Vogon captain: O freddled gruntbuggly / Thy micturations are to me / As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee / That mordiously hath bitled out its earted jurtles / Into a rancid festering...
[Arthur and Ford's moaning drowns out the poetry]
Vogon captain: Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustules / Are splurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts / And living glupules frat and slipulate / Like jowling meated liverslime / Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes / And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles / Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't.