Wednesday, November 08, 2006

O The Tangled Web We Weave Part 2

BUFFALO: Episode two coming up, Birdman. Cool, they’re (pardon the expression) milking the last five minutes of the previous episode. Yep, there’s Lois’s little articulated nippers again... lovely.

BIRD: I hope you’re taping this.

BUFFALO: They should have taped Lois’s niblets, dude, they’re so perky. Hard to believe they paid somebody to write this drivel, though.

BIRD: The dialogue’s that lame, eh?

BUFFALO: Dig it, this is rich... the Spider Lady is making an anonymous phone call to the police department. She’s telling them she’s going to pull a heist at the Metropolis Museum in one hour and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it. A bemused henchman asks, “Gee, boss, do you think it was a good idea tipping off the cops like that?”

BIRD: Does seem a bit precipitous, like.

BUFFALO: Aye... hard to say who’s dumber, the Spider Lady or the cops, who have planted two fat dumb flatfeet outside the front door of the museum, which looks more like the entrance to a Victorian funeral home. Ah, here’s Lois.

BIRD: Eh? I thought she was tied up and fried up, like?

BUFFALO: Yeah, she must have escaped. The plot is more full of holes than a round of Swiss cheese, Birdo. The coppers are hassling her, but she tells them she has an appointment with Professor Morgan, and they believe her. Metropolis’s Finest, indeed. God help us. She’s going through the front door, swinging her hips, and they’re ogling her legs and smirking, the dirty swine. Cut to Morgan’s office. Lois enters. Morgan rises, in more ways than one, the lecherous old bugger; he’s practically salivating, and slurring his words: “I think you’ll be more comfortable in my study, Lois.” (drool, drool)

BIRD: She’s not falling for it, is she?

BUFFALO: Like a big-arse safe out of a ten story window, Birdy. Cut to close-up of the wall clock... a power surge; the hour hand did a 360 in five seconds. The study door opens... Lois staggers out, hair mussed, buttons awry... she’s walking funny, all bow-legged, like.

BIRD: Surely not!

BUFFALO: Swear to God, Birdy... and don’t call me Shirley.

BIRD: Sorry, old chum.

BUFFALO: Omigod, this is too much... the Spider Lady’s henchmen have lured the cops away from the museum entrance with a phony car crash! What a pair of lummoxes. Now two other henchmen slip through the front door carrying a large, klutzy Geiger counter. Ah, of course, they’re after the Kryptonite meteor accidentally discovered by the randy Professor Morgan... lordy, lordy, Superman is in deep dog poo now, dude.

BIRD: I knew it! I knew I smelled Kryptonite!

BUFFALO: Either that or the script.

BIRD: Go on, what next?

BUFFALO: For some reason Lois is now tied up and gagged, lying on the floor. I can’t believe the henchmen didn’t shag her while they had the chance. Ooh, good thigh shot! Holy batshite, Robin, the Geiger counter probe has come to life! It’s waving about in the air like a snake that’s just got religion. Rather obscene, actually, like one of those space alien probes. Uh, oh, it’s got Lois’s scent, Birdy. It’s like a bloody mechanical one-eyed trouser snake on the prowl. Hold the phone. . . hot damn, it’s sliding under her skirt! BLOODY HELL!

BIRD: Holy shite, Buffo, WHAT?

BUFFALO: “Continued Next Week”... and “Buy War Bonds.”

BIRD: I’m boogered here... drenched in sweat, like.

BUFFALO: That was the last episode in the vaults, too. Those baa-stoods.

BIRD: And where the hell was Superman all this time?

BUFFALO: His alter ego, Clark Kent, is trapped like a rat back at the Daily Planet. Ironically, Perry White’s punishing the Man of Steel for cowardly behavior by making him write an advice to the lovelorn column... while Lois Lane is in imminent danger of being deflowered by old “Steely Dan.”

BIRD: What about Jimmy Olsen, cub reporter?

BUFFALO: He’s out looking for Lois; following his old divining rod, if you get my drift. That poor green kid is hornier than a hop toad. Alas, we may have to write the ending for this one ourselves, Birdy. Film at eleven, the good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.

BIRD: Oh, Momma, check me... am I all right?

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