Monday, May 29, 2006


Bird: S’pose I better tell them about giving sperm.

Buffalo: S’pose you better, dude.

Bird: Well, it goes like this. I made my way along a murky corridor and then…

Nurse: Can I help you?

Bird: Er, is this the, er, Institute For Research Into The Multifactorial Propagation Of The Human Race By Advanced Fecundatory Processes?

Nurse: The sperm bank’s the first door on the right.

Bird: So I knocked on the door…

Doctor: Ah, Mr Bird. Peel off a number then wait to be called.

Bird: Do you show hard core Danish films with lots of big-bosomed blondes moaning in hedonistic delight to put me in the mood, like?

Doctor: Good heavens, there’s nothing like that. You’ll have to use your imagination, I’m afraid.

Bird: But what if you haven’t got… I mean, some men need prompting. It’s not always easy to visualise something that works you into such an erotic frenzy that you’re able to deliver the 5-star premium liquid. I want to give all those thousands, millions of childless couples the greatest gift of them all – life. I want my seed to be spread far and wide, to bring forth the next generation of artists, writers, doctors, scientists, world leaders.

Bob: You’ll be lucky if your sperm gets used at all. I’ve been giving sperm for five years and it’s only been used once.

Nurse: Number 74.

Bird: Over here.

Nurse: Here’s your specimen receptacle. Cubicle six.

Bird: You expect me to fill the whole bottle? It’s the size of a jam jar!

Nurse: Don’t be silly. We only need a small amount. I’ll give you ten minutes. If you have any trouble, give me a shout, I’ll bring you a dirty magazine.

Bird: (smirking) I won’t be needing that. I think you’ll find that I’m more than capable of rising to the occasion. So, this is it then. The moment of truth. Someday somewhere hundreds, nay, thousands of women are going to be eternally grateful for my unselfish contribution to their future maternal happiness.

Nurse: Try not to get any on the carpet, love. It’s just been shampooed.

Bird: I can see one of them now rocking the sweet little bundle in her arms, singing it a lullaby, stroking its little…

Doctor: Just get on with it, will you? We’ve got twelve more waiting in the lobby.

Nurse: Bob?

Bob: Yes, Jenny?

Nurse: Your usual, cubicle five.

Bird: Cubicle five? Great! We’ll be next to each other. We can do it in tandem! (goes into cubicle.) Right, here we go.

Bob: Oh, yes. Yes! Yes, Lucinda, yes!

Bird: Hey, Bob, can you keep it down? I can’t concentrate in here.

Bob: Yes! Yes! Yes! Yesssss!

Bird: (sighs) I can’t do this. There must be something that’ll get me horny. I know. Granny Smith, bending over a hot stove, legs wide apart, skirt riding up her thighs, suspender belt dangling... “My little lemon soufflé,” she moans. God, she’s hot! Yes! Yes! Yes! Come on, big boy. Get ready for the whipped cream, granny! Oh, what! Come on, man! Another 30 seconds and it was lights out in London! Now what?

(knocks on partition) Hey, Bob, help me out here, will you? Freddy doesn’t want to play. Got any tips? Maybe I’m not holding him right.

Bob: I thought you were an expert.

Bird: Well, yeah, I am, but I’m not used to these pressure situations. By the way, do you find it goes better in 4/4 time or something faster?

Bob: The slower the better.

Bird: Maybe if I watch you do it, I’ll see where I’m going wrong.

Bob: Are you some kind of pervert?

Bird: Of course not! I just thought… Well, how about if you watch me and if you notice something funny you let me know?

Bob: Good Lord, if you can’t masturbate properly by now you never will.

Bird: Come on, Bob. Be a pal, show me how it’s done.

Bob: No.

Bird: Go on, just a quickie.

Bob: No!

Bird: OK, if that’s the way you want to play it. I’ll just stand here and watch you. When you’re ready.

Bob: (zips up trousers) Jeez. OK. Imagine my penis is in my hand.

Bird: It’s not easy.

Bob: Try. So, it goes like this. You start slowly then rock backwards and forwards, build up the rhythm then think of the most sensual experience you’ve had and leave the rest to nature.

Bird: That simple, eh? Thanks, Bob. I owe you one. Oh, one last question: who’s Lucinda?

Bob: My wife!

Bird: Oh. Mind if I use her name?

Bob: Yes, I bloody well do!

Bird: Got ya. OK, Doris it is… She glides across the field from the left, I glide across from the right. The sun glistens in her hair. We embrace. I slip my hand under her top, flick open the bra strap and fondle her tits.

Bob: God, this is making me horny.

Bird: She unbuckles my trousers, rubs my willywonka up and down slowly then builds up into a rhythm - just like Bob said. Then I ram old Freddy home. ‘Harder!’ she moans. Harder! Oh, yes!’ Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Doris. Yesssss! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yessssssssssssssssss!

Doctor: Everything all right in there?

Bird: (unlocks cubicle and steps outside) Sorry, doc. Got a bit carried away. It was Doris, you see, that little slut always gets me horny. Don’t know if this’ll be any good to you.

Doctor: I’ve never seen anything like it. This is ten times the normal amount.

Bird: I could’ve put some more in, you know, but I didn’t want to boast. How did you get on, Bob? Never mind, better luck next time, eh? You weren’t holding him right. Here, I’ll show you.

Doctor: Stop that at once, this is a respectable company.

Bird: Take good care of my old love juice, doc. The furtherance of the fecunded human race is in there.

Doctor: Don’t worry, it’s safe with us. Now, shall we say same time next week?

Bird: Eh?

Doctor: For the next deposit.

Bird: Well, I don’t know, I mean… Oh, OK. You can’t rely on poor Bob, after all. Um, when shall I phone?

Doctor: Phone?

Bird: To find out who’s had the pleasure of being impregnated with my celestial seed?

Doctor: The donor never finds out who the recipient is. It’s strictly confidential. Your seed could end up in Australia, Japan, America, anywhere, even in the woman next door.

Bird: The woman next door? I doubt that very much. She’s 97, and I know for a fact that her hole is shrivelled up. I’m going to be a father. Surely I have a right to know what happens to my jar of splodge?

Doctor: Your sperm belongs to us now, Mr Bird. The fact that you’ve agreed to donate your sperm for a modest payment is a supreme act of altruism for which you should feel very proud.

Bird: Hmm, s’pose I should. Alas, I shall never know what human form my divine potion is destined to become but I shall take comfort in the knowledge that in some unsuspecting person somewhere there shall always be a part of him, or her, that shall forever be England.

Bob: Oh, Mr Bird?

Bird: Yes, Bob?

Bob: Who’s Doris?

Bird: Ah, wouldn’t you like to know. Wouldn’t you like to know.


Buffalo: Laffing me ass off here, buddy. Wish I’d been there to see it.

Bird: I bet! The old johnson’s still sore, btw. Have to go and take care of some sick cats now. Film at eleven.

Buffalo: Arf, arf!


kathryn said...

Dear Bird & Buffalo,
You are both mad. But funny mad. So that's good. This is a nice blogging start. Keep up the funny work. xx

Lilith said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Lilith said...

You are two fine upstanding fellers, and I can't thank you enough for gladdening the heart of a poor shut-in. The world owes you eternal gratitude for your unselfish deed that will provide hope for future generations.
Keep it up!!!