In the carpark of history, stands a slowly rusting mechanical body. It gently moans, parked for an aeon of aeons in the corner of the thirty-fifth floor. The figure leaning against the faulty diodes which line its left hand side in an almost masochistic attempt to prove a point. Courtesy of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, Genuine People Personalities department prototype lab, the metal monstrosity sulks. Marvin the Paranoid Android awaits, bucket in hand for the day someone with enough arrogance may assume he is the resident valet. Just as he had done for the last trillion days, he began recounting a tale to a nearby brick.
At this point, it may be prudent to note that due to budget restrictions, the original car-park for the Restaurant at the End of the Universe was outfitted with mega concrete and hyperbricks. These were designed (or so the large, neon speckled adverts, indiscriminately flashed at any shady characters sidling down the alleyways behind the Old Pink Dog bar) "to outlast even the most generous of pension schemes". Consequently, a mere five days after the architect received a bloated pay-off and several awards for the sculpting of the dining chairs, the entire structure collapsed into a large heap of dust and half a dozen teaspoons. This meant that after hastily burying their late patrons in the new foundations, they took whatever materials they could to rebuild the car park. As it happened, an asteroid laden with such horrific industrial waste, that not even a Vogsphere hyper-lizard food manufacture would mince it into their food was passing close to the atmosphere of Magrathea. As luck (or possibly as a result of the Heart of Gold drifting nonchalantly nearby) would have it, amongst this foul and putrid waste was precisely the number of bricks required to reconstruct the car-park. At the unveiling ceremony, it was considered possibly one of the finest achievements ever made by a back-spaceport construction company in the history of the Universe. However, soon after the CEOs and their CEOs had given each other golden handshakes in recognition of their triumphant work, and had gone on to bigger, better, and grander cock ups, the building began to squeal. At first it was assumed that it was just the brickwork settling in the cold climate of the rather chilly planet. But after a freak accident involving two tins of eye-liner and novelty spatula, one of the bricks kindly asked that the person remove their face from it's pointing. These were not just any bricks, they were sentient bricks of the Cantorian Neutron Cluster, now driven to the brink of madness after having been cemented into immobility in a climate more suitable for galactic proto-penguins and a certain class of lawyer. It was one of these tormented souls, which had to endure every day, Marvin's recollection; coloured with language from a pallet of grey, in his finest monotone, brought out only for the most dire of situations. Which he frequently liked to remind the brick. "And I tell you this in my finest, most grave voice, which my designers in their infinite wisdom realised I would require frequently through this arduous existence they referred so kindly to as 'living'."