarket before and felt a suddenstab - the supermarket was gone, everything in it was gone.Nelson's Column had gone! Nelson's Column had gone and therewould be no outcry, because there was no one left to make anoutcry. From now on Nelson's Column only existed in his mind.England only existed in his mind - his mind, stuck here in thisdank smelly steel-lined spaceship. A wave of claustrophobiaclosed in on him. England no longer existed. He'd got that - somehow he'd got it.He tried again. America, he thought, has gone. He couldn't graspit. He decided to start smaller again. New York has gone. Noreaction. He'd never seriously believed it existed anyway. Thedollar, he thought, had sunk for ever. Slight tremor there. EveryBogart movie has been wiped, he said to himself, and that gavehim a nasty knock. McDonalds, he thought. There is no longer anysuch thing as a McDonald's hamburger. He passed out. When he came round a second later he found he wassobbing for his mother. He jerked himself violently to his feet. "Ford!" Ford looked up from where he was sitting in a corner humming tohimself. He always found the actual travelling-through-space partof space travel rather trying. "Yeah?" he said. "If you're a researcher on this book thing and you were on Earth,you must have been gathering material on it." "Well, I was able to extend the original entry a bit, yes." "Let me see what it says in this edition then, I've got to seeit." "Yeah OK." He passed it over again. Arthur grabbed hold of it and tried to stop his hands shaking. Hepressed the entry for the relevant page. The screen flashed andswirled and resolved into a page of print. Arthur stared at it. "It doesn't have an entry!" he burst out. Ford looked over his shoulder. "Yes it does," he said, "down there, see at the bottom of thescreen, just under Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breastedwhore of Eroticon 6." Arthur followed Ford's finger, and saw where it was pointing. Fora moment it still didn't register, then his mind nearly blew up. "What? Harmless? Is that all it's got to say? Harmless! Oneword!" Ford shrugged. "Well, there are a hundred billion stars in the Galaxy, and onlya limited amount of space in the book's microprocessors," hesaid, "and no one knew much about the Earth of course." "Well for God's sake I hope you managed to rectify that a bit." "Oh yes, well I managed to transmit a new entry off to theeditor. He had to trim it a bit, but it's still an improvement." "And what does it say now?" asked Arthur. "Mostly harmless," admitted Ford with a slightly embarrassedcough. "Mostly harmless!" shouted Arthur. "What was that noise?" hissed Ford. "It was me shouting," shouted Arthur. "No! Shut up!" said Ford. I think we're in trouble." "You think we're in trouble!" Outside the door were the sounds of marching feet. "The Dentrassi?" whispered Arthur. "No, those are steel tipped boots," said Ford. There was a sharp ringing rap on the door. "Then who is it?" said Arthur. "Well," said Ford, "if we're lucky it's just the Vogons come tothrow us in to space." "And if we're unlucky?" "If we're unlucky," said Ford grimly, "the captain might beserious in his threat that he's going to read us some of hispoetry first ..."
Her er en tekst hvor mellemrummene ikke står rigtig, kan i læse hvad der står?:
he rer ensæt nin ghv ormell emr umm e nde ikk e pa sse r.De rerfa ktis kto,f orn u erj egb egyn tpåe nme re. D er ermin san tenogs åentre dieh er.
he rer ensæt nin ghv ormell emr umm e nde ikk e pa sse r.De rerfa ktis kto,f orn u erj egb egyn tpåe nme re. D er ermin san tenogs åentre dieh er.
he rer ensæt nin ghv ormell emr umm e nde ikk e pa sse r.De rerfa ktis kto,f orn u erj egb egyn tpåe nme re. D er ermin san tenogs åentre dieh er.
her er en sætning hvor mellemrummende ikke passer. Der er faktisk to, for nu er jeg begyndt på en mere. Der er minsanten også entrdie her.
svært... eller... noget
her er en sætning hvor mellemrummende ikke passer. Der er faktisk to, for nu er jeg begyndt på en mere. Der er minsanten også entrdie her.
svært... eller... noget
he rer ensæt nin ghv ormell emr umm e nde ikk e pa sse r.De rerfa ktis kto,f orn u erj egb egyn tpåe nme re. D er ermin san tenogs åentre dieh er.
her er en sætning hvor mellemrummende ikke passer. Der er faktisk to, for nu er jeg begyndt på en mere. Der er minsanten også entrdie her.
svært... eller... noget
her er en sætning hvor mellemrummende ikke passer. Der er faktisk to, for nu er jeg begyndt på en mere. Der er minsanten også entrdie her.
svært... eller... noget
he rer ensæt nin ghv ormell emr umm e nde ikk e pa sse r.De rerfa ktis kto,f orn u erj egb egyn tpåe nme re. D er ermin san tenogs åentre dieh er.
her er en sætning hvor mellemrummende ikke passer. Der er faktisk to, for nu er jeg begyndt på en mere. Der er minsanten også entrdie her.
svært... eller... noget :P
her er en sætning hvor mellemrummende ikke passer. Der er faktisk to, for nu er jeg begyndt på en mere. Der er minsanten også entrdie her.
svært... eller... noget :P
Og så glemmer jeg endda at poste et kapitel igår, tsk tsk... well så kommer der 2 i dag :)
Chapter 7 Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azagoths of Kria. During arecitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of hispoem "Ode To A Small Lump of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit OneMidsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internalhaemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic ArtsNobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off.Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem'sreception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles when his ownmajor intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life andcivilization, leapt straight up through his neck and throttledhis brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creatorPaula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England inthe destruction of the planet Earth. Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz smiled very slowly. This was done not somuch for effect as because he was trying to remember the sequenceof muscle movements. He had had a terribly therapeutic yell athis prisoners and was now feeling quite relaxed and ready for alittle callousness. The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation Chairs --strapped in.Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works weregenerally held in. Their early attempts at composition had beenpart of bludgeoning insistence that they be accepted as aproperly evolved and cultured race, but now the only thing thatkept them going was sheer bloodymindedness. The sweat stood out cold on Ford Prefect's brow, and slid roundthe electrodes strapped to his temples. These were attached to abattery of electronic equipment - imagery intensifiers, rhythmicmodulators, alliterative residulators and simile dumpers - alldesigned to heighten the experience of the poem and make surethat not a single nuance of the poet's thought was lost. Arthur Dent sat and quivered. He had no idea what he was in for,but he knew that he hadn't liked anything that had happened sofar and didn't think things were likely to change. The Vogon began to read - a fetid little passage of his owndevising. "Oh frettled gruntbuggly ..." he began. Spasms wracked Ford'sbody - this was worse than ever he'd been prepared for. "... thy micturations are to me | As plurdled gabbleblotchits ona lurgid bee." "Aaaaaaarggggghhhhhh!" went Ford Prefect, wrenching his head backas lumps of pain thumped through it. He could dimly see besidehim Arthur lolling and rolling in his seat. He clenched histeeth. "Groop I implore thee," continued the merciless Vogon, "myfoonting turlingdromes." His voice was rising to a horrible pitch of impassionedstridency. "And hooptiously drangle me with crinklybindlewurdles,| Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with myblurglecruncheon, see if I don't!" "Nnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyuuuuuuurrrrrrrggggggghhhhh!" cried Ford Prefectand threw one final spasm as the electronic enhancement of thelast line caught him full blast across the temples. He went limp. Arthur lolled. "Now Earthlings ..." whirred the Vogon (he didn't know that FordPrefect was in fact from a small planet in the vicinity ofBetelgeuse, and wouldn't have cared if he had) "I present youwith a simple choice! Either die in the vacuum of space, or ..."he paused for melodramatic effect, "tell me how good you thoughtmy poem was!" He threw himself backwards into a huge leathery bat-shaped seatand watched them. He did the smile again. Ford was rasping for breath. He rolled his dusty tongue round hisparched mouth and moaned. Arthur said brightly: "Actually I quite liked it." Ford turned and gaped. Here was an approach that had quite simplynot occurred to him. The Vogon raised a surprised eyebrow that effectively obscuredhis nose and was therefore no bad thing. "Oh good ..." he whirred, in considerable astonishment. "Oh yes," said Arthur, "I thought that some of the metaphysicalimagery was really particularly effective." Ford continued to stare at him, slowly organizing his thoughtsaround this totally new concept. Were they really going to beable to bareface their way out of this? "Yes, do continue ..." invited the Vogon. "Oh ... and er ... interesting rhythmic devices too," continuedArthur, "which seemed to counterpoint the ... er ... er ..." Hefloundered. Ford leaped to his rescue, hazarding "counterpoint the surrealismof the underlying metaphor of the ... er ..." He floundered too,but Arthur was ready again. "... humanity of the ..." "Vogonity," Ford hissed at him. "Ah yes, Vogonity (sorry) of the poet's compassionate soul,"Arthur felt he was on a home stretch now, "which contrivesthrough the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this,transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamentaldichotomies of the other," (he was reaching a triumphantcrescendo ...) "and one is left with a profound and vivid insightinto ... into ... er ..." (... which suddenly gave out on him.)Ford leaped in with the coup de <A href="mailto:gr@ce">gr@ce</A>: "Into whatever it was the poem was about!" he yelled. Out of thecorner of his mouth: "Well done, Arthur, that was very good." The Vogon perused them. For a moment his embittered racial soulhad been touched, but he thought no - too little too late. Hisvoice took on the quality of a cat snagging brushed nylon. "So what you're saying is that I write poetry because underneathmy mean callous heartless exterior I really just want to beloved," he said. He paused. "Is that right?" Ford laughed a nervous laugh. "Well I mean yes," he said, "don'twe all, deep down, you know ... er ..." The Vogon stood up. "No, well you're completely wrong," he said, "I just write poetryto throw my mean callous heartless exterior into sharp relief.I'm going to throw you off the ship anyway. Guard! Take theprisoners to number three airlock and throw them out!" "What?" shouted Ford. A huge young Vogon guard stepped forward and yanked them out oftheir straps with his huge blubbery arms. "You can't throw us into space," yelled Ford, "we're trying towrite a book." "Resistance is useless!" shouted the Vogon guard back at him. Itwas the first phrase he'd learnt when he joined the Vogon GuardCorps. The captain watched with detached amusement and then turned away. Arthur stared round him wildly. "I don't want to die now!" he yelled. "I've still got a headache!I don't want to go to heaven with a headache, I'd be all crossand wouldn't enjoy it!" The guard grasped them both firmly round the neck, and bowingdeferentially towards his captain's back, hoiked them bothprotesting out of the bridge. A steel door closed and the captainwas on his own again. He hummed quietly and mused to himself,lightly fingering his notebook of verses. "Hmmmm," he said, "counterpoint the surrealism of the underlyingmetaphor ..." He considered this for a moment, and then closedthe book with a grim smile. "Death's too good for them," he said. The long steel-lined corridor echoed to the feeble struggles ofthe two humanoids clamped firmly under rubbery Vogon armpits. "This is great," spluttered Arthur, "this is really terrific. Letgo of me you brute!" The Vogon guard dragged them on. "Don't you worry," said Ford, "I'll think of something." Hedidn't sound hopeful. "Resistance is useless!" bellowed the guard. "Just don't say things like that," stammered Ford. "How cananyone maintain a positive mental attitude if you're sayingthings like that?" "My God," complained Arthur, "you're talking about a positivemental attitude and you haven't even had your planet demolishedtoday. I woke up this morning and thought I'd have a nice relaxedday, do a bit of reading, brush the dog ... It's now just afterfour in the afternoon and I'm already thrown out of an alienspaceship six light years from the smoking remains of the Earth!"He spluttered and gurgled as the Vogon tightened his grip. "Alright," said Ford, "just stop panicking." "Who said anything about panicking?" snapped Arthur. "This isstill just the culture shock. You wait till I've settled downinto the situation and found my bearings. Then I'll startpanicking." "Arthur you're getting hysterical. Shut up!" Ford trieddesperately to think, but was interrupted by the guard shoutingagain. "Resistance is useless!" "And you can shut up as well!" snapped Ford. "Resistance is useless!" "Oh give it a rest," said Ford. He twisted his head till he waslooking straight up into his captor's face. A thought struck him. "Do you really enjoy this sort of thing?" he asked suddenly. The Vogon stopped dead and a look of immense stupidity seepedslowly over his face. "Enjoy?" he boomed. "What do you mean?" "What I mean," said Ford, "is does it give you a full satisfyinglife? Stomping around, shouting, pushing people out of spaceships..." The Vogon stared up at the low steel ceiling and his eyebrowsalmost rolled over each other. His mouth slacked. Finally hesaid, "Well the hours are good ..." "They'd have to be," agreed Ford. Arthur twisted his head to look at Ford. "Ford, what are you doing?" he asked in an amazed whisper. "Oh, just trying to take an interest in the world around me, OK?"he said. "So the hours are pretty good then?" he resumed. The Vogon stared down at him as sluggish thoughts moiled aroundin the murky depths. "Yeah," he said, "but now you come to mention it, most of theactual minutes are pretty lousy. Except ..." he thought again,which required looking at the ceiling - "except some of theshouting I quite like." He filled his lungs and bellowed,"Resistance is ..." "Sure, yes," interrupted Ford hurriedly, "you're good at that, Ican tell. But if it's mostly lousy," he said, slowly giving thewords time to reach their mark, "then why do you do it? What isit? The girls? The leather? The machismo? Or do you just findthat coming to terms with the mindless tedium of it all presentsan interesting challenge?" "Er ..." said the guard, "er ... er ... I dunno. I think I justsort of ... do it really. My aunt said that spaceship guard was agood career for a young Vogon - you know, the uniform, the low-slung stun ray holster, the mindless tedium ..." "There you are Arthur," said Ford with the air of someonereaching the conclusion of his argument, "you think you've gotproblems." Arthur rather thought he had. Apart from the unpleasant businesswith his home planet the Vogon guard had half-throttled himalready and he didn't like the sound of being thrown into spacevery much. "Try and understand his problem," insisted Ford. "Here he is poorlad, his entire life's work is stamping around, throwing peopleoff spaceships ..." "And shouting," added the guard. "And shouting, sure," said Ford patting the blubbery arm clampedround his neck in friendly condescension, "... and he doesn'teven know why he's doing it!" Arthur agreed this was very sad. He did this with a small feeblegesture, because he was too asphyxicated to speak. Deep rumblings of bemusement came from the guard. "Well. Now you put it like that I suppose ..." "Good lad!" encouraged Ford. "But alright," went on the rumblings, "so what's thealternative?" "Well," said Ford, brightly but slowly, "stop doing it of course!Tell them," he went on, "you're not going to do it anymore." Hefelt he had to add something to that, but for the moment theguard seemed to have his mind occupied pondering that much. "Eerrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ..." said the guard, "erm, wellthat doesn't sound that great to me." Ford suddenly felt the moment slipping away. "Now wait a minute," he said, "that's just the start you see,there's more to it than that you see ..." But at that moment the guard renewed his grip and continued hisoriginal purpose of lugging his prisoners to the airlock. He wasobviously quite touched. "No, I think if it's all the same to you," he said, "I'd betterget you both shoved into this airlock and then go and get on withsome other bits of shouting I've got to do." It wasn't all the same to Ford Prefect after all. "Come on now ... but look!" he said, less slowly, less brightly. "Huhhhhgggggggnnnnnnn ..." said Arthur without any clearinflection. "But hang on," pursued Ford, "there's music and art and things totell you about yet! Arrrggghhh!" "Resistance is useless," bellowed the guard, and then added, "Yousee if I keep it up I can eventually get promoted to SeniorShouting Officer, and there aren't usually many vacancies fornon-shouting and non-pushing-people-about officers, so I thinkI'd better stick to what I know." They had now reached the airlock - a large circular steelhatchway of massive strength and weight let into the inner skinof the craft. The guard operated a control and the hatchway swungsmoothly open. "But thanks for taking an interest," said the Vogon guard. "Byenow." He flung Ford and Arthur through the hatchway into thesmall chamber within. Arthur lay panting for breath. Fordscrambled round and flung his shoulder uselessly against thereclosing hatchway. "But listen," he shouted to the guard, "there's a whole world youdon't know anything about ... here how about this?" Desperatelyhe grabbed for the only bit of culture he knew offhand - hehummed the first bar of Beethoven's Fifth. "Da da da dum! Doesn't that stir anything in you?" "No," said the guard, "not really. But I'll mention it to myaunt." If he said anything further after that it was lost. The hatchwaysealed itself tight, and all sound was lost but the faint distanthum of the ship's engines. They were in a brightly polished cylindrical chamber about sixfeet in diameter and ten feet long. "Potentially bright lad I thought," he said and slumped againstthe curved wall. Arthur was still lying in the curve of the floor where he hadfallen. He didn't look up. He just lay panting. "We're trapped now aren't we?" "Yes," said Ford, "we're trapped." "Well didn't you think of anything? I thought you said you weregoing to think of something. Perhaps you thought of something anddidn't notice." "Oh yes, I thought of something," panted Ford. Arthur looked upexpectantly. "But unfortunately," continued Ford, "it rather involved being onthe other side of this airtight hatchway." He kicked the hatchthey'd just been through. "But it was a good idea was it?" "Oh yes, very neat." "What was it?" "Well I hadn't worked out the details yet. Not much point now isthere?" "So ... er, what happens next?" "Oh, er, well the hatchway in front of us will open automaticallyin a few moments and we will shoot out into deep space I expectand asphyxicate. If you take a lungful of air with you you canlast for up to thirty seconds of course ..." said Ford. He stuckhis hands behind his back, raised his eyebrows and started to human old Betelgeusian battle hymn. To Arthur's eyes he suddenlylooked very alien. "So this is it," said Arthur, "we're going to die." "Yes," said Ford, "except ... no! Wait a minute!" he suddenlylunged across the chamber at something behind Arthur's line ofvision. "What's this switch?" he cried. "What? Where?" cried Arthur twisting round. "No, I was only fooling," said Ford, "we are going to die afterall." He slumped against the wall again and carried on the tune fromwhere he left off. "You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'mtrapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and aboutto die of asphyxication in deep space that I really wish I'dlistened to what my mother told me when I was young." "Why, what did she tell you?" "I don't know, I didn't listen." "Oh." Ford carried on humming. "This is terrific," Arthur thought to himself, "Nelson's Columnhas gone, McDonald's have gone, all that's left is me and thewords Mostly Harmless. Any second now all that will be left isMostly Harmless. And yesterday the planet seemed to be going sowell." A motor whirred. A slight hiss built into a deafening roar of rushing air as theouter hatchway opened on to an empty blackness studded with tinyimpossibly bright points of light. Ford and Arthur popped intoouter space like corks from a toy gun. =================================================================Chapter 8 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a wholly remarkablebook. It has been compiled and recompiled many times over manyyears and under many different editorships. It containscontributions from countless numbers of travellers andresearchers. The introduction begins like this: "Space," it says, "is big. Really big. You just won't believe howvastly hugely mindboggingly big it is. I mean you may think it'sa long way down the road to the chemist, but that's just peanutsto space. Listen ..." and so on. (After a while the style settles down a bit and it begins to tellyou things you really need to know, like the fact that thefabulously beautiful planet Bethselamin is now so worried aboutthe cumulative erosion by ten billion visiting tourists a yearthat any net imbalance between the amount you eat and the amountyou excrete whilst on the planet is surgically removed from yourbodyweight when you leave: so every time you go to the lavatoryit is vitally important to get a receipt.) To be fair though, when confronted by the sheer enormity ofdistances between the stars, better minds than the oneresponsible for the Guide's introduction have faltered. Someinvite you to consider for a moment a peanut in reading and asmall walnut in Johannesburg, and other such dizzying concepts. The simple truth is that interstellar distances will not fit intothe human imagination. Even light, which travels so fast that it takes most racesthousands of years to realize that it travels at all, takes timeto journey between the stars. It takes eight minutes from thestar Sol to the place where the Earth used to be, and four yearsmore to arrive at Sol's nearest stellar neighbour, Alpha Proxima. For light to reach the other side of the Galaxy, for it to reachDamogran for instance, takes rather longer: five hundred thousandyears. The record for hitch hiking this distance is just under fiveyears, but you don't get to see much on the way. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy says that if you hold alungful of air you can survive in the total vacuum of space forabout thirty seconds. However it goes on to say that what withspace being the mind boggling size it is the chances of gettingpicked up by another ship within those thirty seconds are two tothe power of two hundred and sixty-seven thousand seven hundredand nine to one against. By a totally staggering coincidence that is also the telephonenumber of an Islington flat where Arthur once went to a very goodparty and met a very nice girl whom he totally failed to get offwith - she went off with a gatecrasher. Though the planet Earth, the Islington flat and the telephonehave all now been demolished, it is comforting to reflect thatthey are all in some small way commemorated by the fact thattwenty-nine seconds later Ford and Arthur were rescued.
Her er opskriften på kødpølse, hvis nogen skulle være intereseret:
Kødpølse
<STRONG>Ingredienser: </STRONG><I>Til fremstilling af 100 g færdigvare anvendes:</I>Økologisk svinekød 38%, økologisk oksekød 28%, vand 25%, økologiskkartoffelmel 3%, salt 2%, ærteprotein og ærtefibre, økologiske krydder (purløg, peber, muskat og allehånde). Kogt.
<STRONG>Udseende:</STRONG> Naturlig kogt kødfarve, med en svag fedtmarmorering. (Pølsen er uden nitrit og adskiller sig derfor farvemæssigt fra lignende produkter).
<B>Smag:</B> God fyldig kødsmag, let krydret, velegnet til børn.<B>Nettovægt:</B> 240 g.<B>Størrelse: </B>Diameter ca. 5,5 cm, længde ca. 13,5 cm.<B>Varens max. alder ved pakning:</B> 24 timer.<B>Tarm: </B>Steriltarm, 3 lags P.V.C. fri plast (Polyamid), farvepigmentet ligger i det mellemste lag.<B>Emballage:</B> Anvendt samme tarm som pølsen er varme behandlet i.<B>Fremstillingsdato: </B>Er lig med pakkedato.<B>Mindst holdbar til:</B> 60 dage fra pakkedot. Se datomærkning. Åbnes/anvendes pølsen ved den angivne dato for mindst holdbar til, anbefales det at pølsen spises inden for 5 døgn. (evt. rest kan varmebehandles og bruges i biksemad).<B>Opbevaring:</B> Ved max. 5 °C. Ved brug anbefales at lægge pølsen i egnet plastpose. Fjern skindet i forhold til forbrug. Ved udskæring holdes om pølsen med plastpose, der skæres med ren kniv.
<B>Næringsindhold pr. 100 g ca.:</B>
Energifordeling
Anbefalet dagskost
Energi 680 kJ (160 kcal)
Protein 15 g
Mindst 10 %
Fedt 9 g
Højst 30 %
Kulhydrat 4 g
Ca. 60 %
<B>Produktionsmetode:</B> Pølsen er varmbehandlet i en uigennemtrængelig tarm ved 76 °C.<B>Konserveringsmetode:</B> Kogning i steriltarm..<B>Andre forhold:</B> Kødpølsen udmærker sig ved at leve op til sit navn.Produktet er S-mærket, det skyldtes den lave fedtprocent.<B>Produktet indeholder ikke:</B> Alle ingredienser er nævnt. Nitrit, fosfater, farve og/eller andre tilsætningsstoffer.<B>Helhedsvurdering:</B> Produktet er forarbejdet af økologisk dansk kød. Det er velsmagende, fedt-fattigt, fri for tilsætningsstoffer, gluten, mælk og melprodukter.
Kødpølse
<STRONG>Ingredienser: </STRONG><I>Til fremstilling af 100 g færdigvare anvendes:</I>Økologisk svinekød 38%, økologisk oksekød 28%, vand 25%, økologiskkartoffelmel 3%, salt 2%, ærteprotein og ærtefibre, økologiske krydder (purløg, peber, muskat og allehånde). Kogt.
<STRONG>Udseende:</STRONG> Naturlig kogt kødfarve, med en svag fedtmarmorering. (Pølsen er uden nitrit og adskiller sig derfor farvemæssigt fra lignende produkter).
<B>Smag:</B> God fyldig kødsmag, let krydret, velegnet til børn.<B>Nettovægt:</B> 240 g.<B>Størrelse: </B>Diameter ca. 5,5 cm, længde ca. 13,5 cm.<B>Varens max. alder ved pakning:</B> 24 timer.<B>Tarm: </B>Steriltarm, 3 lags P.V.C. fri plast (Polyamid), farvepigmentet ligger i det mellemste lag.<B>Emballage:</B> Anvendt samme tarm som pølsen er varme behandlet i.<B>Fremstillingsdato: </B>Er lig med pakkedato.<B>Mindst holdbar til:</B> 60 dage fra pakkedot. Se datomærkning. Åbnes/anvendes pølsen ved den angivne dato for mindst holdbar til, anbefales det at pølsen spises inden for 5 døgn. (evt. rest kan varmebehandles og bruges i biksemad).<B>Opbevaring:</B> Ved max. 5 °C. Ved brug anbefales at lægge pølsen i egnet plastpose. Fjern skindet i forhold til forbrug. Ved udskæring holdes om pølsen med plastpose, der skæres med ren kniv.
<B>Næringsindhold pr. 100 g ca.:</B>
Energifordeling
Anbefalet dagskost
Energi 680 kJ (160 kcal)
Protein 15 g
Mindst 10 %
Fedt 9 g
Højst 30 %
Kulhydrat 4 g
Ca. 60 %
<B>Produktionsmetode:</B> Pølsen er varmbehandlet i en uigennemtrængelig tarm ved 76 °C.<B>Konserveringsmetode:</B> Kogning i steriltarm..<B>Andre forhold:</B> Kødpølsen udmærker sig ved at leve op til sit navn.Produktet er S-mærket, det skyldtes den lave fedtprocent.<B>Produktet indeholder ikke:</B> Alle ingredienser er nævnt. Nitrit, fosfater, farve og/eller andre tilsætningsstoffer.<B>Helhedsvurdering:</B> Produktet er forarbejdet af økologisk dansk kød. Det er velsmagende, fedt-fattigt, fri for tilsætningsstoffer, gluten, mælk og melprodukter.
Her er opskriften på kødpølse, hvis nogen skulle være intereseret:
Kødpølse
<STRONG>Ingredienser: </STRONG><I>Til fremstilling af 100 g færdigvare anvendes:</I>Økologisk svinekød 38%, økologisk oksekød 28%, vand 25%, økologiskkartoffelmel 3%, salt 2%, ærteprotein og ærtefibre, økologiske krydder (purløg, peber, muskat og allehånde). Kogt.
<STRONG>Udseende:</STRONG> Naturlig kogt kødfarve, med en svag fedtmarmorering. (Pølsen er uden nitrit og adskiller sig derfor farvemæssigt fra lignende produkter).
<B>Smag:</B> God fyldig kødsmag, let krydret, velegnet til børn.<B>Nettovægt:</B> 240 g.<B>Størrelse: </B>Diameter ca. 5,5 cm, længde ca. 13,5 cm.<B>Varens max. alder ved pakning:</B> 24 timer.<B>Tarm: </B>Steriltarm, 3 lags P.V.C. fri plast (Polyamid), farvepigmentet ligger i det mellemste lag.<B>Emballage:</B> Anvendt samme tarm som pølsen er varme behandlet i.<B>Fremstillingsdato: </B>Er lig med pakkedato.<B>Mindst holdbar til:</B> 60 dage fra pakkedot. Se datomærkning. Åbnes/anvendes pølsen ved den angivne dato for mindst holdbar til, anbefales det at pølsen spises inden for 5 døgn. (evt. rest kan varmebehandles og bruges i biksemad).<B>Opbevaring:</B> Ved max. 5 °C. Ved brug anbefales at lægge pølsen i egnet plastpose. Fjern skindet i forhold til forbrug. Ved udskæring holdes om pølsen med plastpose, der skæres med ren kniv.
<B>Næringsindhold pr. 100 g ca.:</B>
Energifordeling
Anbefalet dagskost
Energi 680 kJ (160 kcal)
Protein 15 g
Mindst 10 %
Fedt 9 g
Højst 30 %
Kulhydrat 4 g
Ca. 60 %
<B>Produktionsmetode:</B> Pølsen er varmbehandlet i en uigennemtrængelig tarm ved 76 °C.<B>Konserveringsmetode:</B> Kogning i steriltarm..<B>Andre forhold:</B> Kødpølsen udmærker sig ved at leve op til sit navn.Produktet er S-mærket, det skyldtes den lave fedtprocent.<B>Produktet indeholder ikke:</B> Alle ingredienser er nævnt. Nitrit, fosfater, farve og/eller andre tilsætningsstoffer.<B>Helhedsvurdering:</B> Produktet er forarbejdet af økologisk dansk kød. Det er velsmagende, fedt-fattigt, fri for tilsætningsstoffer, gluten, mælk og melprodukter.
Kødpølse
<STRONG>Ingredienser: </STRONG><I>Til fremstilling af 100 g færdigvare anvendes:</I>Økologisk svinekød 38%, økologisk oksekød 28%, vand 25%, økologiskkartoffelmel 3%, salt 2%, ærteprotein og ærtefibre, økologiske krydder (purløg, peber, muskat og allehånde). Kogt.
<STRONG>Udseende:</STRONG> Naturlig kogt kødfarve, med en svag fedtmarmorering. (Pølsen er uden nitrit og adskiller sig derfor farvemæssigt fra lignende produkter).
<B>Smag:</B> God fyldig kødsmag, let krydret, velegnet til børn.<B>Nettovægt:</B> 240 g.<B>Størrelse: </B>Diameter ca. 5,5 cm, længde ca. 13,5 cm.<B>Varens max. alder ved pakning:</B> 24 timer.<B>Tarm: </B>Steriltarm, 3 lags P.V.C. fri plast (Polyamid), farvepigmentet ligger i det mellemste lag.<B>Emballage:</B> Anvendt samme tarm som pølsen er varme behandlet i.<B>Fremstillingsdato: </B>Er lig med pakkedato.<B>Mindst holdbar til:</B> 60 dage fra pakkedot. Se datomærkning. Åbnes/anvendes pølsen ved den angivne dato for mindst holdbar til, anbefales det at pølsen spises inden for 5 døgn. (evt. rest kan varmebehandles og bruges i biksemad).<B>Opbevaring:</B> Ved max. 5 °C. Ved brug anbefales at lægge pølsen i egnet plastpose. Fjern skindet i forhold til forbrug. Ved udskæring holdes om pølsen med plastpose, der skæres med ren kniv.
<B>Næringsindhold pr. 100 g ca.:</B>
Energifordeling
Anbefalet dagskost
Energi 680 kJ (160 kcal)
Protein 15 g
Mindst 10 %
Fedt 9 g
Højst 30 %
Kulhydrat 4 g
Ca. 60 %
<B>Produktionsmetode:</B> Pølsen er varmbehandlet i en uigennemtrængelig tarm ved 76 °C.<B>Konserveringsmetode:</B> Kogning i steriltarm..<B>Andre forhold:</B> Kødpølsen udmærker sig ved at leve op til sit navn.Produktet er S-mærket, det skyldtes den lave fedtprocent.<B>Produktet indeholder ikke:</B> Alle ingredienser er nævnt. Nitrit, fosfater, farve og/eller andre tilsætningsstoffer.<B>Helhedsvurdering:</B> Produktet er forarbejdet af økologisk dansk kød. Det er velsmagende, fedt-fattigt, fri for tilsætningsstoffer, gluten, mælk og melprodukter.
Det er sq ikke en opskrift, det er en indholdsfortegnelse! En opskrift er sq hvordan du laver ting :
<STRONG> OPSKRIFTEN PÅ KNOR KOPPEN</STRONG>
Blomkål og Broccoli
<STRONG></STRONG>
1. Kom posens indhold i et krus.
2. Tilsæt 2 dl kogende vand.
3. Rør rundt og lad suppen trække 1 minut.
Blomkål og Broccoli
<STRONG></STRONG>
1. Kom posens indhold i et krus.
2. Tilsæt 2 dl kogende vand.
3. Rør rundt og lad suppen trække 1 minut.
#1223 -
2. okt. 2002 16:07
Hvor er den her wall bare SJOV!!! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
spam spam spam.....
juhuuu
/lazinc
spam spam spam.....
juhuuu
/lazinc
Opret dig som bruger i dag
Det er gratis, og du binder dig ikke til noget.
Når du er oprettet som bruger, får du adgang til en lang række af sidens andre muligheder, såsom at udforme siden efter eget ønske og deltage i diskussionerne.
- Forside
- ⟨
- Forum
- ⟨
- Tagwall
Gå til bund