The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Page #34

ARTHUR:

You can't have my brain. I'm using it.

FRANKY MOUSE:

Barely.

BENJY MOUSE:

We can replace it if you think it's

important. An electronic brain maybe.

FRANKY MOUSE:

A simple one should suffice. Who would

know the difference?

ARTHUR:

I would!

FRANKY MOUSE:

No, you wouldn't. We could program you not

to.

Arthur tries to get up. Clamps spring up from the chair

and wrap around his arms. A dome flips over from the

back and slams down on his head. Arthur struggles.

ARTHUR:

Ford! Zaphod! TRILLIAN!!

(CONTINUED)

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They're gorging on the food, half-lidded, out of it.

ARTHUR (CONT'D)

What are they-- what's in the food?!

WHAT WAS IN THAT TEA!?

The platter the mice are standing on rises up, moves toward

Arthur, ominous surgical instruments spring from it.

BENJY MOUSE:

Don't worry. You won't feel a thing.

The mice on the platter move ominously toward Arthur.

Arthur, still attached to the chair, backs away.

Scythes and rotating arms with circular saw blades shoot

out -- ominous surgical equipment to remove his brain.

ARTHUR:

Wait a minute, JUST WAIT A SODDING

MINUTE!!

The scythes and arms stop spinning. Arthur stumbles

backwards and sits down in the chair. The others stop

eating and listen.

ARTHUR (CONT'D)

You want the question that goes with the

answer "42" How about "What's six times

seven?" Or "How many Vogons does it take

to screw in a lightbulb?" Or here's one,

"How many roads must a man walk down?"

BENJY MOUSE:

Hey, that's not bad.

Through the opposite window (in much the same way

bulldozers arrived in the opening) we see more Vogons

arriving.

ARTHUR:

Fine. Take it. There's plenty more where

that came from because my head is filled,

with questions, and I can assure you mate,

no answer to any of them has ever brought

me one iota of happiness. Confusion? Yes.

Indecision? Loads. But happiness...?

He shakes his head.

BENJY MOUSE:

We don't want to be happy. We want to be

rich.

FRANKY MOUSE:

Take his brain.

(CONTINUED)

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Benjy steers the platter toward Arthur. He jerks his

arms up. They break free of the shackles and hit the

platter. The mice fly through the air and land on the

table -- right beside the POV gun. They scramble to

their feet.

BENJY MOUSE:

Shoot him!!

They try to lift the POV gun but it's way too heavy.

Arthur, his butt still strapped in the chair, leaps over

to the table and grabs the first thing he sees -- a leg

of mutton. He raises it high. Benjy and Franky look up.

FRANKY MOUSE:

Oh, sh*t.

Arthur brings the mutton down, squashing them flat.

The others instantly snap out of their food induced haze,

Zaphod suddenly clutches his gut.

ZAPHOD:

Ohhhh, I think I'm gonna be sick.

Arthur looks up and now he sees the Vogons marching down

the hill toward the house. He leans over the table,

bumping his teacup. IT SHATTERS TO THE GROUND.

105 ON THE HILL JUST BEYOND -- 105

An ARMY OF VOGON POLICE march over it. Amongst them...

MARVIN -- marches as well, a gun held to his head.

MARVIN:

(to the Vogon)

I must warn you, I'm feeling very

depressed.

KWALTZ:

Mr. President! We are here for your

protection!

Zaphod appears at the front door and waves Presidentially.

ZAPHOD:

Thank you!

106 The Police open fire. Zaphod and the others flee as the 106

barrage of fire continues. Trillian drops the POV gun,

goes back for it. Arthur stops her and pulls her behind

the truck. Marvin catches a bullet in the back of his

head - sparks fly and he is thrown forwards! Is he dead?

BEHIND THE TRUCK --

FORD looks at MARVIN lying face down in the dirt - his

head emitting smoke.

(CONTINUED)

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FORD:

Okay -- that thing I said about not saving

my life because we're even? Scratch that.

Save at will.

TRILLIAN:

We need that gun.

ZAPHOD:

(campaign sound-byte)

We need tighter gun control!

FORD:

We need his other head.

(an idea)

Okay -- I'll create a distraction.

He holds up his towel.

ARTHUR:

(sarcastic)

Brilliant plan. I'm certain it will work.

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