(no subject)
Ford Prefect was currently one very happy Betelgeusian. He had a party and he had booze. Of course, if you gave Ford enough alcohol, a party or an angry mob would materialize in a matter of minutes. It was just one of those funny yet undisputed facts about how the universe worked.
He currently working on making it even more of a party by attempting to make the island’s entire population of legal adults sample the greatest drink in existence, the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. He wasn’t as good at making them as Zaphod Beeblebrox (said by many to be the drink’s inventor), but he could do a pretty good job on his own. And he was bound and determined to get everyone that he possibly could as drunk as was inhumanly possible.
It was a form of charity really. He was doing them all a great service.
He began mixing the first one, putting the Ol’ Janx Spirit and the Santraginean together, letting the cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin dissolve in the mixture, preparing the Fallian marsh gas…
Ford hummed something to himself as he worked, smiling and moving back and forth in a very subdued and careful dance. He had to be careful making it. Any potential cock-ups could have been lethal.
The whole thing looked and sounded very alien, until you got close enough to figure out that he was just humming Elvis.
He grinned and set aside the completed Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, waiting for some adventurous or unsuspecting soul to come along. He had even briefly considered writing a form detailing how he was not responsible for any brain damage or death that might occur. But he eventually decided against it. People had to take responsibility for their own drinking habits. He was just the supplier.
[OOC: Mardi Gras party Ford. Come and get your brains knocked out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a very large gold brick. All tags welcome.]
He currently working on making it even more of a party by attempting to make the island’s entire population of legal adults sample the greatest drink in existence, the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. He wasn’t as good at making them as Zaphod Beeblebrox (said by many to be the drink’s inventor), but he could do a pretty good job on his own. And he was bound and determined to get everyone that he possibly could as drunk as was inhumanly possible.
It was a form of charity really. He was doing them all a great service.
He began mixing the first one, putting the Ol’ Janx Spirit and the Santraginean together, letting the cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin dissolve in the mixture, preparing the Fallian marsh gas…
Ford hummed something to himself as he worked, smiling and moving back and forth in a very subdued and careful dance. He had to be careful making it. Any potential cock-ups could have been lethal.
The whole thing looked and sounded very alien, until you got close enough to figure out that he was just humming Elvis.
He grinned and set aside the completed Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, waiting for some adventurous or unsuspecting soul to come along. He had even briefly considered writing a form detailing how he was not responsible for any brain damage or death that might occur. But he eventually decided against it. People had to take responsibility for their own drinking habits. He was just the supplier.
[OOC: Mardi Gras party Ford. Come and get your brains knocked out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a very large gold brick. All tags welcome.]