Zaphod Beeblebrox, Baby

"Like this, Mr. President?"

"A little higher," replied Zaphod's left head (his right being otherwise occupied at the moment).

"Like this, Mr. President?"

"Yeah, right there, baby. Now put your mouth on it."

"Yurk gugle, murrur prumurut?"

"YEOWARAZA!!!"

Whenever asked where he wanted to be, Zaphod's standard answer was lying on the beach with at least fifty beautiful women and a small team of experts working out new ways to be nice to him. Although it wasn't a question, in practice, Zaphod was asked very often; he was nonetheless quite proud of that response. It was precisely the type of thing he stayed up nights worrying over in order to constantly remind everyone around him what a totally laid back and together guy he was.

Of course, after he'd gotten through with saving the universe (or, perhaps more accurately, watching the universe get saved from a reasonably safe distance) only to discover that his theft of the Heart of Gold had been largely forgotten and that he was still technically President of the Galaxy (with all the lack of responsibility and fantastically high pay that entailed), he'd decided to settle down for a while, maybe start a family. Then he realized what a horrible idea that was, took his accumulated back pay and moved more or less permanently into the Ursa Major Mega Brothel.

With his third arm (his other two being otherwise occupied at the moment), Zaphod consulted the computer printout, his eyes scanning down to step six. "You there. Sweetheart. With the eyes."

The fly-faced girl from Oophoid Zeta buzzed inquisitively.

"Yeah, get my leg up. No, the other one. Now take that fuzzy hand of yours and ZEEAAAAARROOW!!!"

As a totally cool, wonderfully froody, together, and sophisticated man of the galaxy who'd personally eaten off of all 53,623 erogenous zones of the Triple Breasted Whore of Eroticon VI, Zaphod had generally been of the opinion that, sexually, he'd experienced everything there was to experience and, anything that he hadn't experienced would likely prove quite deadly to his health.

"Okay now, this is the tricky bit." He scanned the report one more time, making sure he understood it correctly. He didn't. He made a quick count of his number of legs (two), heads (also two), and arms (three). What was being asked of him was physiologically improbable, to say the least. A shame: it looked like a real good idea. "To hell with it," he declared with his left head shortly before closing that mouth around what he assumed was a nipple (given the quantity and zoological diversity of female flesh surrounding him, Zaphod couldn't be certain).

Despite his self-proclaim worldliness, at the Ursa Major Mega Brothel Zaphod had experienced a countless number of things his ample imagination had never even thought up. He'd been slathered by the ravenous tongue-beast of Blatterboust IV, immersed in a nymphomaniacle shade of the colour mauve, skinny-dipped in the navel of the 200 Foot Woman, and been rather disappointed by the Sirius Cybernetics Ecstasy Machine. But the newest, and by far most unexpected sexual experience for Zaphod Beeblebrox had definitely been boredom. The fifty beautiful women had had every part of themselves on every part of Zaphod in innumerable combinations; and the suggestions of the small team of experts, while still generally very nice, also with increasing frequently required difficult gymnastic feats as well as (oddly enough) the importation of parasitic creatures from the Plural sectors. Although he wasn't quite ready to give up his life of willful hedonism, at least a part of him (probably some part somewhere north of his waist) was beginning to consider new adventures.

Zaphod winced as a bitter liquid filled his left mouth. He withdrew his heads, spitting frantically. Turns out that it wasn't a nipple. Doing his best to avoid shrieking in a totally unfroody way (and failing), Zaphod leapt up from the mass of girl-flesh pressing him on all sides. He scraped his tongue several times with his finger while gagging.

The externally humanoid girl blushed a deep green and muttered an apology. "Couldn't hold it in with you doing that."

"Yeah, look, forget about it."

"Okay, I just..."

"I said forget about it. I'm going to." And with that he pulled his robe on and trudged out the holo-beach and towards the bar to drink until he had forgotten about it.

One of the unexpected side-effects of Zaphod's unexpected sense of boredom and ennui was that, the nicer the girls were treating him, the nastier Zaphod felt compelled to treat himself in his off hours. The presidential bar bill was threatening to surpass his brothel bill, which itself had required the introduction of a new and highly unpopular tax on the sale and exportation of parasitic creatures from the Plural sectors. He'd already used his limited presidential powers to confiscate several cases of Ol' Janx Spirit for "the public good". He thought with a certain **** eagerness to the half-finished bottle and several more not at all finished bottles waiting for him.

"President Beeblebrox! I need to speak with you!"

Zaphod smacked his heads at the sound of a familiar sounding female voice. There were a lot of female voices in the Ursa Major Mega Brothel, and most of them had long since become familiar to the erstwhile President of the Galaxy. Most of them had the lilting, seductive quality native to a woman who had dedicated her life to the pursuit of pleasure, both her own and those of sundry paying customers. So it could only be considered a spot of bad luck that this particular familiar voice held the shrill, urgent native to a woman who had dedicated her life to a good cause.

"Oh, you," was all Zaphod said. He would have said more, but he generally considered it poor form to cuss out a pretty woman. And there was little doubt that this was a very pretty woman. Sexy. Beautiful, in fact, would not be too much of a stretch, depending on your tastes. She was blond, with green eyes, and her physical form was in all regards - excepting three - humanoid. The first regard was that the pinky on her right hand was, upon close examination, revealed to be approximately 12 centimeters out of proportion of the rest of her hand. The other two regards were her breasts, each of which was significantly larger than her head.

"Mienokkers Arruge, President Beeblebrox."

"Excuse me?"

"Mietitz Arruge. Is my name."

"How unfortunate for you. If you'll excuse me, I have some memories that urgently need obliterating." Zaphod turned away, resuming his purposeful walk towards the bar.

She quickly stalked after him. "Mr. President, I need a moment. Every day, new technology comes on the market leading to the further collapse of the Probability Axis. I represent the Society for Probability Restoration. Our motto is Give Chance a Chance." Had either of Zaphod's heads been looking Mietitz in the face at that moment (neither was), they would have seen her wince visibly while uttering that last sentence.

"Yeah, look, that's tragic, babe. Really, my heart goes out in sympathy to whatever the hell you're talking about. Can't do a thing to help you, though. Not in my job description."

"But you're the President!"

Zaphod's left head nodded to indicate that this fact was quite true.

"Of the Galaxy!"

Zaphod's right head nodded to indicate that this fact was also indisputable.

"You know, the Galaxy?!"

Both heads nodded. An awkward silence persisted for the next several seconds.

"Surely you can do something?! ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha was recently obliterated utterly, along all lines of Probability. We must act before further damage is done to the Probability Axis."

Zaphod paused for a moment. He had, despite all efforts to do otherwise, paid close enough attention to Mienokkers' speech to recognize the homeworld of his most recent ex-girlfriend. "Plural Z Alpha? I was there once. Attended a fantastically dull party. Hardly worth getting all unfroody over."

"Yes, well, that's hardly the point, is it? Look, we were able to get a handful of natives offworld at the very last second, selected because they'd all had some familiarity with space travel. We got five, we thought. Turns out we only got three. Or four, I guess. Depends on how you're looking at it."

Zaphod paused, his curiosity, for the moment, aroused. "Wait, did one of them go by the name Trillian?"

"Well, yes, and that's the worst part! We took two of her, can you believe that? The same woman from two different points of probability, existing in the same dimension! It's utter madness..." from there she trailed into a long speech about the sanctity of probability physics, the irreparable damage to the Universes, and how poorly the bookies and odds makers of New Zaphoid were making out, but Zaphod was no longer paying attention. His curiosity having been satisfied, it was the rest of him that was becoming a bit aroused.

"Two of them?"