Gibts des hat geschrieben:Das waren die
Vogesen Vogonen, die das ignoriert haben. Zur Strafe wurde bisweilen eine ihrer Großmütter an den gefrässigen Plapperkäfer von Traal verfüttert.
Also bitte keine Geschichtsklitterung
Here is what to do if you want to get a lift from a Vogon: forget it. They are one of the most unpleasant races in the Galaxy. Not actually evil, but bad-tempered, bureaucratic, officious and callous. They wouldn't even lift a finger to save their own grandmothers from the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal without orders – signed in triplicate, sent in, sent back, queried, lost, found, subjected to public inquiry, lost again, and finally buried in soft peat for three months and recycled as firelighters. The best way to get a drink out of a Vogon is to stick your finger down his throat, and the best way to irritate him is to feed his grandmother to the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal. On no account should you allow a Vogon to read poetry at you.
Vogon poetry is described as "the third worst poetry in the Universe" (behind that of the Azgoths of Kria and that of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings, the latter of which was destroyed when the Earth was). The main example used in the story is a short piece composed by Jeltz, which roughly emulates nonsense verse in style (example below). The story relates that listening to it is an experience similar to torture as demonstrated when Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect are forced to listen to the poetry (and say how much they liked it) prior to being thrown out of an airlock.
"Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts
With my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"
A second example of Vogon poetry is found in the Hitchhiker's Guide interactive fiction game that was produced by Infocom; responding to the poetry forms a major part of game play. The first verse is as above; one version of the second verse follows:
"Bleem miserable venchit! Bleem forever mestinglish asunder frapt.
Gashee morphousite, thou expungiest quoopisk!
Fripping lyshus wimbgunts, awhilst moongrovenly kormzibs.
Gerond withoutitude form into formless bloit, why not then? Moose."
„Selbst das wildeste Tier kennt doch des Mitleids Regung“ – „Ich kenne keins und bin deshalb kein Tier“ (Richard III).