Life, the Universe and Everything - Douglas Adams [52]
“Oh,” said Arthur, “oh, well, I’m sorry I didn’t. What was it for?”
“The Most Gratuitous Use of the Word ‘Belgium’ in a Serious Screenplay. It’s very prestigious.”
“The most gratuitous use of which word?” asked Arthur, with a determined attempt to keep his brain in neutral.
“Belgium,” said the girl, “I hardly like to say it.”
“Belgium?” exclaimed Arthur.
A drunken seven-toed sloth staggered past, gawked at the word and threw itself backward at a blurry-eyed pterodactyl, roaring with displeasure.
“Are we talking,” said Arthur, “about the very flat country, with all the EEC and the fog?”
“What?” said the girl.
“Belgium,” said Arthur.
“Raaaaaarrrchchchchch!” screeched the pterodactyl.
“Grrruuuuuurrrghhhh,” agreed the seven-toed sloth.
“They must be thinking of Ostend Hoverport,” muttered Arthur. He turned back to the girl.
“Have you ever been to Belgium in fact?” he asked brightly and she nearly hit him.
“I think,” she said, restraining herself, “that you should restrict that sort of remark to something artistic.”
“You sound as if I just said something unspeakably rude.”
“You did.”
In today’s modern Galaxy there is of course very little still held to be unspeakable. Many words and expressions which only a matter of decades ago were considered so distastefully explicit that, were they merely to be breathed in public, the perpetrator would be shunned, barred from polite society, and in extreme cases shot through the lungs, are now thought to be very healthy and proper, and their use in everyday speech and writing is seen as evidence of a well-adjusted, relaxed and totally un****ed-up personality.
So, for instance, when in a recent national speech the Financial Minister of the Royal World Estate of Quarlvista actually dared to say that due to one thing and another and the fact that no one had made any food for a while and the king seemed to have died and most of the population had been on holiday now for over three years, the economy was now in what he called “one whole joojooflop situation,” everyone was so pleased that he felt able to come out and say it that they quite failed to note that their entire five-thousand-year-old civilization had just collapsed overnight.
But even though words like “joojooflop,” “swut,” and “turlingdrome” are now perfectly acceptable in common usage there is one word that is still beyond the pale. The concept it embodies is so revolting that the publication or broadcast of the word is utterly forbidden in all parts of the Galaxy except for use in Serious Screenplays. There is also, or was, one planet where they didn’t know what it meant, the stupid turlingdromes.
“I see,” said Arthur, who didn’t, “so what do you get for using the name of a perfectly innocent if slightly dull European country gratuitously in a Serious Screenplay?”
“A Rory,” said the girl, “it’s just a small silver thing set on a large black base. What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything, I was just about to ask what the silver …”
“Oh, I thought you said ‘whop.’”
“Said what?”
“Whop.”
Chapter 22
eople had been dropping in on the party now for some years, fashionable gate-crashers from other worlds, and for some time it had occurred to the partygoers as they had looked out at their own world beneath them, with its wrecked cities, its ravaged avocado farms and blighted vineyards, its vast tracts of new desert, its seas full of cracker crumbs and worse, that their world was in some tiny and almost imperceptible ways not quite as much fun as it had been. Some of them had begun to wonder if they could manage to stay sober for long enough to make the entire party spaceworthy and maybe take it off to some other people’s worlds where the air might be fresher and give them fewer headaches.
The few undernourished farmers who still managed to scratch out a feeble existence on the half-dead ground of the planet’s surface would have been extremely pleased to hear this, but that day, as the party came