Wednesday, April 04, 2007


BUFFALO: Guten Morgan, mein Tweeter.

BIRD: Wotcha, Buff! So, how's it going today?

BUFFALO: Well, I managed to get out of bed - no easy task.

BIRD: Still nauseous and full of fear and loathing, are you?

BUFFALO: Yeah, pretty much, compounded by a horrible fookin' dream brought on no doubt by seeing a silly ass Frog Flic last night at the Silver Cinema.

BIRD: A French film? You? A Buffalo?

BUFFALO: Don't know what possessed me. It was "Arthur and the Invisibles". I was the only person in the theater. A bit eerie, that. Very strange animated film. So fast paced you'd swear you were on speed. I was friggin' exhausted when they ran the credits. Dreamed I was being eaten by thousands of tiny little crabs about the size of dimes. Woke up in a cold sweat, craving seafood.

BIRD: Any Freudian symbolism there, you think?

BUFFALO: Could be. Osbee's a Cancer, y'know. That might explain it. Or it could be a warning to stay away from Clare, lest I contract the old crabs, like.

BIRD: So, have you had your oatmeal yet?

BUFFALO: No, nor my tea, either. Polished off the orange juice, lest I get scurvy. Starting to feel like Nick Nolte in "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" - living off cans of discarded pate in alley ways, consorting with fickle canines.

BIRD: Any light at the end of the tunnel?

BUFFALO: A glimmer of light, but with my luck it's probably the 4:15 express to Grand Rapids.

BIRD: Still nauseous from the meds, then?

BUFFALO: Yeah. Came close to tossing my biscuits this morning.

BIRD: Getting any work done?

BUFFALO: Only drivel suitable for wrapping fish or lining bird cages.

BIRD: So what the Hail Mary are you going to do, me old fruit?

BUFFALO: I'd stick my gulliver in the Cusinart, but Sparky cobbled it trying to mix toe jam with Brazil nuts. He neglected to shell the nuts first, the silly sod.

BIRD: Do you have any plans for today?

BUFFALO: At the moment I'm just waiting for Pam to kick in.

BIRD: Pam?

BUFFALO: Lorazepam.

BIRD: Seeking tranquillity, are we?

BUFFALO: Yeah. With any luck I might be able to slip back into the old buffalo wallow for a bit, for a bit of a snooze, or to watch some depressing thing on the History Channel - another flaming documentary about Hitler or Moses or some damned thing. The history of chastity belts, or how candy bars are made - or toothpicks - or condoms - or nose hair tweezers - or pickles. . . witch rewinds me, do you know how to make pickle bread?

BIRD: Nope.

BUFFALO: You use dill dough. . . get it?

BIRD: Omigod!

BUFFALO: I either have to go steam clean the melon, shave, get dressed and go out, or make myself a toasted peanut butter and concord grape jam sandwich and a pot of tea and crawl back into bed to fry my brain with bad television all day, or until I fall asleep and dream of being eaten alive by rampaging ducks that have escaped from the laboratory.

BIRD: I vote for a walk at the beach and a matinee at the Hi-Ho Silver Cinema. Take a half-pint of Myer's Dark Rum with you, for lacing your Cherry Coke. A large bag of English Toffee would be nice, too.

BUFFALO: Not a half bad idea. Better than a poke up me derriere with a stick of dino-mite, or carving me initials on me jugular vein with a rusty razor blade.

BIRD: Infinitely better. Maybe you'll get lucky and sit next to a bosomy blonde waitress on her day off.

BUFFALO: A big blondie waitress. . . hmmm. . . yeah, that might get my head screwed back on tight.

BIRD: Don't forget to "tip" her.

BUFFALO: Oh, she'll get a tip all right. . . the tip of the auld blutwurst.

BIRD: Hold the mayo. . . so what's Sparker up to now?

BUFFALO: Steam cleaning toe jam off the walls. I told him everything had better be spic and span by the time I return from the movies or he gets the cattle prod, right up the old pie hole.

BIRD: Just desserts, eh?

BUFFALO: Right. Rewinds me, gotta get that toast going and put on the kettle.

BIRD: Hit the beach, Buff. The fresh air and sunshine will clear your muddy melon.

BUFFALO: It's worth a shot, I guess.

BIRD: Film at eleven?

BUFFALO: Arf, arf...

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