I know we're in America,
Silly,
But when it's THAT space,
You simply must say it in that fashion,
There's just nothing else for it.
Have you spilled the pages yet?
Of course I mean Hitchikers' Guide To The Galaxy,
What other pages could there be?
Did you lose your Babble Fish?
Is it sick or drunk?
We went to the International Society for Astrological Research conference,
Where we proceeded to borrow Arthur's car park for two days.
Arthur is off in Space again you see,
You can tell by the missing towel and bathrobe.
I hobbled,
I wobbled,
My knee was just ripped to junk,
But I have stars in my eyes,
Have heard all the astrology of elections I could bear,
And wish for all the world to have a return to Normality.
Little white mice squeaking at my feet have to be better than this,
I'm as depressed as a hyper-intelligent robot opening doors,
For no one told me that Vogon Poetry was portrayed in American politics,
But there it is in orange emails.
Of course,
Earth might be destroyed,
If one of them wins by 42 votes,
If I could only get to the local galatic planning office!
I'm sure the plans were on public display in another star system,
For they seem to have been written for years and years.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/18/2016
Author's Note:
We did attend ISAR, and we did get parking space 42. As to the rest, only Wikileaks and Anonymous know.