10 lines
347 B
Text
10 lines
347 B
Text
`Hand me the rap-rod, Plate Captain.'
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The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion.
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`I beg your pardon, sir?' he said.
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`The phone, waiter,' said Zaphod, grabbing it off him. `Shee, you guys
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are so unhip it's a wonder your bums don't fall off.'
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- Zaphod discovers that waiters are the least hip people in the Universe.
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