Discuss, be as detailed as possible. Try and keeps flames to a minimum on this one, but not asking for a FF.

I didn't know "th" was broken...Akaran_D wrote:What would you do if you had the power to "fix" th
Douglas Adams wrote:"Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged was --indeed, is - one of the
Universe's very small number of immortal beings.
Those who are born immortal instinctively know how to cope with
it, but Wowbagger was not one of them. Indeed he had come to hate
them, the load of serene bastards. He had had his immortality
thrust upon him by an unfortunate accident with an irrational
particle accelerator, a liquid lunch and a pair of rubber bands.
The precise details of the accident are not important because no
one has ever managed to duplicate the exact circumstances under
which it happened, and many people have ended up looking very
silly, or dead, or both, trying.
Wowbagger closed his eyes in a grim and weary expression, put
some light jazz on the ship's stereo, and reflected that he could
have made it if it hadn't been for Sunday afternoons, he really
could have done.
To begin with it was fun, he had a ball, living dangerously,
taking risks, cleaning up on high-yield long-term investments,
and just generally outliving the hell out of everybody.
In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with,
and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about
2.55, when you know that you've had all the baths you can
usefully have that day, that however hard you stare at any given
paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or use
the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as
you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to
four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the
soul.
So things began to pall for him. The merry smiles he used to wear
at other people's funerals began to fade. He began to despise the
Universe in general, and everyone in it in particular.
This was the point at which he conceived his purpose, the thing
which would drive him on, and which, as far as he could see,
would drive him on forever. It was this.
He would insult the Universe.
That is, he would insult everybody in it. Individually,
personally, one by one, and (this was the thing he really decided
to grit his teeth over) in alphabetical order.
When people protested to him, as they sometimes had done, that
the plan was not merely misguided but actually impossible because
of the number of people being born and dying all the time, he
would merely fix them with a steely look and say, "A man can
dream can't he?"