BIRD: And Sparky's taken the antimatter into his own hands, you say?
BUFFALO: In a manner of speaking, Birdman. I blame Otto Fellatio meself. Which rewinds me… I was thinking of Sparky's salad days, when he was still turning out lithographs and etchings, before his bride decided she preferred Mexican food to Belgian, like.
BIRD: You've lost me past the chemist's, Buffo.
BUFFALO: She discovered that she liked tacos better than blutwurst, Birdy.
BIRD: Ah, I see… well, don't we all?
BUFFALO: Well, certainly those of us whose buttons are sewn on the right sides of our shirts, if you get m’drift.
BIRD: Tragic, that. Enuff to drive anyone to drink, n’est pas? Pray, continue.
BUFFALO: Otto reminded me of one of Sparky's more demonstrative etchings, when he was still on an extended honeymoon, before he lost interest in hot-blooded femme.
BIRD: Bit risque, is it?
BUFFALO: Judge for yourself. It depicts a vivacious young lady in the buffers, reclining in the front seat of an automobile, pleasuring herself with the gear shift knob.
BIRD: Sacre bleu, mare oui! And the title of this provocative opus?
BUFFALO: "Auto Erotica" - snatch... er, natch. A limited edition of ten, if me mammary serves.
BIRD: This is the same Sparky who gave up strong drink, got religion, and now attends AA meetings once a week without fail?
BUFFALO: Yes, he's modeled his life after St. Augustine of Hippo, who gave debauchery a whole new meaning until he saw the light switch and got inverted.
BIRD: The same artist who illustrated the nefarious "Oedipus in Disneyland" by Hercules Molloy?
BUFFALO: Aye. Sparky's interpretation of "down the rabbit hole" has to be seen to be believed.
BIRD: Remember it well. Me mom walked in just as I'd pulled out the centrefold and I had to fetch the smelling salts. It wasn't pretty, Buffo… the scene, I mean, not the illustration. That was well smashing!
BUFFALO: Homeric, hactually. But now the poor man blushes at the mention of harmless boffing.
BIRD: Apart with waxworks, that is. And how goes the enlarged bladder?
BUFFALO: An abject failure, Birdy. The straw got jammed and now he’s got a fookin’ infection, the poor lad. For Christmas I'm getting him a "Motorman's Companion" - one of those trendy strap-on ankle flasks connected to a "comfortable catheter" - the perfect thing for extended drives to church or AA meetings.
BIRD: Ah, that’s nice. I'm curious, Buffo... when you give your annual thanks-for-the-giving-wanna-gobble-me-turkey-now to the great spirit in the sky, like, do you include old Sparkers in your orisons?
BUFFALO: But of course, Birdy. Didn't use to, when he first arrived on the scene with his trousers wrapped around his head and his Freddy dangling between his legs, swilling a fifth and a half of vodka every day, stinking up the joint with perpetual ketosis brought on by combining alcohol, insulin and formaldehyde, the silly git… but after we got him flattened out he became a regular scream.
BIRD: Would you say he's been a good influence on you?
BUFFALO: Yep. Stopped me committing murder with boogery a few times. Well, OK, he would’ve been the victim, like, but ya get m’drift. Well, patter cake patter cake, he’s just about the most bloody exasperating guy I know. That’s why I frequently get my boot stuck up his ass. But all themes being equal, I really can’t help liking the spineless leech.
BIRD: I’m deeply touched, mon amici. Well, let’s have a toast to the old sod, eh?
BUFFALO: Yes, let’s. Here's to Sparky. Long may he wave.
BIRD: Pass the pudding, Buff.
BUFFALO: And the admonitions, Birdy... and may we all stay free.
BIRD: Here's a pint of arf and art for you, Buff.
BUFFALO: Thanks, lad. Nice head on that, too. Now I'm off to take the dawg out for a whizz, a bit of fresh air, and a dog biscuit.
BIRD: Toodles, poodles, whatever.
BUFFALO: Purina dawg ciao! Arf, arf!