BIRD: Buffers, did you fall in?
BUFFALO: Very nearly, Birdy. I've been poisoned by the fookin' Chinese.
BIRD: You've been eating Barbie dolls again?
BUFFALO: No, not that, they poisoned my Lo Mein! I told 'em to hold the MSG, and asked for plum sauce for my egg roll, but they gave me plumbum instead!
BIRD: Blimey! They injected plum sauce up your bum?!
BUFFALO: No, you plank, they laced my lunch with lead!
BIRD: Was that a la carte?
BUFFALO: (GROANS) No, it was the white plate special. The bloody china hadn't been properly fired, and it leached lead into my Bung Cow Chicken. I'm fookin' contaminated, mate!
BIRD: But, Buffers, how do you know for certain that you've been poisoned?
BUFFALO: I'm having all the classic symptoms of those ancient Roman wheezers. They all went bonkers, y'know, from sipping water from lead pipes. They lapped it up cuz it tasted sweet, the stupid berks.
BIRD: Ah, I see. . . so you've gone off your twig, then?
BUFFALO: I'm getting there. At first I was having a wonderful time. . . thought I was Catullus, y'see, but now I think I'm Caligula. Tried to stuff Sparky in the Cusinart, feet first. . . until he objected, like.
BIRD: Sacre bleu! Where is he now?
BUFFALO: He's popped off to an AA meeting, blathering about "drug crazed Belgian leotards" and other assorted Puritanical rubbish.
BIRD: Ah... have you noticed any other effects?
BUFFALO: Well, it's definitely put lead in my pencil, so to speak.
BIRD: Your Freddy's gone full mast, like?
BUFFALO: Like a flamin' Maypole, Birdy. You could stack Christmas wreathes on the perishing thing. The FAA just phoned and said I have to put a red beacon on the end of me knob, that it's a menace to commercial aviation.
BIRD: Homeric, Buff!
BUFFALO: More like homoerotic, Berky. I've had marriage proposals from half the lounge lizards at the local fookin' fruit market. . . and now all my fookin' hair's fallen out!
BIRD: You've gone bald?!
BUFFALO: Well, only below the waist. . . but I look like an over-inflated bratwurst! It's humiliating, like. Bloody Chinese criminal fookin' bass turds!
BIRD: Have you reported this to the FDA?
BUFFALO: Have you been in the fookin' cookin' sherry again, Dilbert? Those FDA wonkers gave the yellow peril carte blanche to poison us in the first fookin' place!
BIRD: Oh, dear. . . is there nothing to be done, then?
BUFFALO: Fook no. Raising the quality control standards for Chinese imports will raise prices at Wal-Mart, which is tantamount to treason under the fookin' Pastry Act. My only hope is to ingest massive amounts of Ginseng extract, to leach the lead out of my contaminated carcass before my brain turns to fookin' Silly Putty!
BIRD: Right. . . but doesn't all the Ginseng extract come from China?
BUFFALO: Too bloody true, mate, the devious and inscrutable fookers have cornered the Ginseng market, and moreover, they've gone and spiked it all with saltpeter!
BIRD: Those filthy swine! Well, look on the bright side, Buffers. It'll cure that rigid and intractable problem you're having with your Freddy, innit?
BUFFALO: Too true, Birdy. I'll be as limp as a Shanghai poodle.
BIRD: Surely you meant to say "noodle".
BUFFALO: Right, noodle! And stop calling me Shirley, you plank.
BIRD: My, you ARE irritable, aren't you?
BUFFALO: Irritable isn't the half of it. . . it's only been an hour since I ate that wretched lead-laced Chinese food and I'm already fookin' HUNGRY again! I must have some Mooshu Pork at once! I'm starting to imagine that I'm Mussolini, in short leather pants!
BIRD: But it's Chinese food, innit? Why would that cause you to imagine that you're turning into a psychotic Italian lederhosen?
BUFFALO: Argh! Fookin' puns! I can't abide them! It was Marco Polo's fault! That poncy Italian fooker brought NOODLES back from China, don't you see? It's genetic, or Genoese, or whatever the fook! (DROOLS A BIT)
BIRD: Blimey, you've gone right off your flapjack, Buff!
BUFFALO: Dim sum! I must have Dim Sum at once, with plumbum sauce and Moo Goo Gai Pan a sonic hedgehog the lime light of the silvery moon pie squared eagles the circumference of a circle jerk berk bloody fookin' toss yer Chinese fortune cookies. . . arrrggghhhhh, arf, arf!! (FOAMS AT THE MOUTH).
BIRD: Oh, dear! It's tartar film at eleven for you, I fear!
BUFFALO: Gung hoy fat choy!! Bring me number one son's head on a platter, you white devil! More pom-diddle-di-pom opi-om!!
BIRD: Call out the home guard! Warn the gentry! Someone fetch the HOOK!