CHECKIN' DA NOGGIN

BUFFALO: You there, dude?

BIRD: In corpus mantis.

BUFFALO: That Sink Sock’s a darty dawg.

BIRD: Keep it under yer woolly but my sources tell me it’s one of the many pseudo de ploms of none other than Howard A-Stern.

BUFFALO: No way!

BIRD: C’est vrai, mon Bison.

BUFFALO: Great writing. So crisp, considered, weighty. And those links are some Finn else.

BIRD: Da filthy rotter.

BUFFALO: Reckon we should ask him bout da Podcast, like?

BIRD: Cannae do nay harm, dude.

BUFFALO: Ear, wot’s dis bout you checkin’ out da Noggin?

BIRD: Well, the old Himmelkopf has been itching of late and me memory’s shockingly deleterious.

BUFFALO: Sorry to hear that, dude. Did ya get it scanned?

BIRD: Sort of. Got it washed and blow dried – new shampoo, mind, a gift from Pubistan.

BUFFALO: Jeepers. Not the one with the…

BIRD: Rabbit scrotum. Yep.

BUFFALO: And?

BIRD: The itching’s stopped but I can’t remember where I left the car, and I have a humungous craving for lettuce.

BUFFALO: Not good, Birdy. Not good.

BIRD: Just wondering what to do with the Rabbit scrotum massage cream, the Rabbit scrotum aftershave and Rabbit scrotum marmalade.

BUFFALO: Dump ‘em, dude. Soon you’ll be sprouting big pointy ears and a fluffy bob tail.

BIRD: Well, I have noticed a slight proliferation of follicles on the old chest and way down yonder, like.

BUFFALO: Dude, you’re turning into a friggin’ bunny! Have you got any Benadryl?

BIRD: Plenty.

BUFFALO: Pour out one bottle, liberally add half a bottle of Stoly vodka, two spoonfuls of flour, 20 prunes and a turnip. When you regain consciousness, we shall pow-wow again.

BIRD: OK. Thanks, dude.

BUFFALO: A friend in need.

BIRD: Indeed.

BUFFALO: Which rewinds me. Had this dream about a snake eating its own tail. Well, it kept on eating and eating until it’d almost made it to his jugular, like, and then it turned to the camera and hissed “Surprise” and exploded into pink razor blades. Now wot’s dat about?!

BIRD: And I worry about a little extra fluff on the Freddy… It’s prime cordial, dude.

BUFFALO: Oh, right.

BIRD: Means yer parents fooked up on you and now it’s too late.

BUFFALO: I see. Hey, thanks, dude.

BIRD: Coming right back at ya.

BUFFALO: Honours even?

BIRD: I think so.

BUFFALO: Time for more Sherlock?

BIRD: Deffo.

BUFFALO: Hounds at eleven?

BIRD: Arf, arf!