BUFFALO: You OK, Birdy?
BIRD: So fookin' hot here, dude. Last night it was like sleeping in an incinerator. Had to keep flushing me head down the toilet to keep cool.
BUFFALO: Haven't you Britwits heard of air con?
BIRD: Heard of it. Got it at work. Blows out a force 10 gale, freezes your tits off then when you go outside you get fried like a sausage on a barbie.
BUFFALO: Bummer. But your car's got air con, right?
BIRD: Frank Lee, dude, I'm lucky if my Ford Fookwit Tin Box starts. Anyhow, enuff of that. Got some more fanmail
BIRD: From Dawn - "I read your blogs - omg they are really hilarious, do u write them everyday? You are so talented - I love them xx"
BUFFALO: Aw, shucks. Thanks, Dawn.
BIRD: She's the original rock chick. Just e-mailed you her pic.
BUFFALO: Oh, wow, dude! She's ripe.
BIRD: Sure is. Puck in Middlesbrough says, "OMG LMAO U guys are shit. I like sex on the roof with virgins."
BUFFALO: Done it, Puck. Most rewarding.
BIRD: And Dave in Halifax says, "Wot the f**k. I laughed so loud my Freddy nearly fell off."
BIRD: And finally, Roger at Harvard says, "Wittgenstein would be so proud of you. You have plunged the depths of linguistic depravity and live to tell the tail! Logical atomism at its best. Keep going, boys!"
BUFFALO: What the fook's THAT supposed to mean?
BIRD: Dunno, Buff. But it sounds good. I think they like us.
BUFFALO: I think so.
BIRD: Write the cheque out, Momma!
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!