the handkerchief is coming, beloveds. are you ready? let us pray that the almighty will exhale a breath of compassion on us.
almighty arkleseizure, we lift our noses, clogged and unblown in reverence to you.
send the handkerchief, lord, so that it may wipe us clean. we ask this in your precious holy name.
bless you. cut to:
zaphod beeblebrox, our famous president. the arkleseizure has exhaled many blessings upon you. what brings you to our humble planet?
i don't think i do.
elequent as always, zaphod. your ability to communicate a clear thought never ceases to amaze.
this humma you speak of no longer exists. he came here in his consolation position as ambassador to gamma z10 to squelch an ideological threat to the system and repented from his wicked ways. he now goes by the holy name tazelo the unceasingly righteous, given to him by his devoted followers.
the election is ancient history, zaphod, but if memory serves -- you won, proving that good looks and charm win over brilliance and ability to govern.
and incidently -- you are stupid.
you haven't come halfway across the galaxy to settle a campaign grudge. why are you here, zaphod?
how very, very.  . improbable.
i kept a few souvenirs from my former life. ah, the heady days of space piracy.  so young, so foolish,
i'll gladly give you the coordinates to magrathea.
provided you bring me something in return.
a gun.
a very special gun. designed by the greatest computer ever invented, now buried in the bowels of magrathea.
and what will you give me to insure your return?
ha! i'd be better off with the dung of a bethusian mega donkey.
i need a hostage, something you hold dear. only what does zaphod beeblebrox treasure?
you should quit while you're "a head" zaphod. no one has ever got passed the magrathean defence system alive.