>place satchel upright
I don't know the word "upright".
>place junk mail in satchel
Inspection reveals that the satchel isn't open.
>press dispenser button
A single babel fish shoots out of the slot. It sails across the room and hits the dressing gown. The fish slides down the sleeve of the gown and falls to the floor, landing on the towel. A split-second later, a tiny cleaning robot whizzes across the floor, grabs the fish, and continues its breakneck pace toward a tiny robot panel at the base of the wall. The robot plows into the satchel, sending the babel fish flying through the air in a graceful arc. A small upper-half-of-the-room cleaning robot flies into the room, catches the babel fish (which is all the flying junk it can find), and exits.
An announcement is coming over the ship's intercom. "Etrul mkwaa be hgrychofima rimb oz zollfudtoytruirbs gi sfimzit ol mollefti ll me himbe hquii l oquiimbwroz zl mkonoshx je hfim oo stoyzittoywrovuptoyi lfimulp ocavo ta bo se ha bi lz zchoa r ofudo tu nw cfluzitchoa bwrow c okwaolla bquifimolloshorka rosh or ga bfimp wo tthaerlr gl mtru ow corko tu nhuverlfudo sfudtoy."
In post 438, Charles510 wrote:Ford yawns. "Matter transference always tires me out. I'm going to take a nap."
He places something on top of his satchel
. "If you have any questions, here's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" (Footnote 14). Ford lowers his voice to a whisper. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you'll never be able to finish the game without consulting the Guide about lots of stuff." As he curls up in a corner and begins snoring, you pick up The Hitchhiker's Guide.
Rawr!
#stopmodabuse
#Town!Ico.never.does.that.
"paying to play mafia is like paying someone to punch you in the face" ~ Datisi
>put mail on satchel
Okay, the loose pile of junk mail is now sitting on the satchel.
An announcement is coming over the ship's intercom. "El mo sr gchoo tquitoykonirbr g othafluorkthaflutoytoya bwroi l oulpi swrotruquiollw cr gfudtha otruirbtrua rimbollp wp wz zimb oerlw cimberll morkd tkonkonfud ooshtrutoyl mfudvupolld tp work ohuvtrutruvupx js go su ntoyu n ovupkonx jkwaoshd ti si lirbork otoyx jx julps gl mo sulpchogry owrothatruwros gchoa bs ge hi l."
>press dispense button
A single babel fish shoots out of the slot. It sails across the room and hits the dressing gown. The fish slides down the sleeve of the gown and falls to the floor, landing on the towel. A split-second later, a tiny cleaning robot whizzes across the floor, grabs the fish, and continues its breakneck pace toward a tiny robot panel at the base of the wall. The robot plows into the satchel, sending the babel fish flying through the air in a graceful arc surrounded by a cloud of junk mail. Another robot flies in and begins madly collecting the cluttered plume of mail. The babel fish continues its flight, landing with a loud "squish" in your ear.
An announcement is coming over the ship's intercom. "This is the Captain. My instruments show that we've picked up a couple of hitchhikers. I hate freeloaders, and when my guards find you I'll have you thrown into space. On second thought, maybe I'll read you some of my poetry first. Repeating..."
>consult guide on vogon poetry
The Guide checks through its Sub-Etha-Net database and eventually comes up with the following entry:
Vogon poetry is so awful that even the Sarkopsi of Burphon XII, whose religion strictly forbids the taking of one's life, consider suicide a preferable alternative to a Vogon poetry reading.
An announcement is coming over the ship's intercom. "This is the Captain. My instruments show that we've picked up a couple of hitchhikers. I hate freeloaders, and when my guards find you I'll have you thrown into space. On second thought, maybe I'll read you some of my poetry first. Repeating..."
An announcement is coming over the ship's intercom. "This is the Captain. My instruments show that we've picked up a couple of hitchhikers. I hate freeloaders, and when my guards find you I'll have you thrown into space. On second thought, maybe I'll read you some of my poetry first. Repeating..."
>put on gown
You are now wearing your gown.
Guards burst in and grab you and Ford, who comes slowly awake. They drag you down the corridor to a large cabin, where they strap you into large, menacing chairs...
Captain's Quarters, in the poetry appreciation chair
This is the cabin of the Vogon Captain. You and Ford are strapped into poetry appreciation chairs.
The Captain is indescribably hideous, indescribably blubbery, and indescribably mid-to-dark green. He is holding samples of his favourite poetry.
>take all
thing your aunt gave you which you don't know what it is: Taken.
>look around room
Captain's Quarters, in the poetry appreciation chair
This is the cabin of the Vogon Captain. You and Ford are strapped into poetry appreciation chairs.
The Captain is indescribably hideous, indescribably blubbery, and indescribably mid-to-dark green. He is holding samples of his favourite poetry.
"If he's going to read us his poetry," mutters Ford, sweating profusely, "just pray he softens us up with some cudgels first..."
"Hello, hitchhikers!" begins the Vogon Captain. "I've decided to read you a verse of my poetry!"