Frood is a Noun
Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There’s a frood who really knows where his towel is.
The fictionalized real life adventures of Galactic Hitchhiker’s founder and Editor-at-large, Zaxley Nash
Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There’s a frood who really knows where his towel is.
Ten years of travel. A decade of accumulated funk. My towel has not been washed, ever. Not in ten years.
Music means so much in my life. I always have a song in my head, and love to spend endless hours, sometimes sober, typically drunken and/or stoned, relishing in the emotion and nostalgia found in good tunes. I am a man known in my house to weep while watching Little Orphan Annie. I am fascinated…
Who North America “Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of Indiana, is a remarkable store and museum dedicated to all things Whovian.” Just a short drive out of Indianapolis The Who North America is a stop sure to wow fans of Doctor Who young and old. Whether you are a fan…
Just outside of the Betelgeuse system, there was a bar. There were actually several bars. In fact, the moon-base that this particular bar was on was part of a vast lunar pub crawl orbiting a trendy brewery planet. It is a widely known, and popular fact that a better portion of the galactic trade economy revolves around alcohol; This is partially because of a generally loose and happy go lucky attitude on the part of the people of many species across the galaxy, but also because nobody is really having a good time at it and seek to drown their proverbial sorrows. The generally loose and happy go lucky attitudes are a direct result of everyone being pretty much drunk out of their minds pretty much most of the time.
Just outside Chicago in nearby Michigan City Indiana, situated in what used to be a billiard ball factory Shoreline Brewery stands as the Restaurant at the End of the Lake. Although brew pubs are a dime a dozen anymore, Shoreline stands out and does it in a way that is distinctively Northwest Indiana. Great food,…
The moon rises over the bayou, casting a strange glow on the Spanish moss draped in the darkness. Somewhere a pot of gumbo cooks in a Voodoo Queen’s lair…..
There is a war for our very minds, and it isn’t coming….it’s already here.