The ship pitched under the strain of a mountainous

The ship pitched under the strain of a mountainous swell. Briny ocean spume whipped his eyes. He lashed himself to the deck. Then he saw the monstrous eye breaching from the

heaving swells surrounding what remained of his ship. The water choked him, causing his beastial cry to cut short into a guttural moan. He began to feel

the dread rising behind his eyes in a rhythmic crackle that seemed to bake him from the inside. The waves saturated him, but the heat within steamed from his head a screaching

that all around him could hear -- well, except for the man with the microwaved head who had lost all of his physical senses from the nuclear ordeal. No, Randy Quaid would now

be forced to mate with Wendy Williams to create a mutant race of

back scratching island hoppers. That's the way we do it in Guadalupe, he said softly. That's the thing they don't tell the tourists.

What he didn't know is that I was secretly writing a writer for Hitchhiker's Guide. This was so going in there, next to my review of the local pub. They were known far and wide for

bizarre drinks, eats and free rides to anywhere in "The Guide." Hitchhikers travel together in a special pack looking for nirvana. This writer has special knowledge about pubs, and

will readily expound on his doubtlessly informative experiences as an alcoholic, but there's no time for that now. The travelers had to continue with their quest to find

a truly delicious non-alcoholic beer: it was the stuff of legends, in that it was impossible for the travelers to find. Parched and cranky, the group returned whence it came. ~Fin