BUFFALO: As you may have guessed, I didn't hang myself after all.
BIRD: Glad to hear it, dude.
BUFFALO: Although I should have.
BIRD: What stopped ya, like?
BUFFALO: Mammaries, I mean memories.
BIRD: Ah, memories. They won't let you down.
BUFFALO: Even though most of them are bad ones. Horrorshow nightmares, like.
BIRD: But at least they're yours.
BUFFALO: And they keep coming back, stabbing me when I'm not looking.
BIRD: Wot, memories?
BUFFALO: Mammaries, memories, aren't they the same thing, all things sagged and done? I just know that if Mom hadn't denied me that lactose at birth, I'd be a happier bison now. Dad always said jugs would be my downfall.
BIRD: Dude, you're not making much sense.
BUFFALO: Every time I try to reach out to them they elude my touch, fall out of focus, slip softly away leaving no trace. I've spent my life trying to grasp them, trying to BE with them. But no, they don't want me, they never did, and here I am again, clutching at contours, wondering why they won't let me in. But I've got a cunning plan.
BIRD: Great. Please spill.
BUFFALO: Yeah, I'm gonna sneak up on them when they least expect it and when they stop, when they pause for thought, I'm gonna wrap my paws over them and squeeze 'em tight and I ain't never letting go. And they will reveal to me their hidden truths. Oh, yes, they will. And no more shall I flounder in a sea of emptiness and stale gloves. For they shall be mine. Mine, ya hear! ALL MINE!
BIRD: Dude, I think you've been at the creosote again. When are ya seeing the head doc again?
BUFFALO: Short Lee, Birdy, my old feather. Wait, I can hear some coming. Ha-ha! Come to me, sweet little mammaries, come to Dadda! Laters, dude.
BIRD: Fulfeeling at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
THIS EXTRACT IS FROM THE FORTHCOMING BIRD & BUFFALO POTBOILER JUGS FOR THE MAMMARIES, A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO THE MECHANISMS OF SENSORY WITHDRAWAL 1901-1913 TO BE PUBLISHED BY SUCCULENTPAIRS.COM