"I thought if these beings were more advanced than us, they should be nearer the Creator," babbled a pasty-faced pastor. "But the alien said the only creator it worshipped was Ray Harryhausen. Then it stuck a PROBE up my behind! IT'S EVIL!"
"Sometimes we would find our cattle mutilated, and our men with probes up their behinds," muttered a hot Hispanic babe. "The old women, they crossed themselves and whispered crazy things: The Beast That Makes Queers Out Of Men."
Sam: [over the phone] Close encounter? What kind? First? Second?
Dean: [running from a UFO] They're after me!
Sam: Third Kind already? You better run, man, I think the Fourth Kind is a butt thing.
Dean: [running from a UFO] They're after me!
Sam: Third Kind already? You better run, man, I think the Fourth Kind is a butt thing.
Gwog: "Human: Meet the probe-o-matic. I'll be needing one of your orifices now."
Dr. Thaddeus Euphemism: "Oh no! I certainly hope you're not planning to stick that up my nose! Oh dear me, that would be the worst thing ever!"
Gwog: "Guess again."
Dr. Thaddeus Euphemism: (thinking) "It was worth a shot."
"There's Havent Kum!" whispered B'Elannarella, pointing off to one side. The former foremost ensign was being forced to endure the evil attentions of the Siamese Delaney Twins of Stella Five, who were using some kind of brain probe on him. According to the orifice in which the probe was being inserted, Havent's brains were in his ass.
— B'Elannarella
Harry Vanderspeigle: I thought you'd be in Georgia by now, getting probed.
Max Hawthorne: Humans don't probe. Only stupid aliens do that.
Harry: My people don't. It's The Greys that have the ass fetish.
Max Hawthorne: Humans don't probe. Only stupid aliens do that.
Harry: My people don't. It's The Greys that have the ass fetish.
In my experience, your typical scenario is that some trespassing teenagers get stoned on ’shrooms, hallucinate flying saucers piloted by alien colorectal surgeons looking to field-test their new alien endoscope technology, and shit themselves copiously all over Farmer Giles’ back paddock.
— Equoid by Charles Stross
