BIRD: Yes, dude?
BUFFALO: What I said about Clare…
BUFFALO: I’m thinking let’s not be too hasty here, nectar is nectar.
BIRD: It’s your call, dude. May the Omen be with you.
BUFFALO: Let’s hope. How’s the patio hanging?
BIRD: Slowly. Pissering with rain here. If only I could have a holiday...
BUFFALO: You mean to Amsterdam, like we discussed?
BIRD: Amsterdam would be good. The canals, the tulips, the clogs…
BUFFALO: The coffee shops and strumpets.
BIRD: Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Hieronymus Bosch…
BUFFALO: Late night guzzling and biffing on Rembrandtsplein.
BIRD: Dude, what about the male bonding?
BUFFALO: Dude, I gotta cut loose here, the head doc says I’ve been sublimating too much lately. I need action not reaction. And Any Hooey, time is of the Renaissance.
BUFFALO: I was down by the water late last night, taking a dump, when I saw way over yonder a woman in white, shining brightly, walking on the water. D'ya think it’s a sign?
BIRD: Holy Jodhpurs! Tally ho, game on! Musta shook ya up, like.
BUFFALO: Made me think. I sat there, at the water’s edge, watching her glow, and I pondered the nature of sin as never before.
BIRD: Truly revelatory!
BUFFALO: And it came to pass that thus I bespoke in many tongues.
BIRD: Positively Babelic!
BUFFALO: And the brilliant white horrorspeak maiden beckoned me towards her torch-like beam, and I did anoint myself upon the waters of the lake.
BIRD: Effervescently prophetic!
BUFFALO: And therein I was seen to float downstream for many a reed as she drew me to her yearning cortex.
BIRD: Enticingly perpendicular!
BUFFALO: Whereupon I perceived an oracle of Babylon who proclaimed “Enter the gates of the nobles, o majestic Bufalus. You shall return to your land of the seven streams to rule over the oppressors. For it has come to pass through a scorching wind of Alabaster that Babylon shall fall silent once and for all. Exult, I say. Exult!”
BIRD: Oh, come on. You've gone too far now. Let's face it, you’re a bit barking, ain’t ya?
BUFFALO: Wait, there’s more.
BUFFALO: Well, a little. When I woke up, I was on a barge on my way to the Canadian border with a copy of Greg Sawyer’s The Return of the Gumrocks in my hand. I ask you, IS IT A SIGN?
BIRD: Greg Sawyer?
BUFFALO: I know. Dude, the book hasn’t even been WRITTEN yet. I checked.
BIRD: Fookin’ Nelly, maybe you should start a cult of some Finn.
BUFFALO: Well, dat’s wot I woz thinking, y’all.
BIRD: Gopher it.
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Messiah at midnight! Arf, arf!