"Oh god!" Arthur yelled. This is going to be another one of those days, isn't it?"

"No it isn't," Ford said. "It's going to be quite different than one of those days. How many times have you been attacked by anything even similar to these?"

"Well, never, but-"

"But nothing. It's not another one of those days, because it is a very different day than usual."

"But it's still a bad day!" Arthur argued in vain.

"Umm, did you spell that right?" Zaphod asked, indicating the word "Vain" recently used.

"I figure I have a fifty-fifty chance of being correct," the author said. "Now stop picking at the grammatical errors."

"Whatever," Zaphod stated nonchalantly to examine the now blinking adversaries that faced himself, Ford, and Arthur.

They were roughly three feet tall, clothed in robes of a creamy brown shade, with microphones clipped near the collar of the robe; protruding from beneath the hoods pulled up over the faces were short orange beaks.

"What in the name of Bob are those?" Arthur asked.

"You called?" Bob the daemon in charge of kitten taxes said, popping into the cave quickly.

"No, no, I was referring to Bob from a planet that I was once trapped on- he was worshipped as a god. I was their chief sandwich maker, as matter of fact," Arthur stated proudly.

"Did this planet have sentient beings that ate perfectly normal beast?" Bob asked.

"You know, now that you mention it, they did."

"Ah. Then the Bob that they were referring to was me. Which brings us back to, you called?"

"Hold on, how are you their god?"

"Look, did you call or no?" Bob asked.

"No! I was just using an expression that was drilled into me. Now how the bloody hell were you their god?"

"Well, if you don't need me, I'll go back on my search for Fred."

"Who?" asked Zaphod.

"Fred. You remember, from chapter three?"

"Oh, right. Carry on."

"Excuse me," stated one of the short, robed figures. "But, um, do you mid if we, you know, tell the audience who we are now?"

Arthur looked down to one of the robed figures that had walked up to him and was now looking up into his face.

"Oh, yeah, sure, have fun with it. And Ford, say something before you throw up again."

"Oh, it's okay," Ford said. "I took a self help course. I won't puke again."

"When did you-"

"Heh-hem," The robed figures said, drawing attention back to themselves.

"Right, then. We are," the figures all dropped their cloaks in unison, revealing themselves to be penguins with long fangs protruding from their beaks. "The musical Jedi vampire penguins of imagination (Trade mark, restricted, copyright, patented)!"

"That's a mouthful," Ford stated pleasantly. "Can you give yourselves names? The author appreciates it when you do."

"Okay, umm, uh, I'll be , umm."

"Ooh! Ooh! I have an idea!" one of the penguins in the back piped up. "Why don't we all just call ourselves MJVP's one through… umm… How many of us are there again?" he performed a quick headcount. "Okay, one through two."

"Everyone agree?" MJVP 1 asked.

"I don't like it," Zaphod stated. He became small and lemon flavored again. "Fine, I like it." Zaphod became large and normal flavored again.

"So, what exactly is your point in this plot?" Arthur asked, a little bit confused. "So far you've done… Well, nothing but talk. If you're musical Jedi Vampire Penguins, shouldn't you do at least one of those things?"

"You know, you're right," stated MJVP 2. "Let's attack them."

"Indeed," MJVP 1 agreed, pulling his double bladed frying pan from within his robes. Twirling it expertly at the same time as singing "Strangers in the night" he approached the party before promptly falling through a hole that appeared in the ground. He then fell through a second hole in the ceiling, landing on his feet and still twirling the double bladed frying pan.

"Well that was pointless," stated Zaphod.

"I agree," stated MJVP 1, igniting his light-meat-tenderizer-saber-sword. "Let's get to the action."