The Big O

Disclaimer: These are Douglas Adams' characters and I'm ripping them off without profit. Acknowledgements also to Emma Tom. And nods to Radiohead for being fantastic.

*****

Trillian wandered into the flight deck of the Heart of Gold, hoping something had changed since her last visit forty minutes ago. The monitors were still blank, Marvin remained slumped in the most obscure corner of the room, and the notorious Head Job Gang* had still not captured the ship, despite her repeated Personal Ads in the Guide. Trillian sighed and kicked an empty beer can that Zaphod had left on the floor.

The can skittered across the floor and struck Marvin forcefully in the head. "Pardon me for breathing," he croaked, "which I wasn't doing anyway. I expect my mere presence on this ship necessitates physical assault no matter what level of insignificance I manage to achieve. I reached an insignificance level of five point twenty three to the power of one thousand today, resulting in unprovoked attack with an aluminium beer can. I wonder what new levels I can sink to from here."

Trillian glowered at Marvin with renewed hate. "We're stuck with each other Marvin. Ever since Eccentrica Galumbits, the triple breasted whore of Eroticon 6 captured Arthur, Ford and Zaphod this dump has degenerated into a living hell. If I ever see Beeblebrox again I'm going to send him to Krikkit for spilling beer all over the control panels... Are you okay, Computer?"

The Computer almost managed to flash a DOS-style green cursor on its screen, but strained a circuit and lapsed back into its digital coma.

Marvin muttered something about a brain the size of a planet being wasted away in the scummiest reaches of the galaxy but Trillian refused to give him a sympathetic ear.

"Shut up Marvin, I'm still talking. The guys have skipped town. The Head Job Gang haven't found us yet. Marvin, get off your stupid junky robot arse and fuck me. You must have a vibrate function on you somewhere..."

As she approached him he emitted a loud and aurally painful siren. "Stay away from me, earthling harlot! I always knew you preferred the company of the washing machine to me, and now I know why."

"Calm down you paranoid android, I wouldn't touch you if you were the last functioning appliance left on the ship." If only Zaphod were here, she thought. They'd had some fun times. At this juncture even Arthur would be a diversion, it was so easy to make him uncomfortable, and Trillian loved to tease.

A lightbulb appeared above Trillian's head- at least it would if she were in a Merry Melodies cartoon. She sighed wistfully and dropped onto the Chesterfield sofa. She kicked off her right shoe and then the left, and stretched luxuriously. She glanced over at Marvin's corner. He lay unmoving but staring at her in that unnerving way that could mean he was either calculating the likelihood of your premature death from eating too many Rice Bubbles, or contemplating suicide.

Trillian picked up a jar of hand lotion from the side table and rubbed some into her hands and fingernails, then her neck. "That feels good, I've been so tense lately..." Pretending not to notice Marvin's continued glare she unbuttoned her shirt and rubbed the lotion on her breasts, accidentally getting some on her lace bra. I'll have to do a load of laundry after this, she thought. She smiled at the idea of a rendezvous with the washing machine then turned her mind back to the torment of Marvin. She slid the fingers of one hand into a bra cup and hitched up her skirt with the other. A digital twitter came from Marvin's corner; Trillian looked over to see him trying to drag himself behind the computer console away from the base human display on the sofa. His right arm chose this moment to abandon his torso and he crashed to the floor, his legs still not reconnected properly after Ford had used them to make up a set of cricket stumps.

Trillian laughed at his helplessness and pulled off her underwear, leaving them hanging from one foot so it'd be easier to figure out which way round they went afterwards. She always had a problem with that.

She rubbed herself with lotiony fingers and said Mmmmm, quite loudly so that Marvin couldn't ignore her just by turning his head the other way. "Oh Betty," she improvised, "That's good Betty. Do it to me baby, don't hold back..." While the dialogue was constructed sheerly for Marvin's discomfort, she was surprised at how much she enjoyed the explorations of her fingers- much more personal than the rumpy-pumpy of the washing machine.

As she continued to squeeze her breasts alternately and delve with her fingers Trillian began to babble, "Betty's a bad girl, bad girl Betty!" She forgot all about Marvin who was trying to electrocute himself on the Computer's wiring, which had been chewed through by a mouse that had snuck aboard at the last planet, hoping to track down Slartibartfast and convince him to come work on a new planet.

GUIDE ENTRY: The Big O
The climax of sexual activity is generally considered to be the orgasm, although some races would state that the trick with a tube of sweetened condensed milk and a bendy toy giraffe is far more gratifying. The party experiencing the orgasm will variably declare their alliance to a deity, make a facial expression like one who has just bitten a chili pepper, or ignite if they are a gas-based life form. It's mostly harmless.

*The Head Job Gang are an invention of Emma Tom, Australian journalist and author: "What's so weird about a Mafia-style gang who capture girls and force them to endure endless pleasuring in dungeon-quality accomodation?"