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"
And
if
we
're
unlucky
?
"
"
If
we
're
unlucky
,
"
said
Ford
grimly
,
"
the
captain
might
be
serious
in
his
threat
that
he
's
going
to
read
us
some
of
his
poetry
first
...
"
Vogon
poetry
is
of
course
the
third
worst
in
the
Universe
.
The
second
worst
is
that
of
the
Azagoths
of
Kria
.
During
a
recitation
by
their
Poet
Master
Grunthos
the
Flatulent
of
his
poem
"
Ode
To
A
Small
Lump
of
Green
Putty
I
Found
In
My
Armpit
One
Midsummer
Morning
"
four
of
his
audience
died
of
internal
haemorrhaging
,
and
the
President
of
the
Mid-Galactic
Arts
Nobbling
Council
survived
by
gnawing
one
of
his
own
legs
off
.
Grunthos
is
reported
to
have
been
"
disappointed
"
by
the
poem
's
reception
,
and
was
about
to
embark
on
a
reading
of
his
twelve-book
epic
entitled
My
Favourite
Bathtime
Gurgles
when
his
own
major
intestine
,
in
a
desperate
attempt
to
save
life
and
civilization
,
leapt
straight
up
through
his
neck
and
throttled
his
brain
.
The
very
worst
poetry
of
all
perished
along
with
its
creator
Paula
Nancy
Millstone
Jennings
of
Greenbridge
,
Essex
,
England
in
the
destruction
of
the
planet
Earth
.
Prostetnic
Vogon
Jeltz
smiled
very
slowly
.
This
was
done
not
so
much
for
effect
as
because
he
was
trying
to
remember
the
sequence
of
muscle
movements
.
He
had
had
a
terribly
therapeutic
yell
at
his
prisoners
and
was
now
feeling
quite
relaxed
and
ready
for
a
little
callousness
.
The
prisoners
sat
in
Poetry
Appreciation
Chairs
--
strapped
in
.
Vogons
suffered
no
illusions
as
to
the
regard
their
works
were
generally
held
in
.
Their
early
attempts
at
composition
had
been
part
of
bludgeoning
insistence
that
they
be
accepted
as
a
properly
evolved
and
cultured
race
,
but
now
the
only
thing
that
kept
them
going
was
sheer
bloodymindedness
.
The
sweat
stood
out
cold
on
Ford
Prefect
's
brow
,
and
slid
round
the
electrodes
strapped
to
his
temples
.
These
were
attached
to
a
battery
of
electronic
equipment
--
imagery
intensifiers
,
rhythmic
modulators
,
alliterative
residulators
and
simile
dumpers
--
all
designed
to
heighten
the
experience
of
the
poem
and
make
sure
that
not
a
single
nuance
of
the
poet
's
thought
was
lost
.
Arthur
Dent
sat
and
quivered
.
He
had
no
idea
what
he
was
in
for
,
but
he
knew
that
he
had
n't
liked
anything
that
had
happened
so
far
and
did
n't
think
things
were
likely
to
change
.
