The Heart of Gold entered into geosynchronous orbit around Drunkus Maximus. This planet was known as the greatest “pub hub” in the Galaxy. Creatures of all kinds commuted here when they wanted to: a) unwind after a hard day’s work; b) pick up attractive but notoriously coy female Primanix-Petorans; c) feel totally smashed in the morning and call in sick. Ford Prefect was actually keen on all three (though in his case, point a could more accurately be changed to “Taking a break from grudgingly saving the Universe for the nth time”, while point c would involve telling Slartibartfurst that the Universe was doomed unless he found someone else to save it). The ship’s sensors detected a storm brewing on Maximus, and the naked eye could just discern a lightning flash every now and then amongst the swirling purple clouds. The planet looked a lot like Venus, thought Arthur. “Well Slartibartfurst can save the Universe himself for all I care. Come on Arthur, we’re going down there. Computer, take us to the nearest pub with lots of everything this planet is supposed to be famous for.” Betty cautioned against this. “Oh no, you mustn’t go down there, heavens no! Not very suitable,” she said, agonisingly slowly. Arthur cursed to himself, somehow feeling he was to blame for Betty’s likeness to that woman handing out the raffle tickets in the pub back on Earth. Ford suddenly lost his temper. “You let us down right now or I’ll finish you off with an axe! Ever read the The Andromeda Strain?” Betty was taken aback. “Oh good heavens, there surely wasn’t much need to go on like that, now was there?” she asked, though with no genuine sense of urgency. Ford faced the console with his back and his hands on his head, counting backwards from 100 to soothe his nerves. “This is going to be a long orbit, Arthur”, he said through gnashing teeth. “Or a short one, if we can find an axe.”

The storm raged on, and the plethora of aliens, robots and androids, not to mention the only Earthman, continued to sip their drinks, flirt and discuss ethology and existentialism in between pickup lines. Arthur glanced at the huge, lumbering Zeptoid sitting next to him. Feeling rather wishy-washy, he decided to hazard a joke. “Hey,” he told the enormous, grey-green, three-eyed humanoid arachnid sipping on its Gargle-Blaster. It turned its head and looked at Arthur through emotionless black eyes. “Do you think this storm might go out with a bang?” Arthur sniggered slightly as he said this, then paused; then, as he was feeling satisfied with himself, smiled slightly in self-reflection. He expected a reaction from the creature, and this he got, but hardly of the variety he had envisaged. Instead of polite, understated laughter (which he half expected and quite hoped for, as this was wrapping up to be a lovely night on Drunkus Maximus) the Zeptoid’s skin suddenly became quite greasy, and, to the extent that it was possible for something pitch-black to darken, its spider-like eyes did just that. Then the creature bellowed with such ferocity that Arthur had an inkling that this might not be polite, understated laughter at all, but rather furious, unbridled anger. “Ummm,” he murmured. “Ah,” he continued. “Ummm,” he elaborated. The creature stood up and towered over him. The whole bar suddenly fell silent; all eyes fixated on the giant Zeptoid and the puny Earthman withering under its acrid breath (though anyone paying even the barest rudiments of attention could see that the Earthman was withering more from fear than from a lack of oral hygiene on the Zeptoid’s part). Ford Prefect was still chatting up a young Primanix-Petoran when he suddenly realised that something exceedingly undesirable was afoot. He swung around to see the Zeptoid preparing to kill Arthur. “What did you do?” Ford whispered, annoyed. “I just told him a joke. Is that bad?” Arthur offered feebly. “Was it, by any chance, a pun?” Arthur thought about this, and then he thought about how well he had done just to think of an answer given that at any moment he was going to become pre-digested spider-food. “Ummm, yes. Is that bad?” He was feeling awfully apologetic. “That’s the worst thing you could have done! Zeptoids view puns as more offensive than insults against their nest queens.”