STARRING: THE BIRD, THE BUFFALO, AND THE HAMMER (A BOZO WITH ZERO BRAIN CELLS)
WITH A SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE FROM OUR VERY OWN FIFI LAMOUR, THE CAPE COD GODDESS OF LURVE
BIRD: There's no easy way down, dude.
BUFFALO: Get up, dude. So long a-wallow.
BIRD: I'm not wallowing, just enjoying the gentle breeze from the drains below and the shine from the sky at night.
BUFFALO: Snap out of it, Oscar, we have a situation.
BIRD: Oh, lummee.
BUFFALO: It's the Hammer.
BIRD: The Hammer - that bozo you've been trying to teach to read and write and develop social skills?
BUFFALO: That's the one. He's in deep shite, Birdman. Our conversation in the Dimshitz 24-Hour Cafe last night went something like this:
MOI: Why would the cops cuff you and impound your car if you were only having a bottle of beer, sitting in your car, reading "Willy Wonka", dude?
THE HAMMER: Well, it was a 40-ounce bottle of Old English 800.
MOI: Just the one, then?
THE HAMMER: There was a few empties in the back seat, but they was really old.
MOI: Right. Nothing else, then?
THE HAMMER: Well, okay, there was a Playboy under the front seat. . .
MOI: Jeez. . . what was the charge then?
THE HAMMER: Something about photography. . . under-exposure, over-exposure, something like that.
MOI: Ah, I think I see. Were you perhaps merely draining the old lizard, so to speak? After those 40 ounces of malt liquor?
THE HAMMER: Huh?
MOI: Were you watering the petunias?
THE HAMMER: They ain't go no petunias at the beach.
MOI: The beach? Metro Beach?
THE HAMMER: Yeah, they busted me out on the end of the pier.
MOI: Watching the regatta, were you?
THE HAMMER: Huh? Naw, I was takin' a leak. All that beer, y'know. Had to piss like a racehorse.
MOI: In the lake, like?
THE HAMMER: Sure, where else?
MOI: Yes, I think I have the complete picture now. Were there any witnesses?
THE HAMMER: Only the Girl Scouts camped on the beach.
MOI: Gott und Himmel! Did they scream or faint in coils?
THE HAMMER: No, they just all got on their video cell phones... kept pointin' 'em at me and waving their arms a lot, and giggling.
MOI: Ah, their good deed for the day. I take it the Bolgani then arrived in record time?
THE HAMMER: No, but the friggin' cops showed up right away. They frog-marched me over to the Men's room.
MOI: Long march, was it?
THE HAMMER: Naw, the Men's room is right next to the pier.
MOI: Then why the fook didn't you avail yourself of the facilities in the first place?
THE HAMMER: Dunno, sometimes you just feel like pissin' in the lake.
MOI: Wot a jerk-berk. So, your car is still impounded and I, being your erstwhile tutor, have to drive you to the House Arrest Emporium so they can fit you with an electronic tether, is that is?
THE HAMMER: Yup. The judge said it's either 30 days on the tether or 30 days in the county jail. . . plus I got a year's probation.
MOI: All from reading "Willy Wonka"?
THE HAMMER: Yup. You know what? I think I was better off when I was illegitimate.
MOI: Illiterate, you terd.
THE HAMMER: Yeah, that too. So, what are we gonna read today?
MOI: Well, seeing as how the police confiscated your copy of "Willy Wonka" I was thinking "The Stranger" by Camus, on the assumption that if the President can read it, it should be a piece of cake for you.
THE HAMMER: Hey, I love cake! My favorite's German Chocolate. What's yours?
MOI: Yellow cake.
THE HAMMER: Is that good?
MOI: It's a blast. Uranium ore, you jerkoff-berkoff.
FIFI: So here you are, Buff! I've been looking all over the place for you. (whispers) Is that him, the big galoot you've been tutoring?
MOI: Jawohl, mein Leibchen.
FIFI: (low) I hate to say this, Buff, but he doesn't look terribly bright.
MOI: Well, he's no rocket scientist, but the scuttlebutt is that he's hung like Sea Biscuit.
FIFI: Really? Does he do Bachelorette parties?
MOI: All at once, or piecemeal?
FIFI: Well, both, actually. . . I'm organizing one for Potty Dotty.
MOI: Potty Dotty's engaged?
FIFI: I'll say. . . I had to pour a bucket of cold water on the pair of them to disengage them. . . oh, wait, you meant...
FIFI: Right. Yes, she and Sparky are engaged, apparently. I give it a week. Good excuse for a party, though. Does he have a card?
MOI: Huh? Oh, The Hammer, you mean? A card, you say... dunno... more like a cord, actually.
FIFI: Well, find out if he's booked for Saturday night.
MOI: Uh, actually, he's under house arrest for the next month, though I suppose you could hold the party at his room. He's staying at the Notelle Motel on Van Dyke.
FIFI: Ooh, mon dieu! That fleabag next to the Dyke Center?
MOI: Yes, you know it?
FIFI: No comment. . . he's not a dyke, is he?
MOI: Fifi, honestly. . . They call him The Hammer.
FIFI: Because of his prodigious tool?
MOI: Well, that and the fact that he pretty much nails everything in a skirt.
FIFI: Excuse me. Yoo, hoo! Hammer Banger! Have you got a minute?
BUFFALO: So, you see, Birdy. Eight millimeter film at eleven.
BIRD: Formal affair?
BUFFALO: Yo, Kemosabe, black masks and matching socks. . . sigh, I should've stayed in the post office.
BIRD: Write me the postal money order, momma!
BUFFALO: Overexposed film noir at midnight. Arf, arf!