Hit That Back-stabber Where It Hurts, Right

The Name's Bond. James Omar Bond.

The Craft's Occupants Clutched Their Armrests, And More Than One Of Them Closed Their Eyes. But Not Artemis. He Couldn't. There Was Something Morbidly Fascinating About Flying Into An Uncharted Tunnel At A Reckless Speed With Only A Kleptomaniac Dwarf's Word For What Lay At The Other End.

Most Craft Give A Nod, However Brief And Unfriendly, Towards Beauty. Vogon Ships Did Not Nod Towards Beauty. They Pulled On Ski Masks And Mugged Beauty In A Dark Alley They Spat In The Eye Of Beauty And Bludgeoned Their Wait Through The Notions Of Aesthetics And Aerodynamics. Vogon Cruisers Did Not So Much Travel Through Space As Defile It And Toss It Aside.

Look!" Said Foaly, Pointing With Some Urgency Into The Vast Steel-gray Gloom, "someone Who Cares!

I Feel Like Alice Falling Into Wonderland. A Line Came To Him: It Would Be So Nice If Something Made Sense For A Change.