[Changed to "Talk to Ford" because of syntax.] Hmmm ... Ford Prefect looks at you expectantly, as if you seemed to be about to talk.
For a dead person you are talking too much. As the ambulance reaches the mortuary a fleet of Vogon Constructor ships unexpectedly arrives and demolishes the Earth to make way for a new hyperspace bypass. We are about to give you your score. Put on your peril-sensitive sunglasses now. (Hit RETURN or ENTER when ready.) > Your score is 10 of a possible 400, in 23 turns. Would you like to start over, restore a saved position, or end this session of the game? (Type RESTART, RESTORE, or QUIT): >Restore KHV_BossedUp Ok [Ford is still offering you the towel.]
You keep out of this, you're dead and should be concentrating on developing a good firm rigor mortis. You are put in the ambulance, which drives away.
You keep out of this, you're dead. An ambulance arrives. [I'm going to ignore that because this death is particularly entertaining.]
The bulldozer driver gives a quick chew of his gum and slams in the clutch. The bulldozer piles into the side of your home. Your home collapses in a cloud of dust, and a stray flying brick hits you squarely on the back of the head. You try to think of some suitable last words, but what with the confusion of the moment and the spinning of your head, you are unable to compose anything pithy and expire in silence. [There's more to this. I'll post your results like normal when it gets there.]
You can't do that while you're lying down!
You have no idea where Ford Prefect is.
That's easy for you to say, since you don't even have the ground.
I don't know the word "places".
You begin to get a sore throat. There was no verb in that sentence! You can't see Ford here!
Ok. As you take it, Ford says "Er, look, thanks for lending me the towel... been nice knowing you... got to go now..." He smiles oddly and walks down the Country Lane.
[It didn't work with or without the question mark, so I just put down Stay.] Time passes... With a terrible grinding of gears the bulldozer comes to an abrupt halt just in front of you. It shakes, shudders, and emits noxious substances all over your rose bed. Prosser is incoherent with rage. Moments later, your friend Ford Prefect arrives. He hardly seems to notice your predicament, but keeps glancing nervously at the sky. He says "Hello, Arthur," takes a towel from his battered leather satchel, and offers it to you.
You hit your head against the ground as you attempt this feat. The noise of the giant bulldozer is now so violently loud that you can't even hear Prosser yelling to warn you that you will be killed if you don't get the hell out of the way. You just see him gesticulating wildly.
That sentence isn't one I recognize.
Ok.
It occurs to you that you've never deliberately lain in any mud before and that it's actually a pleasant sort of squishy sensation. You let the mud ooze between your toes. You may be here for some time, so you may as well make the most of it. The bulldozer thunders toward you. The ground is shaking beneath you as you lie in the mud.
You lie down in the path of the advancing bulldozer. Prosser yells at you to for crissake move!!!
Front of House You can enter your home to the north. A path leads around it to the northeast and northwest, and a country lane is visible to the south. All that lies between your home and the huge yellow bulldozer bearing down on it is a few yards of mud. Mr. Prosser, from the local council, is standing on the other side of the bulldozer. He seems to be wearing a digital watch. He looks startled to see you emerge, and yells at you to get out of the way. The bulldozer rumbles slowly toward your home. Ok. Look around you. The bulldozer rumbles slowly toward your home. Ok.
You gather up the pile of mail.
I have never heard of it.
