The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has this to say on the subject of towels:
A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing any interstellar hitchhiker can carry. For one thing it has great practical value, you can wrap it around you for warmth from the cold moons of Jaglan Beta, sunbathe on it on the marble beaches of Santraginus Five, huddle beneath it for protection from the Arcturan Mega-gnats as you sleep beneath the stars of Kakrafoon, use it to sail a mini-raft down the slow heavy river Moth, wet it for use in hand to hand combat, wrap it ‘round your head to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (which is such a mind bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you), and, even dry yourself off with it, if it still seems clean enough.
Much has been written on the subject of towels, most of which stresses the many practical functions they can serve for the modern hitchhiker. Two seminal books are: Woydel Zing’s compendious tome “Bath Sheets in Space” which is far too large to carry, but sits magnificently on fashionable coffee tables, and Frap Gadz’s handbook, “Heavily Modified Face Flannels,” an altogether terser work for masochists.
However, only The Hitch Hiker’s Guide explains that the towel has a far more important psychological value; in that anyone who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against mind-boggling odds, win through, and still know where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with. Hence a phrase which has passed into hitchhiking slang as in, “Hey you! Sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There’s a frood who really knows where his towel is!” (sass means know, be aware of, meet, have sex with; hoopy means really together guy; and frood means really amazingly together guy).
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