BIRD: Dire Rear, Buffo.
BUFFALO: Dude, youse wastin' away. You gotta do somefin'.
BIRD: I've tried all the remedies, Buffters - buttermilk, carrot soup, ginger, mint, pomegranate, mango, rice, but so far da only thing that's had any success, albeit limited, is the old Cabernet Sauvignon wine cork, strategically placed, like.
BIRD: Difficult to regulate at night, if ya get m'drift.
BUFFALO: So is you off work, like?
BIRD: Off work, off play, off shagging after Tiffin. Jeepers, even Cadbury's Fruit & Nut has lost its allure.
BUFFALO: Boogeroo, dude. Does this mean the serialisation of dat Plasterung book might be delayed, like?
BIRD: Aw, that. Well, hactually, Ralf found a better deal.
BUFFALO: Die Grosse Schlanger Shagger!
BIRD: Quite. With the New Porker. But...
BIRD: Yahhh-p. Has agreed, for a small fee that would make the true hoors of this world salivate mightily...
BIRD: ..to serialise his new book, well, short story, really, here, with us. Entitled, wait for it, drum roll, pliz - Diary Of Mr Pitiful Motown.
BUFFALO: Hey, great title!
BIRD: You'll love it, dude. It's flow-of-consciousness, surrealist seeker on a cheapo holiday in Dusseldorf type shit.
BUFFALO: You're selling it, dude, B Leave Me.
BIRD: So here goes... "Sometimes, I think of my opening bent in a block, or of my language which is drawn. I cannot decide with whom to stammer, the Udder or the Hammer. Insane dreams step either side of the nightmares. I am fallow and although I enjoy ballet, always pointing upwards. I am Gammler. I smell. My esteem approaches quickly with the fear of the opinion or the meal and a simple despair that most of the time I cannot live."
BUFFALO: (choking back tears) Beautiful, Birdman. Can hardly speak.
BIRD: To be continued...
BUFFALO: "A simple despair that most of the time I cannot live..." O so true.
BIRD: Oh, no! The Squidgies are flying. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: I am Gammler... Arf, arf!