BIRD: Buff, you're going TOO far now.
BUFFALO: C'mon, Birdy, Sparky ain't gonna need 'em, is he?
BIRD: Dude, you can't kill the chicken that lays the golden egg. He's only got a finite number of body parts, like, and then he's a gonna.
BUFFALO: True. OK, well, what if we uh... we could sell his stem cells so that people could grow their own Sparky body parts. We'll call it Sparky's All-Action Chewy Stem Cells!
BIRD: Hmm. Might work.
BUFFALO: And don't forget the macrame key chains and watch fobs woven from Sparky's ass hairs!
BIRD: Poor little Sparkers. Just a week ago, he was holed out in his cave watching Oprah and guzzling strawberry cream sodas and now he's A COMMODITY.
BUFFALO: Happens to the best of us.
FIFI: Boys, please be very careful. The tender little sap's heart might give out at any moment if you try to market too much of him.
BUFFALO: Hey, that's a point. We gotta keep him sweet or he might go wanger up afore we've set up the trust fund.
SPARKY: Hey, guys! Wuss happnin'?
BUFFALO: Oh, for fook's sake. I've warned you about appearing on the flog, Sparky, now get back to your box.
SPARKY: But y'all havin' such fun.
BUFFALO: Back, I say, or no more Muscatel!
SPARKY: Ah, Jeez. OK, man.
BIRD: Do you think he heard any of that?
BUFFALO: Nah, he's got his head up his ass tighter than a Bud up a nun.
BIRD: Oh, that's OK, then.
BUFFALO: Momma's the word.
BIRD: Film at eleven.