"Sick bastard! You know what, you need help!" Betty screamed at her husband.
Kev ignored her, as usual, and carried on with his preparations:
Flashlight - Check.
Rubber gloves - Check.
Lube - Check.
"My Mother said you were a wrong'un - wish I'd listened to her."
"So do I." mumbled Kev wearily.
"Why Kev? I don't understand why though? It takes 17 light years to reach this little blue shithole of a planet, but then all you want to do is.....that!"
"Boredom...RESEARCH! Umm...I mean research. Anyway, you know how much they love it - getting probed seems to give them something to boast about!"