Zaphod Beeblebrox Quotes

If there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.

If I ever meet myself,' said Zaphod, 'I'll hit myself so hard I won't know what's hit me.

I'm up to here with cool, okay? I am so amazingly cool you could keep a side of meat in me for a month. I am so hip I have difficulty seeing over my pelvis.

Ow! My brains!

Zaphod Beeblebrox, adventurer, ex-hippie, good-timer (crook? quite possibly), manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personal relationships, often thought to be completely out to lunch.

One of the major difficulties Trillian experienced in her relationship with Zaphod was learning to distinguish between him pretending to be stupid just to get people off their guard, pretending to be stupid because he couldn't be bothered to think and wanted someone else to do it for him, pretending to be outrageously stupid to hide the fact that he actually didn’t understand what was going on, and really being genuinely stupid. He was renowned for being amazingly clever and quite clearly was so—but not all the time, which obviously worried him, hence, the act. He preferred people to be puzzled rather than contemptuous.

Zaphod Beeblebrox crawled bravely along a tunnel, like the hell of a guy he was. He was very confused, but he continued crawling doggedly anyway because he was that brave.

Much to his annoyance, a thought popped into his mind. It was very clear and very distinct, and he had now come to recognize these thoughts for what they were. His instinct was to resist them.

Don't try to understand me, just be grateful that you felt the warmth of Zaphod Beeblebrox's aura on your wonderstruck face.

The President in particular is very much a figurehead — he wields no real power whatsoever. He is apparently chosen by the government, but the qualities he is required to display are not those of leadership but those of finely judged outrage. For this reason the President is always a controversial choice, always an infuriating but fascinating character. His job is not to wield power but to draw attention away from it. On those criteria Zaphod Beeblebrox is one of the most successful Presidents the Galaxy has ever had — he has already spent two of his ten presidential years in prison for fraud.

The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion.

What is this? Some sort of galactic hyperhearse?

You ARE Zaphod Beeblebrox?' 'Yeah,' said Zaphod, 'but don't shout it out or they'll all want one.' 'THE Zaphod Beeblebrox?' 'No, just A Zaphod Beeblebrox, didn't you hear I come in six packs?' 'But sir,' it squealed, 'I just heard on the sub-ether radio report. It said you were dead...' 'Yeah, that's right, I just haven't stopped moving yet.

He had rather liked Zaphod Beeblebrox in a strange sort of way. He was clearly a man of many quallities, even if they were mostly bad ones.

Vell, Zaphod’s just zis guy, you know?

Only six people in the Galaxy knew that the job of the Galactic President was not to wield power but to attract attention away from it. Zaphod Beeblebrox was amazingly good at his job.

One of Zaphod's heads looked away. The other turned round to see what the first was looking at, but it wasn't looking at anything very much.

Hey this is terrific!" Zaphod said. "Someone down there is trying to kill us!

Wow,' said Zaphod Beeblebrox to the Heart of Gold. There wasn't much else he could say. He said it again because he knew it would annoy the press. 'Wow.' The crowd turned their faces back toward him expectantly. He winked at Trillian, who raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes at him. She knew what he was about to say and thought him a terrible show-off. 'That is really amazing.' he said. 'That really is truly amazing. That is so amazingly amazing I think I'd like to steal it.' A marvelous presidential quote, absolutely true to form. The crowd laughed appreciativley, the newsman gleefully punched buttons on their Sub-Etha News-Matics and the President grinned. As he grinned his heart screamed unbearably and he fingered the small Paralyso-Matic bomb that nestled quietly in his pocket. Finally he could bear it no more. He lifted his heads up to the sky, let out a wild whoop in major thirds, threw the bomb to the ground and ran forward through the sea of suddenly frozen beaming smiles.

I wonder who this ship belongs to anyway," said Arthur. "Me," said Zaphod. "No. Who it really belongs to." "Really me," insisted Zaphod. "Look, property is theft, right? Therefore theft is property. Therefore this ship is mine, okay?

The voice was deep and quiet. In other circumstances it would even be described as soothing. There is, however, nothing soothing about being addressed by a disembodied voice out of nowhere, particularly when you are, like Zaphod Beeblebrox, not at your best and hanging from a ledge eight stories up a crashed building.

Beyinlerinin bu karanlık ve kilitli köşelerinden kurtulabilmeyi isterdi, çünkü burada saklı olanlar arada sırada bir an için yüzeye çıkıyor, zihninin neşe ve eğlence bölümünü tuhaf düşüncelerle doldurarak, kendisini hayatının temel görevi olarak gördüğü şeyden, yani harika bir şekilde iyi zaman geçirmekten alıkoymaya çalışıyorlardı.

Mr. Beeblebrox, sir,' said the insect in awed wonder, 'you’re so weird you should be in movies.; 'Yeah,' said Zaphod patting the thing on a glittering pink wing, 'and you, baby, should be in real life.' The insect paused for a moment

Only six people in the entire Galaxy understood the principle on which the Galaxy was governed, and they knew that once Zaphod Beeblebrox had announced his intention to run as President it was more or less a fait accompli: he was ideal presidency fodder.*

The President in particular is very much a figurehead—he wields no real power whatsoever. He is apparently chosen by the government, but the qualities he is required to display are not those of leadership but those of finely judged outrage. For this reason the President is always a controversial choice, always an infuriating but fascinating character. His job is not to wield power but to draw attention away from it. On those criteria Zaphod Beeblebrox is one of the most successful Presidents the Galaxy has ever had—he has already spent two of his ten presidential years in prison for fraud. Very very few people realize that the President and the Government have virtually no power at all, and of these few people only six know whence ultimate political power is wielded. Most of the others secretly believe that the ultimate decision-making process is handled by a computer. They couldn’t be more wrong.

But it was not in any way a coincidence that today, the day of culmination of the project, the great day of unveiling, the day that the Heart of Gold was finally to be introduced to a marveling Galaxy, was also a great day of culmination for Zaphod Beeblebrox. It was for the sake of this day that he had first decided to run for the presidency, a decision that had sent shock waves of astonishment throughout the Imperial Galaxy. Zaphod Beeblebrox? President? Not the Zaphod Beeblebrox? Not the President? Many had seen it as clinching proof that the whole of known creation had finally gone bananas.

It might not even have made much difference to them if they’d known exactly how much power the President of the Galaxy actually wielded: none at all. Only six people in the Galaxy knew that the job of the Galactic President was not to wield power but to attract attention away from it. Zaphod Beeblebrox was amazingly good at his job.

No voy a ser la marioneta de nadie, mucho menos, de mí mismo.

What do you mean you’ve met?’ he demanded. ‘This is Zaphod Beeblebrox from Betelgeuse Five you know, not bloody Martin Smith from Croydon.

Today was the day; today was the day when they would realize what Zaphod had been up to. Today was what Zaphod Beeblebrox’s presidency was all about.

The Zaphod Beeblebrox?” “No, just a Zaphod Beeblebrox; didn’t you hear I come in six packs?

Concentrate,” hissed Zaphod, “on his name.” “What is it?” asked Arthur. “Zaphod Beeblebrox the Fourth.” “What?” “Zaphod Beeblebrox the Fourth. Concentrate!” “The Fourth?” “Yeah. Listen, I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox, my father was Zaphod Beeblebrox the Second, my grandfather Zaphod Beeblebrox the Third …” “What?” “There was an accident with a contraceptive and a time machine. Now concentrate!

Zaphod Beeblebrox, adventurer, ex-hippie, good-timer, (crook? quite possibly), manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personal relationships, often thought to be completely out to lunch. President?

Yeah. Listen, I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox, my father was Zaphod Beeblebrox the Second, my grandfather Zaphod Beeblebrox the Third . . .’ ‘What?’ ‘There was an accident with a contraceptive and a time machine. Now concentrate!

Good evening," it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, "I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my body? It harrumphed and gurgled a bit, wriggled its hind quarters into a more comfortable position and gazed peacefully at them. Its gaze was met by looks of startled bewilderment from Arthur and Trillian, a resigned shrug from Ford Prefect and naked hunger from Zaphod Beeblebrox. "Something off the shoulder perhaps?" suggested the animal. "Braised in a white wine sauce?" "Er, your shoulder?" said Arthur in a horrified whisper. "But naturally my shoulder, sir," mooed the animal contentedly, "nobody else's is mine to offer." Zaphod leapt to his feet and started prodding and feeling the animal's shoulder appreciatively. "Or the rump is very good," murmured the animal. "I've been exercising it and eating plenty of grain, so there's a lot of good meat there." It gave a mellow grunt, gurgled again and started to chew the cud. It swallowed the cud again. "Or a casserole of me perhaps?" it added. "You mean this animal actually wants us to eat it?" whispered Trillian to Ford. "Me?" said Ford, with a glazed look in his eyes. "I don't mean anything." "That's absolutely horrible," exclaimed Arthur, "the most revolting thing I've ever heard." "What's the problem, Earthman?" said Zaphod, now transferring his attention to the animal's enormous rump. "I just don't want to eat an animal that's standing there inviting me to," said Arthur. "It's heartless." "Better than eating an animal that doesn't want to be eaten," said Zaphod. "That's not the point," Arthur protested. Then he thought about it for a moment. "All right," he said, "maybe it is the point. I don't care, I'm not going to think about it now. I'll just ... er ..." The Universe raged about him in its death throes. "I think I'll just have a green salad," he muttered. "May I urge you to consider my liver?" asked the animal, "it must be very rich and tender by now, I've been force-feeding myself for months." "A green salad," said Arthur emphatically. "A green salad?" said the animal, rolling his eyes disapprovingly at Arthur. "Are you going to tell me," said Arthur, "that I shouldn't have green salad?" "Well," said the animal, "I know many vegetables that are very clear on that point. Which is why it was eventually decided to cut through the whole tangled problem and breed an animal that actually wanted to be eaten and was capable of saying so clearly and distinctly. And here I am." It managed a very slight bow. "Glass of water please," said Arthur. "Look," said Zaphod, "we want to eat, we don't want to make a meal of the issues. Four rare steaks please, and hurry. We haven't eaten in five hundred and seventy-six thousand million years." The animal staggered to its feet. It gave a mellow gurgle. "A very wise choice, sir, if I may say so. Very good," it said. "I'll just nip off and shoot myself." He turned and gave a friendly wink to Arthur. "Don't worry, sir," he said, "I'll be very humane." It waddled unhurriedly off to the kitchen. A matter of minutes later the waiter arrived with four huge steaming steaks.

And you saw yourself," said Gargravarr, "in relation to it all?" "Oh, yeah yeah." "But...what did you experience?" Zaphod shrugged smugly. "It just told me what I knew all the time. I'm a really terrific and great guy. Didn't I tell you, baby, I'm Zaphod Beeblebrox!

What . . . do . . . you . . . want?’ ‘I’m looking for someone.’ ‘Who?’ hissed the insect. ‘Zaphod Beeblebrox,’ said Marvin, ‘he’s over there.’ The insect shook with rage. It could hardly speak. ‘Then why did you ask me?’ it screamed. ‘I just wanted something to talk to,’ said Marvin. ‘What!’ ‘Pathetic, isn’t it?

It was for the sake of this day that he had first decided to run for the presidency, a decision that had sent shock waves of astonishment throughout the Imperial Galaxy. Zaphod Beeblebrox? President? Not the Zaphod Beeblebrox? Not the President? Many had seen it as clinching proof that the whole of known creation had finally gone bananas.

It was for the sake of this day that he had first decided to run for the presidency, a decision that had sent shock waves of astonishment throughout the Imperial Galaxy. Zaphod Beeblebrox? President? Not the Zaphod Beeblebrox? Not the President? Many had seen it as clinching proof that the whole of known creation had finally gone bananas. Zaphod

Many had seen it as clinching proof that the whole of known creation had finally gone banana.

Many had seen it as clinching proof that the whole of known creation had finally gone bananas.

Mr. Beeblebrox, sir,” said the insect in awed wonder, “you’re so weird you should be in movies.” “Yeah,” said Zaphod patting the thing on a glittering pink wing, “and you, baby, should be in real life.

The hereditary Emperor is nearly dead and has been for many centuries. In the last moments of his dying coma he was locked in a stasis field which keeps him in a state of perpetual unchangingness. All his heirs are now long dead, and this means that without any drastic political upheaval, power has simply and effectively moved a rung or two down the ladder, and is now seen to be vested in a body that used to act simply as advisers to the Emperor—an elected governmental assembly headed by a President elected by that assembly. In fact it vests in no such place. The President in particular is very much a figurehead—he wields no real power whatsoever. He is apparently chosen by the government, but the qualities he is required to display are not those of leadership but those of finely judged outrage. For this reason the President is always a controversial choice, always an infuriating but fascinating character. His job is not to wield power but to draw attention away from it. On those criteria Zaphod Beeblebrox is one of the most successful Presidents the Galaxy has ever had—he has already spent two of his ten presidential years in prison for fraud. Very very few people realize that the President and the Government have virtually no power at all, and of these few people only six know whence ultimate political power is wielded. Most of the others secretly believe that the ultimate decision-making process is handled by a computer. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Um imenso animal leiteiro aproximou-se da mesa de Zaphod Beeblebrox. Era um enorme e gordo quadrúpede do tipo bovino, com olhos grandes e protuberantes, chifres pequenos e um sorriso nos lábios que era quase simpático. – Boa noite – abaixou-se e sentou-se pesadamente sobre suas ancas –, sou o Prato do Dia. Posso sugerir-lhes algumas partes do meu corpo? – Grunhiu um pouco, remexeu seus quartos traseiros buscando uma posição mais confortável e olhou pacificamente para eles. Seu olhar se deparou com olhares de total perplexidade de Arthur e Trillian, uma certa indiferença de Ford Prefect e a fome desesperada de Zaphod Beeblebrox. – Alguma parte do meu ombro, talvez? – sugeriu o animal. – Um guisado com molho de vinho branco? – Ahn, do seu ombro? – disse Arthur, sussurrando horrorizado. – Naturalmente que é do meu ombro, senhor – mugiu o animal, satisfeito –, só tenho o meu para oferecer. Zaphod levantou-se de um salto e pôs-se a apalpar e sentir os ombros do animal, apreciando. – Ou a alcatra, que também é muito boa – murmurou o animal. – Tenho feito exercícios e comido cereais, de forma que há bastante carne boa ali. – Deu um grunhido brando e começou a ruminar. Engoliu mais uma vez o bolo alimentar. – Ou um ensopado de mim, quem sabe? – acrescentou. – Você quer dizer que este animal realmente quer que a gente o coma? – cochichou Trillian para Ford. – Eu? – disse Ford com um olhar vidrado. – Eu não quero dizer nada. – Isso é absolutamente horrível – exclamou Arthur -, a coisa mais repugnante que já ouvi. – Qual é o problema, terráqueo? – disse Zaphod, que agora observava atentamente o enorme traseiro do animal. – Eu simplesmente não quero comer um animal que está na minha frente se oferecendo para ser morto – disse Arthur. – É cruel! – Melhor do que comer um animal que não deseja ser comido – disse Zaphod. – Não é essa a questão – protestou Arthur. Depois pensou um pouco mais a respeito. – Está bem – disse –, talvez essa seja a questão. Não me importa, não vou pensar nisso agora. Eu só... ahn... O Universo enfurecia-se em espasmos mortais. – Acho que vou pedir uma salada – murmurou. – Posso sugerir que o senhor pense na hipótese de comer meu fígado? Deve estar saboroso e macio agora, eu mesmo tenho me mantido em alimentação forçada há meses. – Uma salada verde – disse Arthur, decididamente. – Uma salada? – disse o animal, lançando um olhar de recriminação para ele. – Você vai me dizer – disse Arthur – que eu não deveria comer uma salada? – Bem – disse o animal –, conheço muitos legumes que têm um ponto de vista muito forte a esse respeito. E é por isso, aliás, que por fim decidiram resolver de uma vez por todas essa questão complexa e criaram um animal que realmente quisesse ser comido e que fosse capaz de dizê-lo em alto e bom tom. Aqui estou eu! Conseguiu inclinar-se ligeiramente, fazendo uma leve saudação. – Um copo d’água, por favor – disse Arthur. – Olha – disse Zaphod –, nós queremos comer, não queremos uma discussão. Quatro filés malpassados, e depressa. Faz 576 bilhões de anos que não comemos. O animal levantou-se. Deu um grunhido brando. – Uma escolha muito acertada, senhor, se me permite. Muito bem – disse –, agora é só eu sair e me matar. Voltou-se para Arthur e deu uma piscadela amigável. – Não se preocupe, senhor, farei isso com bastante humanidade.

Il presidente, in particolare, è soltanto un prestanome: non esercita in effetti il benché minimo potere. È, sì, scelto dal governo, ma le qualità che deve dimostrare di avere non sono quelle tipiche del leader: la sua fondamentale qualità è di sapere provocare scandali. Per questa ragione scegliere un presidente non è facile: bisogna poter scegliere una persona che sappia provocare il furore nella gente, ma che sia anche in grado di affascinarla. Il suo compito non è di esercitare il potere ma di stornare l’attenzione della gente dal potere stesso. In questo senso Zaphod Beeblebrox è uno dei migliori presidenti che la Galassia abbia mai avuto: ha già passato due dei dieci anni della presidenza in carcere per truffa.

Yeah. Listen, I'm Zaphod Beeblebrox, my father was Zaphod Beeblebrox the Second, my grandfather Zaphod Beeblebrox the Third ...""What?""There was an accident with a contraceptive and a time machine. Now concentrate!

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 Street Walkie-Talkie Weekly as 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 claim that two heads are better than none. A comment which was taken as a direct jibe by Councillor Spinalé Trunco of the Headless Horsemen 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 Beebelblog 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. Bastard.” 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