A second Arthur woke up one morning convinced that he could fly, and no amount of persuasion could prevent him from scaling a radio tower and hurling himself off.

A third was crushed by a buffadozer during a protest to save his house. The buffadozer did not suffer any physical damage but was traumatized by the event and went on to sue the council, specifically naming a certain Mr Prosser in the suit. Prosser was subsequently given the axe.

Yet another Arthur was drowned in a freak rainstorm shortly after giving the two fingers to a truck driver who had cut him off on the motorway.

The list is almost endless. Suffice it to say, without cataloguing every single one of the various deaths, misadventure or adventure, accidental (or on purpose), occidental, dental, mental, rental, retail, foetal, faecal or decal (smothered by cling-film), to name but a few, that only one Arthur Dent survived in any dimension after the final, once and for all, no-tricky-loophole destruction of Earth. The same is true of both Ford Prefect and Trillian, but not Random or Zaphod, who were sticking to their pan-dimensional roles well enough to earn gold stars.

Related Reading: Someone's Out to Get Me by Arthur Dent, 2803 by Arthur Dent, 2803 He Believed He Could Fly by Mrs A. Dent, 1107 by Mrs A. Dent, 1107 The last remaining Arthur Dent sat in his usual place on the floor of the Heart of Gold Heart of Gold's flight deck, b.u.mping his head repeatedly on a familiar shelf, and yet he did not feel comforted. It may have been the green death rays flashing past the view screens, or it may have been that somewhere, deep in his primal essence, in the stardust that made up his atoms, Arthur realized that he he was the last Arthur Dent in the Universe. Truly alone in the magnitude of stuff. was the last Arthur Dent in the Universe. Truly alone in the magnitude of stuff.

All Arthur could have verbalized was that he missed his towel and would have paid a large sum of money to have somebody with soft bosoms hug him and tell him that things were going to be all right.

Trillian and Random were pretty depressed by the whole destruction of their home planet thing too and huddled together underneath the refrigerator. Ford Prefect, however, was positively ebullient, thanks to the single puff on his petrified worm.

'This is great great!' he enthused, clapping Zaphod on the shoulder. 'Look at those death beams. Did you ever think you would live to see a Grebulon death lattice from the inside inside?'

'Grebulons, wow. Those guys are vicious,' responded his cousin with equal enthusiasm (Zaphod was basically a one-puff man all the time). 'What a light show. Do you remember those thermonuclear warheads at Magrathea?'

'I do,' said Ford fondly. 'They were something. Foxy beggars, with their little jinks and turns, but we shook 'em.'

'We sure did, cousin. And we're going to shake these Grebu-guys too.'

Trillian winced as a ray scorched the s.p.a.ceship's port fin. 'Can we just get out of here?'

Zaphod spun like a disco dancer and shot Trillian with two finger guns. 'Pow pow, cutie. Miss me? Bet you did... so would I.'

'Later, Zaphod. Can the ship take us to safety?'

'Not so simple. We can't shoot through the lattice without being sliced up like Halitoxican party grevlova. We have to let the Improbability Drive run a few numbers and get its head around the problem.'

'The computer has a head now?'

Zaphod danced a little Betelgeusean foreplay jig. 'Finally someone makes a head head comment. I was starting to think you guys were all on the joysticks.' comment. I was starting to think you guys were all on the joysticks.'

'Sorry, Zaphod,' Arthur snapped. 'We're a little distracted by impending violent death.'

'Sure, the computer's got a head head,' continued Zaphod, ignoring Arthur's thread of the conversation. 'Come on, people. Don't you notice anything different about me?'

They got it at the same time.

'Goosnargh,' said Ford.

'What the...' said Trillian.

'Blooming'eck,' said Arthur, sounding a little like a c.o.c.kney rat.

Zaphod Beeblebrox had, perched rakishly on his shoulders, a single head.

Guide Note: Zaphod Beeblebrox's two heads and three arms have become as much a part of Galaxy lore as the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast's cranial spigot, or Eccentrica Gallumbits's third breast. And though Zaphod claims to have had his third arm fitted to improve his chances at ski-boxing, many media pundits believe that the arm was actually fitted so that the President could simultaneously fondle all of Eccentrica's mammaries. This attention to erotic detail resulted in Miss Gallumbits referring to Zaphod in mammaries. This attention to erotic detail resulted in Miss Gallumbits referring to Zaphod in Street Walkie-Talkie Weekly Street Walkie-Talkie Weekly as the 'The best bang since the Big One', a quote which was worth at least half a billion votes in the presidential election and twice as many daily hits on the private members' section of the Zaphod Confidential Sub-Etha site. as the 'The best bang since the Big One', a quote which was worth at least half a billion votes in the presidential election and twice as many daily hits on the private members' section of the Zaphod Confidential Sub-Etha site.

The origin of Zaphod's second head is shrouded in mystery and seems to be the one thing the President is reluctant to discuss with the media, other than to claim that two heads are better than none, a comment which was taken as a direct jibe by Counsellor Spinale Trunco of the Headless Hors.e.m.e.n tribe of Jaglan Beta. Zaphod's response to this accusation was, 'Of course it's a jibe, baby. Dude's got zero heads. Come on!' Early images do represent Zaphod with two heads, but in many shots they do not appear to be identical. In fact, in one vidcap, which has famously come to be known as the 'I'm With Stupid' shot, Zaphod's left head appears to be that of a sallow female, attempting to bite the right head's ear. A Betelgeusean woman later surfaced, claiming to be the original owner of the 'sallow female' head. Loolu Softhands told Beebleblog that 'Zaphod wanted us to be together, like, all the time, so we conjoined. After a couple of months he found out that he liked the two-headed thing more than he liked me. So we went out for a few Blasters one night and I woke up back on my own body. b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

Zaphod has never refuted Miss Softhands's story, leading to speculation that his second head is a narcissistic affectation, an allegation President Beeblebrox claims not to understand.

Related Reading: Head to Head with Mr President by Loolu Softhands by Loolu Softhands It's Just One b.o.o.b After Another by Eccentrica Gallumbits by Eccentrica Gallumbits Ford embraced his cousin.

'You finally took it off,' he said, while simultaneously chewing his lip, which is not easy. 'Removing a head sounds like the action of an imbecile, but for some reason I am totally in favour of it.'

Arthur knew the reason. His friend was still riding the worm.

'Are you sure that was a great idea, Zaphod? Didn't that head do do stuff?' stuff?'

Zaphod raised a single finger, the way a person might if they were about to make a significant announcement. 'Shut your mouth, monkey. I am talking to my cousin.'

'I thought we were past that, Zaphod. Haven't we been through enough?'

Zaphod reared backwards. 'Oh. Hey, Arthur. Is that you, buddy? My other head had better eyesight. Plus I didn't recognize you without the pool garment.'

'Dressing gown.'

'Whatever. Important information only at this point, I think. Death rays and so forth.'

'Is it important important that we know where your other head is?' shouted Arthur, keeping his syntax as stripped back as possible. that we know where your other head is?' shouted Arthur, keeping his syntax as stripped back as possible.

Zaphod clapped his hands. 'Oh, yeah. Yessir. You are all going to love this.'

He crab-danced to the low crescent bank of computer controls. 'Ladies and gentlemen, here he is, give him a big hand because your your lives are in lives are in his his hands.' hands.'

'Death rays!' howled Arthur, as the Dodge-O-Matic sent the ship into a tight pirouette. 'Can we get on with it?'

Ford cradled Arthur's cheeks in his palms. 'Life is about moments, Arthur,' he said seriously. 'That's the secret. Moments are longer than you think. If you add up all the good moments, then, you know it's, like, ages.'

It really infuriated Arthur that there might be something in that reasoning.

'Very well, Ford. Do you think it might be possible for the ladies to see Zaphod's other head?'

'Don't patronize us,' said Random.

'Of course not, sweetie.'

'Screw you.'

Zaphod stamped a silver boot heel. 'Can we get back to my moment? The head, remember?' He tapped a short, sequential code into the computer.

'Not much of a code, is it?' commented Arthur. 'One two three?'

Zaphod scowled at him. 'Eyesight and numbers. I am s-o-o-o bad at life's minor things. I'm more of a forward-thrusting, back-lit, great-discovery-making champion of the boudoir. Head number two takes care of the little-man stuff. Or as I call him... Left Brain, because he was on the left, and he's the brainy one.'

'Show us the head!' shouted Arthur.

Zaphod thumbed a red b.u.t.ton and a crystal sphere emerged from a bucket of gel in the console, rising smoothly to float at a median eye level.

'The gel is full of things, you know,' Zaphod explained with standard vagueness. 'Stuff that's good for the things that need to be done.'

'Please shut up, brother,' said Zaphod's second head, which rested on a cushion of wires and fuses inside the sphere. 'You're embarra.s.sing yourself. And me.'

Left Brain resembled Zaphod almost exactly, apart from some styling differences. Where the Galactic President was flamboyantly highlighted and may or may not have been wearing eyeliner, Left Brain's hair was close-cropped with a severe parting and his eyes shone with laser-sharp intelligence and strength of purpose.

'The gel is an electrolytic compound that feeds my organic cells and powers the anti-grav field around the sphere.'

'And the speakers, LB,' said Zaphod. 'A man's gotta have sounds.'

'Yes, ZB,' sighed Left Brain. 'The speakers. Now don't you have someone to wink at in the mirror?'

Zaphod leaned heavily on the console. 'Some days I think maybe separating was a mistake. But since Left Brain took over the ship from Eddie, we haven't exploded once. Not one time. And the causing wars thing is way down. That's good, right?'

'Now that the ship is not being run by my imbecilic predecessor, our life expectancy has risen by eight hundred per cent.'

Random, a politician, nodded appreciatively at the statistic.

Arthur rapped on the sphere. 'h.e.l.lo... Zaphod... Left Brain. Are you driving the ship? Can you get us out of here?'

'Please don't touch the gla.s.s, Earthman. You have no idea how many times I have to spin around in the gel to get smears off.'

'Sorry.'

'To answer your questions: I am currently interfacing with the Dodge-O-Matic program so that we can avoid the Grebulon death rays. Their lattice is closing as we speak, so the sooner we engage the Improbability Drive, the better.'

'How soon is that likely to be?'

'In ninety seconds. Several minutes before the death rays can possibly destroy the ship.'

'You're sure about that?'

Left Brain did not appreciate the question. 'You're new here and we've just met, so I'm going to explain this. I am the ship, the ship is me. There is no mis-information.'

'New? I've been here before, mate. And we have have met, only the last time...' met, only the last time...'

'I was still attached to Zaphod, the idiot.'

'Wohoo!' yelled Zaphod. 'He nailed you there, Arty. Don't go toe to toe with this guy.'

'Subjugated by his raucous personality,' continued Left Brain. 'Dominated by his irrepressible hedonism.'

'I warned you, Earthman. Don't say I didn't warn you. Left Brain will skin you alive and make fritters with the shavings.'

Left Brain swivelled, focussing his gaze on Zaphod. 'This shiftless monkey kept me locked inside my own head until I planted the separation idea during a drunken binge. Zaphod is such a gobemouche that he actually believes the notion was his own.'

Zaphod's eyes clouded. 'Gobemouche? Say what now?'

Although Arthur was worried about the ramifications of the heads' sibling rivalry, or split personality, or whatever the correct medical term might be, he decided to choke down his misgivings for Random's sake. They were saved, after all. Random was safe and that was all that mattered. Arthur knew from experience that losing his home planet would crush his spirit in the near future, possibly around teatime when there was no tea, or perhaps following a particularly beautiful holo-sunset, but for now he was determined to put on a brave face for his daughter.

'Okay, everyone,' he said, his voice as bright and hollow as a light bulb. 'Emergency over for the moment. Why don't we all strap ourselves in for an Improbability jaunt.' He chuckled. 'We all know how wacky they are.'

Random patted the spot on her chest where Fertle used to be. 'Wacky, Arthur? Wacky? You're not fooling anyone. And that was the most forced chuckle I have ever heard, Arthur. You'll never be half the man my husband was.'

And once again, everything is my fault, thought Arthur. Maybe I should fake being cheerful more often, then perhaps people would fall for it Maybe I should fake being cheerful more often, then perhaps people would fall for it.

'I don't suppose this computer has learned to make tea?'

A red light flashed on Left Brain's dome. 'Stop talking now, Earthman. The word "tea" has been flagged. The last time you asked for "tea", you backed up the entire system during an alert.'

Another forced chuckle from Arthur, followed by a little shuffle and a quick exit to the viewing gallery. 'I'm just going to check the death-ray lattice thing. See how we're getting on. Can I get anyone anything?'

No one bothered to reply.

Guide Note: 'Can I get anyone anything?' is a standard get-out-of-room-quick card and can be played whenever uncomfortable circ.u.mstances, ranging from mild embarra.s.sment to major impending doom, are fast approaching. Most cultures have a variation on the 'can I get anyone anything' comment and they are so obviously rhetorical that they barely merit a question mark. Betelgeuseans ask: 'Did anyone hear a plopping sound? Like a tennis ball into a bowl of custard? Anyone? I better go check it out.' The Jatravartid version is: 'Did someone hear the door crystal? I bet it's p.o.o.ple. Late as usual. I better go and let him in before he fills his handkerchief.'

To Arthur's relief, no one broke interstellar protocol by actually asking for something and he was able to sneak off to the viewing gallery and pretend he was back on his beach.

Ford rapped his knuckles on the console, listening to the 'bong'. 'I'd forgotten that bong, Zaph. You know, noises and things. You forget all about them then experience them again and remember how important they are to you. Then you wonder where all the memories were all that time you weren't thinking about them.'

Zaphod had no trouble tuning into this wavelength. 'I always thought my memories were across the hallway in head number two. And, if I needed them, head number two just beamed them across.'

'Wow. That is, like, it. it. Like the essence of what I'm trying to communicate. Did you guys, like, look in each other's eyes, you know, when he was shooting the memories across?' Like the essence of what I'm trying to communicate. Did you guys, like, look in each other's eyes, you know, when he was shooting the memories across?'

'Absolutely not,' said Left Brain, bobbing a little in spite of his gyroscopic field. 'His theory is ridiculous. We both have a cortex.'

Ford danced around the sphere, cradling it like a crystal ball. 'Yeah, but you have the big brain. You're the smart one hooked up to the Infinite Improbability Drive?'

Left Brain could not contain a little satisfied smirk. 'That is true. I control the drive. It is part of me now. I feel its every uncertainty.'

Ford's eyes were glazed, but still intelligent. 'So, explain to me how I was expecting you.'

Left Brain froze in mid-glide. 'What?'

'Yep. That's right, smarty-pants-less. I knew you guys would show up.'

'That's ridiculous. How could you know? The odds that the only person in the Universe who could rescue you would turn up exactly when you needed him was one hundred and fifty billion to one against. Acceptable odds for the Drive.'

Ford begged to differ. 'Depends how you cal-cu-late, mate.'

'There is only one way to calculate,' said Left Brain stiffly.

'Oh, no,' said Ford in the tone of one who has spent far too many hours in cheap hotels with no credits for the b.o.o.b-O-Whooper and is forced to read his own guide book. 'There are many ways to calculate. The Vl'hurgs' entire mathematical system was based on entrails.'

Guide Note: This is not entirely true. Dried velohound p.e.n.i.s was also involved.

'And I myself,' continued Ford in a voice so superior it would have caused single-cell life forms to accelerate their evolution so that they could use their fab new opposable thumbs to pick up a rock and beat him to death, 'I myself base most of my calculations on emotions.'