Hey. Guess who's finished school for the summer? :3 So, in honour of this, I'm posting a story. From a new fandom. Which I am now obsessed with, so there may be more stories to come. Or maybe I'll go back to RA, TT and PJO. You never know.

Anywho, let's get this over and done with: I don't own the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. To be honest, I don't even own a copy of the series. *blush* I also don't own 'Friday', but Rebecca Black can keep it. I'm happy it's off YouTube...

Sooo, I've rambled long enough. Let get the fic started, people.


"Ford, have you seen my...oh. Ford, are you all right?"

The alien made no reply, as he was lying on the floor, unconscious and clutching his towel. This was bothering Arthur a great deal. If Ford was bad enough conscious, he reasoned, Ford unconscious could only be worse.

On a related note that will give everyone background to this adventure, Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent were on a future Earth, which either indicated that the Vogons had unsuccessfully destroyed it (again), or that it had, once again, been built to come up with the Ultimate Question to Life, The Universe and Everything. Ford and Arthur (somewhat unsurprisingly) had both ended up there as a result of the Improbability Drive crossing wires with a time machine and the ship's teleporter. Drunkenness and a certain Zaphod Beeblebrox may have had something to do with it.

On Earth, the year was 2011, and Arthur was more than a little uncomfortable. The Earth, and consequently England was significantly different from the way he'd left, and he was feeling more than a little bit out of touch. However, now that he had access to tea and a good stiff drink that wouldn't make his throat feel like it had a death wish via acidic sword, he was prepared to do the best he could to adapt.

Ford, by contrast, did not want to adapt at all. He wanted to get the hell off of the miserable, backwater, likely to be destroyed planet as quickly as possible. With each passing day, he grew more and more frustrated, since his Sub-Etha Sense-o-Matic was acting the same way it had the first time he was stuck on Earth. That is, not at all.

Which, of course, prompted him to drink heavily most of the time.

In an effort to get Ford to drink a lot less, Arthur bought him a laptop. It gave him something to focus on that wasn't getting plastered out of his mind. Ford had learned to use the laptop quickly, and tended to use it to find obscure fact to torment Arthur with when he came home from work. To be honest, Arthur didn't really mind, since it didn't involve dragging an extremely drunk alien home...most of the time.

But the laptop, inevitability led to his discovery of this...monstrosity.

Seven a.m, wakin' up in the morning,

Gotta get fresh gotta go downstairs

By the lyric 'What seat should I take,' Ford's left eye began to twitch violently as the lyrics and the beat began to worm their way into his brain, burrowing deep into the tissue and settling down to stay for a while.. He could feel the Babel fish in his ear spasming in agony as it translated the words automatically.

Halfway through the song, and Ford was nearly convulsing. Oh, god, she was saying the days of the week like it was the single greatest thing ever discovered by mankind. Ford tried to reach the laptop to turn the song off, but his brain was too pre-occupied in trying to expel the song that it wouldn't command his limbs.

By the last chorus, Ford had passed out.


The Encyclopaedia Galactica defines a song as an extension of a person's imagination and dreams, set to music for the enjoyment, empowerment and inspiration of others. This is regarded as a specifically Earthly definition, as plenty of places in the Galaxy use songs for reasons other than enjoyment.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy defines a 'song' as a way of making money from the misfortune, hate, obsession, admiration or disbelief of others. Music has always existed in the Galaxy, and since there was life, there was a way of expressing the hopes, dreams, nightmares, and generally expressing one's self.

However, as long as there have been songs, there have been people to criticize them. There are, of course, bad songs, and once civilizations had discovered what effects songs had, they realized that they could use them as torture devices, or to means not originally thought of. Some people, or indeed, some singers, achieve this torture effect through no fault of their own.


As Arthur was wondering what to do with the alien on the floor of his flat, Ford came round with a splitting headache. He focused on Arthur with some difficulty.

"Hello Ford," Arthur said cautiously.

"Nnnrgh." Ford discovered that his tongue wasn't functioning properly. Arthur misinterpreted this statement as Ford being drunk. He sighed heavily.

"Ford, have you been drinking?"

The alien managed to shake his head, wincing at the pain pounding between his temples. God, a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster would be rather welcome right now...God knows that it would hurt a lot less.

Trying to figure out what was wrong, Arthur turned to the laptop. Recognizing the format of a YouTube video, he dragged the cursor to the replay button, and before Ford could do anything to stop him, Arthur pushed replay.

As the song began again, Ford let out a desolate little whimper, and began to beat his head against the floor, shoving his ever-present towel against his ears in an attempt to keep most of the song out. But, unfortunately for him, the music still bled through.

Ah well. At least he had the comfort of Arthur suffering through the song too.


Sooo...was it good? Did it work, fandom wise? It was AU, I know, but I'm not really sure if I had the characters actually in character, or OOC. You'll have to tell me in the reviews.