I don't own Marvin, his brain, or Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I also don't own Edward, all height puns inflicted upon him or The Fullmetal Alchemist as a whole.
He honestly didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. His brain, a brain the size of a planet, which had calculated the square root of minus one and the question to the ultimate answer by looking at Arthur Dent's brainwave patterns, hadn't thought to use it. Of course, using such an object would make him God, but he was already so close to being one he really couldn't care less.
His slow trudge toward the kitchen was made even more ungratifying when Zaphod Beeblebrox came up to him and started talking very quickly. Well, not that that mattered. Zaphod's thinking processors were still a million light-years behind his own, and so Marvin the Paranoid Android could easily keep up and replay Earth's only great invention, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and his symphony Number 40 in G Minor in his internal circuits, taking note of each instrument, their error in speed, tempo, dynamic and pitch and still remain interested to the naked eye. Although even Mozart was no great distraction, it made him feel like he was not alone. The great composer had surely not intended for these fools to play his music like this. But, if he had met him in person, he would have surely been disappointed.
At least he kept Zaphod oblivious, a man so amazingly primitive that for one, he still thought digital watches were a good idea and was currently thrusting all three of his arms at Marvin's head, revealing three very tacky and nasty digital faces all set to different times, and two, had said twelve things grammatically, and fifty five things morally wrong already. Finally, his voice died away and Marvin let the first movement take a slow diminuendo inside his large mind in order to make a response. Peace was heard on the humming ship . Zaphod walked away without waiting for an acknowledgement from the android. Why did he bother? He began to walk again and the music rose to fill his head. The violins swept through the piece, the flutes danced around and performed quaver after quaver. He reached for a lemon and placed the Thinking Hat on his head and thought. His circuits tingled as the music sounded even louder.
This was going to be one hell of a day. Even by his standards. Nothing could go wrong and if it did, as it invariably did for him... well, that's just life, isn't it.