BUFFALO: I had to bash open Sparky's door with my bowling ball, dude. Inside, Sparky was lying serenely on his bed, his iPOD in his lug holes, covered in blood and jam.
BIRD: Yikes! Is he dead?
BUFFALO: No, just hard or hearing. I warned him before about eating jam sandwiches on his duvet. Stoopid idjit cut his finger with the knife when he was scooping the last bits of strawberry jam out of the jar.
BIRD: Blood and jam - a perversion of "This is my body, this is my blood." Christ saying 'This is my body, this is my jam. Take ye and eat."
BUFFALO: Yeah. Like I've got the toe jam, who's got the peanut butter?
BIRD: Er, no, not like that at all. So Sparky's OK?
BUFFALO: As ripe as a bushwhacker. And now I've got another fookin' door to replace.
BIRD: Never rains but it pours.
BUFFALO: So says Aquarius.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
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