BUFFALO: Back from the south of France, are we?
BIRD: Alas, too true. Stuffed to the gunwales with pate de foie gras, truffles, escargot, brie, and buckets of Chateauneuf-du-Pape. So, I trust you fared well in my absence?
BUFFALO: No, but I falled well. . . fell, whatever.
BIRD: Cor blimey, missus! Not another accident?
BUFFALO: More like a catastrophe than an accident.
BIRD: Give us the feather and tails, Buff.
BUFFALO: A comedy of errors, Birdy. Mistake number one, I ventured into the shadowlands of downtown Detroit, at night, in a poorly lit neighborhood affectionately known as "The Bowery" - where one is advised to go armed.
BIRD: Blimey, were you trolling for muggers, like?
BUFFALO: No, I was enroute to a French flic.
BIRD: In a poorly lit alley?
BUFFALO: Argh. No, it was off-campus student housing for Wayne State University, named for Mad Anthony Wayne, a hero of the late unpleasantness between the Yanks and the Brits. A charming three story brick edifice that should have been condemned about 30 years ago.
BIRD: Ah, I see, you were trolling for co-eds.
BUFFALO: Argh. No, I was Lincoln up with my cameraman and his droogies. We were all going to see "Paris, J'Taime" at the bloody art theater.
BIRD: And you were struck by a lorry or sumfink?
BUFFALO: Ha, I wish. I followed Ken and his homies up to his flat where he proceeded to roll a spliff the size of a Monte Cristo.
BIRD: The sarnie?
BUFFALO: No, the cigar, you bloody obtuse ocelot.
BIRD: In udder wurst, you got stoned?
BUFFALO: Like Quasimodo, dude. That was mistake number two. I was in fookin' Wonderland.
BIRD: So, let me guess, you caught a rubber spark and set yourself on fire.
BUFFALO: No, worse than that. I was so wasted I left my jacket, wallet, money, driver's license, etc. in the bloody apartment. Mistake number three.
BIRD: Then time dilation set in and you missed the movie.
BUFFALO: Amazingly, I had the presence of mind to mind the time, so we departed Ken's den of iniquity on time.
BIRD: I see what's coming. With your gulliver in the ozone, you fell down the stairs and cracked your melon like a coconut.
BUFFALO: I wish I had. No, despite the fact that navigating the steep, narrow staircase was giving me flashbacks of "Vertigo", I made it to the front porch without incident.
BIRD: Ah, so you tumbled down the front steps, then?
BUFFALO: No, I made it to the sidewalk all right, then stepped off a curb, having failed to see it. Lost my balance and fell flat on my ugly mug, like a flippin' flapjack, in a patch of rough asphalt. Ken says I fell like a turd from a tall cow's ass, hitting the pavement KER-SPLAT, with no defensive moves, being highly tanked at the time.
BIRD: So how was the movie?
BUFFALO: Sod the movie! I was totally fooked up beyond all recognition, dude. Felt like someone had used me for an accordion and tried to bend me in two at the ribs. I was scraped from head to knee, bleeding and all.
BIRD: Hors alor, Buff! Did they take you to the horse pistol, then?
BUFFALO: No, I blew off the movie and drove to Osbee's place. She cleaned me up and bandaged me, like, and asked me how it happened.
BIRD: Did you tell her?
BUFFALO: Fook, no, I told her I was mugged. I was hoping I might get a sympathy sleeve job out of it, but no such luck.
BIRD: Did the lads go on to the movie, then?
BUFFALO: Yeah. Ken told me later that there were about five scenes in the movie where someone fell down, and every time, those wonkers laffed their arses off. Fookin' white punks on dope.
BIRD: A wee bit wet behind the ears, are they?
BUFFALO: Yeah, college students, green as grass. You could set yerself on fire and they'd think it was fookin' hilarious, ask you for an encore. Fookin' Philistines.
BIRD: So, how are you feeling now?
BUFFALO: Like a fookin' mule kicked me in the spare ribs, innit?
BIRD: Well, Buff, I certainly hope that you've learned something from all this, especially in regard to indulging in contraband, as it were.
BUFFALO: Indeed I have, Birdy.
BIRD: And that would be. . . ?
BUFFALO: When you know you're going to get ripped, be sure to bring a flashlight or a seeing-eye dog - and wear your wallet around your neck, like a flippin' albatross.
BIRD: I was hoping for more of a moral lesson, like.
BUFFALO: Birdy, we were going to a movie, not doing mushrooms.
BIRD: And you're quite sure you weren't trolling for co-eds?
BUFFALO: No way. Ken says the women who live in his apartment building rent themselves out for truffle hunts.
BIRD: Sacre bleu!
BUFFALO: Anyhoo, it's time for my meds, Birdy.
BIRD: A double dose of the old saltpeter, Buff?
BUFFALO: No, a handful of Mortrin, a couple of Darvocets, a good slug of codeine cough syrup, and a large snifter of Harvey's Bristol Cream, laced with Jack Daniels.
BIRD: My God, Buff, that would fell a shire horse!
BUFFALO: Yes, but fortunately, I'm a Buffalo, innit. Woo! Hit me, Mr Trank. Hit me!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!