BIRD: Buff, you darty auld Finn sniffer, you've been sleeping with the enemy!!
BUFFALO: Rubbish, lad. Rumors of my deflection have been greatly exaggerated. I'm merely taking a walk on the Wilde side, so to speak.
BIRD: But you're consorting with. . . ugh. . . felons - er, felines, pussy people!
BUFFALO: Takes all kinds to make a whirled, Birdy. I mean, look at the two of us - we're fookin' certifiable, mate, and yet Fifi still talks to us.
BIRD: Ah, Fifi Lamour... now there's a woman for ya.
BUFFALO: If you want to chastise someone, get on her case for sleeping with the VC.
BIRD: The Victoria Cross?
BUFFALO: The Charlie. Geddit?
BIRD: Tendriolic obscurios, Buffters. I appertain your meanness. Well, at least you have to give the lad high marks for good taste.
BUFFALO: Yes, but as the cultured lady said to the Thunnus thynnus, or blue fin tuna to you, Birdy...
BIRD: Izzat right? Well, bollax to you, too, Buffo!
BUFFALO: I'll pretend I didn't hear that. As Pearl, the cultured lady, said to the aforementioned social climbing fish of the thynnus family, "We want tunas that taste good, Charlie, not tunas with good taste."
BIRD: My great Aunt Flossie was reputed to have cohalibutated with a fish that was alleged to be a musical prodigy.
BUFFALO: Ah, the infamous piano tuna?
BIRD: The very same. Aunt Flossie was quite keyed up over it. Gil, his name was. A Finn, I think.
BUFFALO: Oh, Gawd, here we go again. I have to buzz off now, mate. Family emergency. I have to chauffeur a sick kiddy to the pediatrician.
BIRD: You're trucking a chucking up cat to the vet?! I knew it! I knew this is where it would all lead!
BUFFALO: (sighs) You've been at the cooking sherry again, innit, mate?
BIRD: C'est possible, mon Bison.
BUFFALO: Gotta run. X-ray film at eleven.
BIRD: Meow. . . er, Ci-ao.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf...