(If you haven’t already, read Part 2 before this. It may be very confusing otherwise.)

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Zaphod lay in his hospital bed. He lay there, thinking back to that horrific night, when he and his men had eliminated the police force as well as the Fire-fighters, and even fought off the U.S. Military itself. That war had destroyed at least half of the city, and Zaphod and his men had declared themselves the city’s police force. He laid there in his bed, remembering that night with agony.

Now, 3 months later, he was ready to leave the hospital. His bullet wounds were healed, his head injury checked and proven inexistent, and he felt great. He checked out of the hospital and proceeded back to “base”, to check up on his friends who he hasn’t seen for months. He would be excited, had he not promised the city community service to make up for the destruction.

He had walked a couple blocks down the street toward “base” when a man came up to him. “Dude, are you that leader dude of that group that destroyed the city a few months ago?” Great. A hippie. Looked like a hippie from a mile away, and he definitely sounds like one. Zaphod assumes he also smokes pot too. 

Cautiously, Zaphod said “Yes… Why?”

“Dude, it’s nice too meet you man!”

“Why? I destroyed your city.”

“Dude, since that night, I’ve wanted to join your group, man!”

Total hippie. Begins every sentence with Dude and ends half of them with Man.

“We’re not accepting recruits right now, sorry.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that.” He seemed flattered for some reason. 

“It wasn’t a compliment—”

“So, man, what do you say? Can I join?”

“Um, no, we’re not accepting recruits.”

“So is that a yes or a no, man?”

Zaphod lost it. “How many times do I have to tell you, we’re not accepting recruits?” 

“Dude, just give it to me straight, man! Yes or no?”

“No! Go away.”

“Oh, okay man.” He turned, almost started to walk away, then turned around and asked something that somehow didn’t surprise Zaphod. “Wanna go smoke some pot, man?”

How did Zaphod know he smoked pot, anyway? Maybe the long, unkept hair? The same size beard, both of which dark grey? Maybe how he talked? Or maybe the simple fact that he smelled strongly of pot.