"Good grief, mankind, how much oxygen do you need?"

Arthur had brought his own breathing tank to the poetry reading. "I love embracing alien cultures," he said, "but they tend to make me a bit dizzy."

Racket Vogon Quamp could understand this. He turned to look again at the... turnip Ford was banging on.
("Turnip" by stunning coincidence means "huge monstrosity of a thingie", a thingie being a sort of stick used to ward off spiritual attacks on the intestines.)

Arthur looked at the Turnip too. "Are you sure this will be a good experience?"

"I'm not sure," said Ford, adjusting the wires. "But the last time was rather good, wasn't it?"

"Of course it wasn't!"

"You said it was."

"That was so we wouldn't get thrown out of an airlock!"

"But we did anyway so you must have liked it."

Arthur sighed. So did Quamp.

Quamp hadn't been around humans before, but this pair was still making him nervous. He'd seen a personal ad in the ! section asking if there was any Vogon with Poetry Appreciation Chairs that would like to participate in a little experiment. Now, he wasn't sure he wanted his poetry to be heard or even appreciated by such... grapefruits.
(GrapefruitsFreaks)

Ford stepped back from the cages. "There," he said. "I just made a couple minor adjustments to the screamfiresonancegen to connect them together for a mutual appreciation.

"And that means?" asked Arthur lazily.

"When either of us screams it resonates the same way the poetry does," Ford explained.

"So not only are we filled with the sounds of lovely poetry," Arthur smiled at Quamp, "We also hear each other's screams echoing through our heads."

"Exactly."

"And this is good why?"

"Come on, Arthur," whined Ford. "You have to be open to new experiences. And sharing them," he added, seeing the question that Arthur was about to ask.

Arthur sighed again. "Fine then." He climbed into a cage. "But you aren't getting any tonight. This is your fun, and it will probably use up your fun account for the whole week."

"Relax, Arthur," said Ford while climbing into the other cage.

"I believe this experiment is the complete opposite of relaxation." Arthur leaned back.

Quamp was still mystified by the intricacies of this relationship, but he took this as his cue to sit down with a microphone and open his poetry book.

"Whenever you're ready," said Ford.

"Rack the flrob of the bhrithy grabjappleh
offleing around the purgind crrrrrmmmmmz!"

"I'M NOT READY! I'M NOT READY!" screamed Arthur and Quamp stopped abruptly.

"Oh, don't listen to him," panted Ford. "Go on, please."

Quamp was uneasy but continued.

"Grig FAH grig FAH the garbelelelnsnsnsngggo
and everywhere the Uhhannnso cccry"

"EEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH"

"Ohhhhhhhahaaaaahhhhhhhaaaaahhoooooo"

"A TRIGGLEEDDD POX on the
Grraazzzzznny sons of Grrrgggggangngnles!
A POX of ylllllgeenennenssen
on their brrraaanseeened gggrrrrrruuuuuugggnlllns!"

Quamp was quite pleased with his dramatic reading and looked up to see how his audience was taking it.

The one called Arthur was as stiff as a board with his eyes screwed up and his mouth stretched as far as it could go to his ears.

The one called Ford had his spine in a curve and was gripping the cage with his tongue hanging out.

It was a few seconds before Arthur realized it was over. He opened his eyes cautiously and looked over at Ford. Ford had sunk down to the bottom of his cage with a bemused grin, eyes still closed.

"That was an experience all right," said Arthur, experimenting with the right words. "Yes, something I will never forget... Ford?"

Ford was not answering and Arthur doubted he was aware of anything outside of his cage.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Arthur muttered to Ford, knowing it was useless. Then he turned to Quamp. "Excuse me, do have anything a little more somber?"

"Oh, yes, I think so," said Quamp. He wasn't used to requests, but found something suitably dirge like.

"Rrrejjallllen my ooownllyyy hhhhwwrannnng..."

As Quamp extended the relevant syllables dramatically, Arthur fell back in his cage and moaned. Ford quivered and took in a deep breath.

"Blllarrrggllle toook theee awwayhhh
to the flreggggeddd realllmmsss ohh teee
garrrrrwwwwwrnnnn mmarrrrrrg...
and therrrrrrrr wuuurrrrrrst innnn
vrooooonnyy mmmmire
glinininininininininiggggllllllllled
to the laaaaast
frrreeggnump."

The change in the humanoids was remarkable. They were almost singing along, rolling their heads from side to side, tensing some muscles and going completely slack sometimes. Quamp thought it was time for a change of pace.

"Ohhh gggrrrawwwk!
When teeeee wwweerrrgooone
I yeeeglllled my swwwarrrrth
tiim de cawwwwrrrsud ddeeeeee
kkkaattttaaannnnnnnnaahh!
Ohhh! qqoooooooommmmth
EEEEEhh! No NOMRE!
Yarrefffsngl! my snnnoorreew!
GGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAH!"

The two humanoids screamed this last scream with Quamp, then were still. Quamp closed his book and switched off the Turnip to signify the end of the recitation.

Arthur opened his eyes, panting. He grabbed the bars of his cage and called out, "Ford?"

This time he was answered with a gasp of "Yes?"

"Ford," gasp, "the next time we do this," gasp, "let's be in the same cage."

Ford knew what Arthur meant and after they had been let out and thanked Quamp profusely, they trotted back to their hotel to practice their physical stimulation, now that their mental had been drained.

"What a strange pair," Quamp thought, but was a sensitive Vogon and added, "I think I'll write a ballad about them."

And they all lived wonderfully twisted, long and productive lives until they died from natural causes and not from any failed experiments because it's perfectly all right to want to experiment with new forms of pleasure with someone you love and trust. This doesn't count Quamp who became a famous poet because of it's sensitive work and the moral of that is it's ok to be sensitive if you are a male, or a Vogon, or both.