Or you could just go with the flow.
The waiter approached.
"Would you like to see the menu?" he said, "or would you like to
meet the Dish of the Day?"
"Huh?" said Ford.
"Huh?" said Arthur.
"Huh?" said Trillian.
"That's cool," said Zaphod, "we'll meet the meat." . . .
A large dairy animal approached Zaphod Beeblebrox's table, a
large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with large watery
eyes, small horns and what might almost have been an ingratiating
smile on its lips.
"Good evening," it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, "I
am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my
body?" It harrumphed and gurgled a bit, wriggled its hind
quarters into a more comfortable position and gazed peacefully at
them.
Its gaze was met by looks of startled bewilderment from Arthur
and Trillian, a resigned shrug from Ford Prefect and naked hunger
from Zaphod Beeblebrox.
"Something off the shoulder perhaps?" suggested the animal,
"Braised in a white wine sauce?"
"Er, your shoulder?" said Arthur in a horrified whisper.
"But naturally my shoulder, sir," mooed the animal contentedly,
"nobody else's is mine to offer."
Zaphod leapt to his feet and started prodding and feeling the
animal's shoulder appreciatively.
"Or the rump is very good," murmured the animal. "I've been
exercising it and eating plenty of grain, so there's a lot of
good meat there." It gave a mellow grunt, gurgled again and
started to chew the cud. It swallowed the cud again.
"Or a casserole of me perhaps?" it added.
"You mean this animal actually wants us to eat it?" whispered
Trillian to Ford.
"Me?" said Ford, with a glazed look in his eyes, "I don't mean
anything."
"That's absolutely horrible," exclaimed Arthur, "the most
revolting thing I've ever heard."
"What's the problem Earthman?" said Zaphod, now transferring his
attention to the animal's enormous rump.
"I just don't want to eat an animal that's standing here inviting
me to," said Arthur, "it's heartless."
"Better than eating an animal that doesn't want to be eaten,"
said Zaphod.
"That's not the point," Arthur protested. Then he thought about
it for a moment. "Alright," he said, "maybe it is the point. I
don't care, I'm not going to think about it now. I'll just ... er
..."
The Universe raged about him in its death throes.
"I think I'll just have a green salad," he muttered.
"May I urge you to consider my liver?" asked the animal, "it must
be very rich and tender by now, I've been force-feeding myself
for months."
"A green salad," said Arthur emphatically.
"A green salad?" said the animal, rolling his eyes disapprovingly
at Arthur.
"Are you going to tell me," said Arthur, "that I shouldn't have
green salad?"
"Well," said the animal, "I know many vegetables that are very
clear on that point. Which is why it was eventually decided to
cut through the whole tangled problem and breed an animal that
actually wanted to be eaten and was capable of saying so clearly
and distinctly. And here I am."
It managed a very slight bow.
"Glass of water please," said Arthur.
"Look," said Zaphod, "we want to eat, we don't want to make a
meal of the issues. Four rare steaks please, and hurry. We
haven't eaten in five hundred and seventy-six thousand million
years."
The animal staggered to its feet. It gave a mellow gurgle.
"A very wise choice, sir, if I may say so. Very good," it said,
"I'll just nip off and shoot myself."
He turned and gave a friendly wink to Arthur.
"Don't worry, sir," he said, "I'll be very humane."
It waddled unhurriedly off into the kitchen.
(http://hq.alert.sk/~orpheus/books/Douglas-N-Adams/r17.html, probably in gross violation of WIPO) |
