Tuesday, April 10, 2007


BIRD: Buffers, are you conscious?

BUFFALO: Semi, Birdy. Wuzzup?

BIRD: Just checking to see if you're still among the quick.

BUFFALO: Aye, still hanging in here, trying to weather the latest Arctic blast. The bloody wind's like "Mariah" today.

BIRD: Mariah Carey?

BUFFALO: No, more like Drew Carey. . . overdone and not very funny. Also it's colder than a witch's nips out there, or so I'm told by Osbee, who just phoned to find out if I'd invalidated my life insurance policy yet.

BIRD: Lordy, you're not thinking about taking Old Betsy out for a stroll in the woods again, are you?

BUFFALO: Oh, hell, no, Birdy. It's too frickin' cold. I'm waiting for better weather so I can accidentally drown meself in the lake, like.

BIRD: Why not drown your sorrows in a six pack of Hobgoblin Ale, instead?

BUFFALO: It's a pleasant thought, but as the song goes, "I tried drowning my sorrows, but my sorrows had learned how to swim."

BIRD: Blimey, that's diabolical. Speaking of which, how's Sparky's romance with Lilith going?

BUFFALO: Well, I assume, as you can't find a drop of K-Y around here to save your Freddy.

BIRD: So he's spending a lot of time at the Castavet's then?

BUFFALO: Yes, judging by all the howling, moaning, caterwauling and flute playing going on next door all night long.

BIRD: Suspicions confirmed then? It really is a coven?

BUFFALO: Fed-Ex has been delivering Belgian chocolates, naked female aristocrats and white horses day and night. The whole building's starting to sound and smell like a three ring Circus Maximus, complete with Roman candles, chariot races, and Christians on the bill of fare.

BIRD: And you still think the motive for all this is for Sparkers to impregnate Lilith with his demon seed?

BUFFALO: More like to have Sparky fertilize her demon egg with all the sploodge he's been saving up since the winter of '98.

BIRD: Good lard, with nary a venal sin or nocturnal emission in the interim?

BUFFALO: Not according to Sparky, who is terrified of contracting carpal tunnel syndrome.

BIRD: So, has he loosed this veritable tsunami on her yet?

BUFFALO: I doubt it, as I've heard no screaming yet. See, I've calculated that all that accumulated back pressure would rupture her eardrums and shoot her eyeballs out of her head like ping pong balls.

BIRD: Hors alors! Talk about "We Shall Overcome!"

BUFFALO: Would serve her right, too, for trying to corrupt an upright Christian lad like Sparkers just to bring another devil spawn into the world.

BIRD: Are there others, then, aside from B. L. Selbubb?

BUFFALO: Three that we know of, though only by their first names: Richard, Donald, and George. Minnie calls them "Huey, Dewey and Louie."

BIRD: You don't mean "The Three Amigos"?

BUFFALO: 'Fraid so, Birdy.

BIRD: Buff, you've got to rescue Sparky from that den of iniquity before it's too late! If he knocks up Lilith it could wreak havoc on the world!

BUFFALO: Really? How would you be able to tell? But seriously, I suppose you're right. I'll call the Health Department.

BIRD: To report devil worshippers?

BUFFALO: Naw, I'm gonna turn 'em in for running a stable without a license. Chances are they can slap a bestiality charge on 'em, too.

BIRD: Bwilliant!

BUFFALO: I do have my moments.

BIRD: But what about Sparkers? Will he be crushed, like, having to give up his Satanic lover?

BUFFALO: No problem. He's got an AA meeting tonight. I'll lace his barley water with a good stiff dose of Viagra, and swap his cologne for that stuff that's loaded with male pheromones. By the time he gets up to testify he'll be doing his famous imitation of the Battle of the Bulge. He'll have half a dozen drunken horny floozies dripping from his arms by the time he hits the parking lot.

BIRD: But what about the dreaded sploodge tsunami?

BUFFALO: Well, I figure they'll rip off his clothes immediately - he'll be full mast, of course - and they'll pounce on his Freddy, which will be on a hair trigger by then. It'll be like Chapter Eleven of "Moby Dick" - you know, "Thar she blows!" The girls will have a whale of a time. I should videotape it and sell the footage to the National Harpoon.

BIRD: Homeric, Buff. This is the stuff that sit-coms are made of.

BUFFALO: You're right. I could peddle this to the Fox Network.

BIRD: Call Fookwit Moloch!

BUFFALO: Perhaps later. I have to go wash the octopus now.

BIRD: Oh, dear. . . in arm's way again.

BUFFALO: Well, someone has to do it, and it's the maid's day off.

BIRD: Molly Maid?

BUFFALO: Molly Broom, honolable Bild-san.

BIRD: Ah, a dublin-entendre. . .yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. . . and always yes!

BUFFALO: Up the Republicans! Film at eleven.

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