BIRD: It was when I was working in the morgue, like.
BUFFALO: Dude, do you mind? I'm just having mah break da fast innit.
BIRD: Sorry, dude. Just thought you'd like to hear it.
BUFFALO: Now why would I wanna hear anyfink to do with da Grim Reaper, lad?
BIRD: Well, you know, when you said things couldn't get any worse...
BUFFALO: Dude, will I have to change mah shorts after this here tail?
BIRD: I thought you were made of tougher stuff, dude.
BUFFALO: OK, let me have it. I'll cross me legs and clench me butts.
BIRD: Well, I used to have to sweep up and clean and stuff.
BUFFALO: And whilst you woz sweepin' and cleanin' something moved, right?
BIRD: How did you know?
BUFFALO: Shaggy stories an' all. Long as it ain't real, I can cope.
BIRD: Oh, this was real OK, Buffters. So anyway, I was sweeping round this slab and...
BUFFALO: The dead guy sat up and scared the living detritus outta ya!
BIRD: Not quite, dude. The sheet came up, the guy who was supposed to be dead sat up and asked me if I knew what day it was.
BUFFALO: Tee-hee. I's enjoying this, dude. Carry on.
BIRD: So I told him. Friday the 13th...
BUFFALO: Feckin' A! Mah-vellous! Soiling meself here, dude! It's the way ya tell 'em!
BIRD: And then he said "Damn, I'm going to miss the wedding." So I said "What wedding?" And he said "My son's wedding."
BUFFALO: Oh, dude. Now dat ain't funny! Re Right, now!
BIRD: So I said "This isn't happening. Wake me up now." I thought I was going cuckoo, like. Then he said "Don't be afraid, I'm not staying. Just take him this message, will you?"
BUFFALO: Message? What message? Where? He's nekkid innit. Storytelling violation, deducted five points.
BIRD: A verbal message, wombat.
BUFFALO: Five points reinstated.
BIRD: He said "Tell him it's all a dream." Then he rolled his eyes upwards and fell back down on the slab stone dead.
BUFFALO: Hehehe. Mah-vellous. Well told, lad.
BIRD: Now, in my quieter moments when I look to the odious chores ahead, I remember those words and wonder.
BUFFALO: I wonder - where my next meal's gonna come from and if my ex will ever reinstate visiting rights and if it's time I started to get rid of all my old toys and if we're all connected why does no one ever connect to me and where do flowers go in the winter and how far can you kick a fudge rocket and why is everyone getting younger.
BIRD: All legitimate concerns, dude, but answer me this: When you wake up in da morning are you glad to be alive or wishin' you were dead?
BUFFALO: Depends who's lying next to me.
BOTH: Rimshot!
BUFFALO: And whether she's dead or alive.
BOTH: Double rimshot!
BUFFALO: And whether she can do it again one more time for the cameras.
BOTH: Triple rimshot!
BUFFALO: Hahaha. K, dude. Lunch time. Me beans and greens are up.
BIRD: Blazing Saddles at eleven.
BUFFALO: Parp, parp!
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
A HUFFING & A PUFFING
BIRD: Nothing yet, dude.
BUFFALO: Did ya tell him you miss him?
BIRD: Natch.
BUFFALO: Did ya tell him you love him?
BIRD: Of course.
BUFFALO: Did ya tell him he means more to you than anybody else in the whole wide whirled?
BIRD: Dude, you know I couldn't say that. You know how I feel about you.
BUFFALO: Chokin' up here, dude.
BIRD: Me too.
BUFFALO: Restrain, retrain, move it along.
BIRD: You bet.
BUFFALO: Anyhoo, I was gonna ask you about the Potty Dotty project.
BIRD: You want her back.
BUFFALO: Since we're talking about missing people, uh, yeah.
BIRD: But you called her some pretty gross things, dude.
BUFFALO: And I was sober, K?
BIRD: Nawty.
BUFFALO: And I apologised. Even sent her a signed copy of my autotryography.
BIRD: Wot the hanging Freddy of Helikarnassarse is an autotryography?
BUFFALO: It's an attempt at a life. Rimshot!
BIRD: Da da da da da.... da da! And for my next trick.
BUFFALO: It was mostly illustrations, like. And captions. A compulsive read by any undermined standards.
BIRD: And did she comment on it?
BUFFALO: She said I showed great potential but needed to stop ending every sentence with a semi colon.
BIRD: Howzat;
BUFFALO: It was like Proust, dude. I filled page upon page of semi colons and paragraphs without end.
BIRD: Jeez! I thought you only did that in your emails.
BUFFALO: I DO that, dude, when I'm inspired. And the thought of Potty Dotty curled up in her boudoir in her see-through milky negligee, well...
BIRD: You darty auld Buff. She's spoken for. Got some guy off the Kent Road with a 4x4 and a patio.
BUFFALO: Dammit. And I thought after I sent her that piccie of me in my best sailor's uniform that she was mine for the taking.
BIRD: Dude, if you sent her that she's probably more confused than ever. That piccie is SO totally gay.
BUFFALO: You think so? I thought it brought out the Captain Nemo in me.
BIRD: More like the Liberace.
BUFFALO: Who was a great performer, by da way.
BIRD: But not Potty Dotty's type. And definitely no Bruce Springsteen.
BUFFALO: She likes our Bruce?
BIRD: Amongst udders.
BUFFALO: Born in da U-S-A...
BIRD: Hey, not bad. Next...
BUFFALO: Dude, I think I'm falling for her. Can't you at least ring her?
BIRD: Well, I could if she stayed still long enuff.
BOTH: Rimshot!
BIRD: But seriously, I'll see what I can do.
BUFFALO: Thanks, dude.
BIRD: Don't mention it. Incidentally, Cindy, I got an email from an old mate I hadn't heard from for 15 years. Name of Geoff.
BUFFALO: Dat's nice. What did ya say?
BIRD: That I was sorry I stole his girlfriend and I was now willing to hand her back.
BOTH: Rimshot!
BIRD: But seriously...
BUFFALO: You didn't reply, did ya?
BIRD: Nope.
BUFFALO: Cuz friendships is fraught with bubble and strife innit.
BIRD: Exactamundo, Buffters. Maybe it's better to let sleeping logs die after all.
BUFFALO: Less pain, less strain.
BIRD: And if Smudger don't want me, I don't want him.
BUFFALO: Dat's da spirit!
BIRD: And what's more, I don't need no Smudger when I got you.
BUFFALO: Rollin' rollin' rollin' Rawhide!
BIRD: Together we shall conquer. Together we are strong.
BUFFALO: All for one, and one for all!
BIRD: Friends ReUnited NOT at eleven!
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BTW SINCE THIS HUFF & PUFF, SMUDGER STILL HAS NOT CONTACTED DA BIRD. IF YOU KNOW OF SMUDGER'S WHEREABOUTS OR KNOW OF ANYONE WHO MIGHT KNOW OF SOMEONE WHO KNOWS OF SMUDGER'S WHEREABOUTS, PLEASE EMAIL US AT birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
AS THE GREAT WILLIAM BLAKE ONCE SAID, IT IS EASIER TO FORGIVE AN ENEMA THAN TO FORGIVE A FRIEND, OR SUMFINK LIKE THAT. GUARD 'EM WELL.
BUFFALO: Did ya tell him you miss him?
BIRD: Natch.
BUFFALO: Did ya tell him you love him?
BIRD: Of course.
BUFFALO: Did ya tell him he means more to you than anybody else in the whole wide whirled?
BIRD: Dude, you know I couldn't say that. You know how I feel about you.
BUFFALO: Chokin' up here, dude.
BIRD: Me too.
BUFFALO: Restrain, retrain, move it along.
BIRD: You bet.
BUFFALO: Anyhoo, I was gonna ask you about the Potty Dotty project.
BIRD: You want her back.
BUFFALO: Since we're talking about missing people, uh, yeah.
BIRD: But you called her some pretty gross things, dude.
BUFFALO: And I was sober, K?
BIRD: Nawty.
BUFFALO: And I apologised. Even sent her a signed copy of my autotryography.
BIRD: Wot the hanging Freddy of Helikarnassarse is an autotryography?
BUFFALO: It's an attempt at a life. Rimshot!
BIRD: Da da da da da.... da da! And for my next trick.
BUFFALO: It was mostly illustrations, like. And captions. A compulsive read by any undermined standards.
BIRD: And did she comment on it?
BUFFALO: She said I showed great potential but needed to stop ending every sentence with a semi colon.
BIRD: Howzat;
BUFFALO: It was like Proust, dude. I filled page upon page of semi colons and paragraphs without end.
BIRD: Jeez! I thought you only did that in your emails.
BUFFALO: I DO that, dude, when I'm inspired. And the thought of Potty Dotty curled up in her boudoir in her see-through milky negligee, well...
BIRD: You darty auld Buff. She's spoken for. Got some guy off the Kent Road with a 4x4 and a patio.
BUFFALO: Dammit. And I thought after I sent her that piccie of me in my best sailor's uniform that she was mine for the taking.
BIRD: Dude, if you sent her that she's probably more confused than ever. That piccie is SO totally gay.
BUFFALO: You think so? I thought it brought out the Captain Nemo in me.
BIRD: More like the Liberace.
BUFFALO: Who was a great performer, by da way.
BIRD: But not Potty Dotty's type. And definitely no Bruce Springsteen.
BUFFALO: She likes our Bruce?
BIRD: Amongst udders.
BUFFALO: Born in da U-S-A...
BIRD: Hey, not bad. Next...
BUFFALO: Dude, I think I'm falling for her. Can't you at least ring her?
BIRD: Well, I could if she stayed still long enuff.
BOTH: Rimshot!
BIRD: But seriously, I'll see what I can do.
BUFFALO: Thanks, dude.
BIRD: Don't mention it. Incidentally, Cindy, I got an email from an old mate I hadn't heard from for 15 years. Name of Geoff.
BUFFALO: Dat's nice. What did ya say?
BIRD: That I was sorry I stole his girlfriend and I was now willing to hand her back.
BOTH: Rimshot!
BIRD: But seriously...
BUFFALO: You didn't reply, did ya?
BIRD: Nope.
BUFFALO: Cuz friendships is fraught with bubble and strife innit.
BIRD: Exactamundo, Buffters. Maybe it's better to let sleeping logs die after all.
BUFFALO: Less pain, less strain.
BIRD: And if Smudger don't want me, I don't want him.
BUFFALO: Dat's da spirit!
BIRD: And what's more, I don't need no Smudger when I got you.
BUFFALO: Rollin' rollin' rollin' Rawhide!
BIRD: Together we shall conquer. Together we are strong.
BUFFALO: All for one, and one for all!
BIRD: Friends ReUnited NOT at eleven!
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BTW SINCE THIS HUFF & PUFF, SMUDGER STILL HAS NOT CONTACTED DA BIRD. IF YOU KNOW OF SMUDGER'S WHEREABOUTS OR KNOW OF ANYONE WHO MIGHT KNOW OF SOMEONE WHO KNOWS OF SMUDGER'S WHEREABOUTS, PLEASE EMAIL US AT birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
AS THE GREAT WILLIAM BLAKE ONCE SAID, IT IS EASIER TO FORGIVE AN ENEMA THAN TO FORGIVE A FRIEND, OR SUMFINK LIKE THAT. GUARD 'EM WELL.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
SNORTING IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES
BIRD: I've been thinking, dude.
BUFFALO: Steady, lad. We've already had one hurricane over ear, like.
BIRD: Just for one second, dude, can you try, I mean REALLY try to listen?
BUFFALO: I hear ya, dude. Adjusting da volume as I peak. But I was wondering, about the title, like. Snorting an' all. Gimme an udder line, man, hey ho!
BIRD: Not that kind of snorting, dude. I mean a rough, noisy sound made by breathing forcefully through the nostrils, as a horse or pig does. The sound we make when we're displeased, disrespectful or hostile to that which is other.
BUFFALO: Oh, youse talking reconciliation, innit!
BIRD: Yeah. And understanding. Let it be, Macca said.
BUFFALO: Wizended words from Sir Paul. But three quarters round the roundabout, what specifically are you motioning at, dude?
BIRD: Miss takes, that sort of thing.
BUFFALO: And wot would you like to confess to, my son?
BIRD: Well, there's this mate, see, and we fell out a while back and I miss him, like. And it got me thinking.
BUFFALO: Dude, not everybody wants to be your friend. Just stick to the good'uns, like.
BIRD: Dude, you know you've lost good friends too. You don't want to lose any more, do ya?
BUFFALO: Not inherently. Pray, continue, o birded one.
BIRD: Well, I was thinking we should give those we hold special space to inflect.
BUFFALO: Oh, I geddit. And you've written to this chum?
BIRD: Well, not yet. But I'm thinking about it.
BUFFALO: Yeah, right. I can feel people thinking about me ALL the time. I've got a whole box full of people's thoughts about me.
BIRD: OK, OK, I get your drift. Time to act. OK, all right, yes. You've done it this time, Buffters. You've really stirred me into action. Nothing ventured, nothing ingrained.
BUFFALO: Break a leg, dude.
BIRD: "Dear Smudger, many years have passed, when we were young and life was long. And I was wondering..." Um, er, hm, ah...
BUFFALO: Go, Birdy! Go, Birdy! Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Steady, lad. We've already had one hurricane over ear, like.
BIRD: Just for one second, dude, can you try, I mean REALLY try to listen?
BUFFALO: I hear ya, dude. Adjusting da volume as I peak. But I was wondering, about the title, like. Snorting an' all. Gimme an udder line, man, hey ho!
BIRD: Not that kind of snorting, dude. I mean a rough, noisy sound made by breathing forcefully through the nostrils, as a horse or pig does. The sound we make when we're displeased, disrespectful or hostile to that which is other.
BUFFALO: Oh, youse talking reconciliation, innit!
BIRD: Yeah. And understanding. Let it be, Macca said.
BUFFALO: Wizended words from Sir Paul. But three quarters round the roundabout, what specifically are you motioning at, dude?
BIRD: Miss takes, that sort of thing.
BUFFALO: And wot would you like to confess to, my son?
BIRD: Well, there's this mate, see, and we fell out a while back and I miss him, like. And it got me thinking.
BUFFALO: Dude, not everybody wants to be your friend. Just stick to the good'uns, like.
BIRD: Dude, you know you've lost good friends too. You don't want to lose any more, do ya?
BUFFALO: Not inherently. Pray, continue, o birded one.
BIRD: Well, I was thinking we should give those we hold special space to inflect.
BUFFALO: Oh, I geddit. And you've written to this chum?
BIRD: Well, not yet. But I'm thinking about it.
BUFFALO: Yeah, right. I can feel people thinking about me ALL the time. I've got a whole box full of people's thoughts about me.
BIRD: OK, OK, I get your drift. Time to act. OK, all right, yes. You've done it this time, Buffters. You've really stirred me into action. Nothing ventured, nothing ingrained.
BUFFALO: Break a leg, dude.
BIRD: "Dear Smudger, many years have passed, when we were young and life was long. And I was wondering..." Um, er, hm, ah...
BUFFALO: Go, Birdy! Go, Birdy! Arf, arf!
Monday, June 25, 2007
ONTOLOGICAL DISS PAIR
WATSON: I say, Holmes.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Did you see that rat just toddle across the shagpile to the fireplace?
HOLMES: Nonsense, my dear quack. There are no rats in this house.
WATSON: But Holmes, I saw it.
HOLMES: It was not a rat, old chap, it was a mouse.
WATSON: Oh.
HOLMES: By the name of Ivor. Purchased but two days ago for a most interesting experiment.
WATSON: Really? Then why is he running free? Has he escaped what what what?
HOLMES: Ivor is merely searching.
WATSON: What for? The source of the Nile?
HOLMES: Very good, Watson. For you. No, he is searching for the optimum place of well-being within this room.
WATSON: But Holmes, why on earth would you want to know that?
HOLMES: Because, old bean, great thoughts are only thought when one is at the height of one's well-being.
WATSON: Another crackpot theory that will find its way into the bin, if you don't mind me saying.
HOLMES: Oh, really? Then consider this, Watty Botty. Your mood swings of late have been severe to manic, is that right?
WATSON: Well, I wouldn't say that, old man. It's just Hudders and I are going through a difficult period in our acquaintance.
HOLMES: Don't be disingenuous, Watson. You've been a thoroughly miserable fellow and awfully bad company since Hudders denied you regular visiting rights.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes, is nothing private in this house?
HOLMES: You wear your heart on your sleeve, dear boy, and judging by your sleeves, you need a thorough scrub and a radical rethink.
WATSON: We'll work it out. Anyway, how does that confounded rat fit into my love life?
HOLMES: Watson, were you aware that the Mus musculus - that's the common house mouse to you - is possibly man's best friend? Its calming qualities are next to none. And if Ivor finds the right spot in this room, I shall park your armchair there forthwith and await a transformation which will return you to the bloom of youth and then all will be well again in this disparate household.
WATSON: But Holmes, that's amazing. If true. Why, the scientific ramifications of such a discovery could lead to the introduction of a treatment for the alleviation of all kinds of nut jobs, pardon my French.
HOLMES: D'accord, mon petit charlatan.
WATSON: Come again?
HOLMES: If the cap fits, old fruit, wear it.
WATSON: Wait! Our little furry friend has curled up in front of the fireplace. That must be the optimum setting what what what. Here, give me a hand with this armchair, old bean.
HOLMES: Two, three, four...
WATSON: Good Lord! I think Ivor's become entangled in one of the legs.
HOLMES: Watson, you drizzle cake, you've just squashed him!
WATSON: Surely not. Not our Ivor!
HOLMES: Do you know how expensive a half decent Mus musculus is these days? This is coming out of your wages, make no mistake.
WATSON: Into every life, a little sadness must fall, or whatever it is.
HOLMES: I was just beginning to bond with the little fella. And now he's dead.
WATSON: Que sera sera, old mucker. Oh, yes, that's much better. I suddenly feel as if all my cares have shrunk.
HOLMES: It took me two hours to train him not to mess on the parquet.
WATSON: Despair. Despair. What care I of despair? This pair is not for despair. Ontological or existential. Be gone, you foullest of rats. Be gone!
HOLMES: Quite incredible how attached you can become to such a slight rodent.
WATSON: Hudders! Hudders! Come here, there is much to discuss. I've been a selfish fool but I shall atone in no uncertain tones. From now on, only roses and chocolates, my sweet. Holmes, you're a brick. How can I ever repay you?
HOLMES: Cut down in his prime by that bungling numbskull of a physician...
WATSON: Coming, my sweet. Coming. Crumpet at eleven, Holmes?
HOLMES: Wake at twelve. Poor Ivor.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Did you see that rat just toddle across the shagpile to the fireplace?
HOLMES: Nonsense, my dear quack. There are no rats in this house.
WATSON: But Holmes, I saw it.
HOLMES: It was not a rat, old chap, it was a mouse.
WATSON: Oh.
HOLMES: By the name of Ivor. Purchased but two days ago for a most interesting experiment.
WATSON: Really? Then why is he running free? Has he escaped what what what?
HOLMES: Ivor is merely searching.
WATSON: What for? The source of the Nile?
HOLMES: Very good, Watson. For you. No, he is searching for the optimum place of well-being within this room.
WATSON: But Holmes, why on earth would you want to know that?
HOLMES: Because, old bean, great thoughts are only thought when one is at the height of one's well-being.
WATSON: Another crackpot theory that will find its way into the bin, if you don't mind me saying.
HOLMES: Oh, really? Then consider this, Watty Botty. Your mood swings of late have been severe to manic, is that right?
WATSON: Well, I wouldn't say that, old man. It's just Hudders and I are going through a difficult period in our acquaintance.
HOLMES: Don't be disingenuous, Watson. You've been a thoroughly miserable fellow and awfully bad company since Hudders denied you regular visiting rights.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes, is nothing private in this house?
HOLMES: You wear your heart on your sleeve, dear boy, and judging by your sleeves, you need a thorough scrub and a radical rethink.
WATSON: We'll work it out. Anyway, how does that confounded rat fit into my love life?
HOLMES: Watson, were you aware that the Mus musculus - that's the common house mouse to you - is possibly man's best friend? Its calming qualities are next to none. And if Ivor finds the right spot in this room, I shall park your armchair there forthwith and await a transformation which will return you to the bloom of youth and then all will be well again in this disparate household.
WATSON: But Holmes, that's amazing. If true. Why, the scientific ramifications of such a discovery could lead to the introduction of a treatment for the alleviation of all kinds of nut jobs, pardon my French.
HOLMES: D'accord, mon petit charlatan.
WATSON: Come again?
HOLMES: If the cap fits, old fruit, wear it.
WATSON: Wait! Our little furry friend has curled up in front of the fireplace. That must be the optimum setting what what what. Here, give me a hand with this armchair, old bean.
HOLMES: Two, three, four...
WATSON: Good Lord! I think Ivor's become entangled in one of the legs.
HOLMES: Watson, you drizzle cake, you've just squashed him!
WATSON: Surely not. Not our Ivor!
HOLMES: Do you know how expensive a half decent Mus musculus is these days? This is coming out of your wages, make no mistake.
WATSON: Into every life, a little sadness must fall, or whatever it is.
HOLMES: I was just beginning to bond with the little fella. And now he's dead.
WATSON: Que sera sera, old mucker. Oh, yes, that's much better. I suddenly feel as if all my cares have shrunk.
HOLMES: It took me two hours to train him not to mess on the parquet.
WATSON: Despair. Despair. What care I of despair? This pair is not for despair. Ontological or existential. Be gone, you foullest of rats. Be gone!
HOLMES: Quite incredible how attached you can become to such a slight rodent.
WATSON: Hudders! Hudders! Come here, there is much to discuss. I've been a selfish fool but I shall atone in no uncertain tones. From now on, only roses and chocolates, my sweet. Holmes, you're a brick. How can I ever repay you?
HOLMES: Cut down in his prime by that bungling numbskull of a physician...
WATSON: Coming, my sweet. Coming. Crumpet at eleven, Holmes?
HOLMES: Wake at twelve. Poor Ivor.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
1601: AN EXTRACT
SIR WALTER RALEIGH: In sooth, when a shift's turned up, delay is meet for naught but dalliance. Boccaccio hath a story of a priest that did beguile a maid into his cell, then knelt him in a corner to pray for grace to be rightly thankful for this tender maidenhead ye Lord had sent him; but ye abbot, spying through ye key-hole, did see a tuft of brownish hair with fair white flesh about it, wherefore when ye priest's prayer was done, his chance was gone, forasmuch as ye little maid had but ye one pride of place, and that was already occupied to her content.
COSMIC COWINKLEDINK
BUFFALO: I went out last nite for a walk, dude.
BIRD: Oh, yeah?
BUFFALO: Oh, yeah! And it got me thinking about the cosmic cowinkledink, how everything's connected, how nothing stays the same and how a name's a name but not by any other name, if you get m'drift.
BIRD: Waiting patiently for the punchline here, dude.
BUFFALO: There ain't no punchline, Birdy. Just neurons, millions of 'em, bouncing around inside ma' head. And to be touched, to be blessed, my son... to be truly touched by the interconstellatory highway of pure light is a joy beyond joys, a vertitable spiritual orgasm in perpetuity that nobody can take away or transublimate into another time and space and classification, Bravo 2-80.
BIRD: Writing this down here, Buffters. You sure they haven't dumped sumfink toxic in yer water, like?
BUFFALO: Dude, do you know wot nodding sagely means?
BIRD: Nope, but you're gonna tell me, right?
BUFFALO: It's an inside joke, 10-4, scramble. But you gotta be inside to geddit.
BIRD: Inside wot, dude?
BUFFALO: It's an acceptance of wot lies ahead and wot's gone before.
BIRD: You mean, live and let live, like?
BUFFALO: Not really, but bear with me. I regurgitate, last nite I went a-walking and I felt a tap on my shoulder, ever so gently, bow the anchor 5-7. And I turned to look behind and I felt the weight of all my yesterdays.
BIRD: Golly gosh! Did ya soil yerself, like?
BUFFALO: No, dude. I picked up that weight, took aim and threw that no good son of a Dark One bitch into the lake.
BIRD: Way to go, Buff! Maximum udulation!
BUFFALO: 10-11, dude.
BIRD: And then wot?
BUFFALO: I sat down at the water's edge and cried like a baby without a decent teat to suck on. And then I got a call from Mindy.
BIRD: You darty auld Buff.
BUFFALO: She came down to the lake and we made love to the howling of wolves till da early hours.
BIRD: I see.
BUFFALO: And as we lay there, in the sludge and grime, Mindy told me something she'd never told anyone before, that she'd never seen gray before, only black and white.
BIRD: Wow. You gave her grey, Buffo.
BUFFALO: I gave her gray. Freddy 5-0. And now she's gonna use it.
BIRD: Youse all heart, dude.
BUFFALO: Wid a little bit of da flesh, like. Echo 9-7.
BIRD: Tincture at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Oh, yeah?
BUFFALO: Oh, yeah! And it got me thinking about the cosmic cowinkledink, how everything's connected, how nothing stays the same and how a name's a name but not by any other name, if you get m'drift.
BIRD: Waiting patiently for the punchline here, dude.
BUFFALO: There ain't no punchline, Birdy. Just neurons, millions of 'em, bouncing around inside ma' head. And to be touched, to be blessed, my son... to be truly touched by the interconstellatory highway of pure light is a joy beyond joys, a vertitable spiritual orgasm in perpetuity that nobody can take away or transublimate into another time and space and classification, Bravo 2-80.
BIRD: Writing this down here, Buffters. You sure they haven't dumped sumfink toxic in yer water, like?
BUFFALO: Dude, do you know wot nodding sagely means?
BIRD: Nope, but you're gonna tell me, right?
BUFFALO: It's an inside joke, 10-4, scramble. But you gotta be inside to geddit.
BIRD: Inside wot, dude?
BUFFALO: It's an acceptance of wot lies ahead and wot's gone before.
BIRD: You mean, live and let live, like?
BUFFALO: Not really, but bear with me. I regurgitate, last nite I went a-walking and I felt a tap on my shoulder, ever so gently, bow the anchor 5-7. And I turned to look behind and I felt the weight of all my yesterdays.
BIRD: Golly gosh! Did ya soil yerself, like?
BUFFALO: No, dude. I picked up that weight, took aim and threw that no good son of a Dark One bitch into the lake.
BIRD: Way to go, Buff! Maximum udulation!
BUFFALO: 10-11, dude.
BIRD: And then wot?
BUFFALO: I sat down at the water's edge and cried like a baby without a decent teat to suck on. And then I got a call from Mindy.
BIRD: You darty auld Buff.
BUFFALO: She came down to the lake and we made love to the howling of wolves till da early hours.
BIRD: I see.
BUFFALO: And as we lay there, in the sludge and grime, Mindy told me something she'd never told anyone before, that she'd never seen gray before, only black and white.
BIRD: Wow. You gave her grey, Buffo.
BUFFALO: I gave her gray. Freddy 5-0. And now she's gonna use it.
BIRD: Youse all heart, dude.
BUFFALO: Wid a little bit of da flesh, like. Echo 9-7.
BIRD: Tincture at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
THE CHURCH OF SPIRITUS FRUMENTI Q VIRGINIS DELECTITATUS
WATSON: I say, Holmes.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Have you heard of The Beer Church what what what?
HOLMES: Have you been at the smelling salts again, old chum?
WATSON: You may scoff, old boy, but it’s legitimatis totalatus. Which package would you like? The Parish Priest, Arch Bishop, or The Pope? The Pope one comes with a rather fetching T-shirt, you know.
HOLMES: I do believe those screws that connect your frontal lobe to your perpendicular have finally worked themselves loose.
WATSON: But Holmes, we could ordain people, never pay tax again, sell tea sets and crumpets, and souvenir tea towels.
HOLMES: Absolutely barking you are today, my friend. Why, you might as well call it The Church of Spiritus Frumenti.
WATSON: What a top-ho idea, Holmes. Splendid! Mind you, it does mean that you’ll have to give sermons of a Sunday.
HOLMES: My dear Watty, I shall do no such thing.
WATSON: And officiate over the occasional alcoholic wedding.
HOLMES: What on earth has got into you today? Doesn’t your practice pay you enough, old man?
WATSON: I’ve already sent off for the ordination certificate. I’ll order one for you, if you wish.
HOLMES: My dear quack, you know perfectly well that beer, or wine, are NOT my poison.
WATSON: Quite, old fruit, but it might take your mind off those wayward women you keep trying to help up the ladder, so to speak.
HOLMES: Fallen women can’t stay on their knees forever. Someone must take it upon themselves to educate and alleviate them.
WATSON: That’s all very well, Holmes, but you’ve been spending far too many hours locked away in your room educating and alleviating them, if you don’t mind me saying, and well, you’d enjoy the Church of Spiritus Frumenti. You’d make lots of new acquaintances, partake of the holy bread, keep your hands busy…
HOLMES: If you’re inferring that what I do with these pretty young waifs is not mutually beneficial and ultimately a heck of a lot of fun for all concerned, then I’m afraid this verbal intercourse is at an end.
WATSON: If only the physical kind with three in a tub were…
HOLMES: Watson, it does not become you to go peeping through keyholes. And I can assure you, whatever you saw was perfectly legal and fully open to wild misinterpretation. I was merely showing those nice nubiles how to bathe correctly.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes. I fear your reputation will be sullied and likely end up tatters.
HOLMES: Jealousy does not become you, Mr Medicine Man. If just one of my moves helps alleviate the plight of these lost souls, it is my duty to carry on what I’ve started, at the very least until everything I have to offer has been consumed.
WATSON: Shame on you, Holmes! You’re grooming them! Why, you’re no better than a pimp! Now I’ve booked you an appointment to see Dr Schlopenwanger to um, resolve your momentary lapse of reason.
HOLMES: I assure you, there is nothing wrong with my reason. I know what I’m doing and I shall go on doing it until the poor, unfortunate waifs have received all that I have to give them.
WATSON: You dirty old fool, Holmes. They’re only after you for your money and a big fat pay off from the tabloids. Heavens knows I did my best to try to dissuade him from ruin.
HUDDERS: Sorry to interrupt, Mr Sherlock, but there are seven vestal virgins at the door.
HOLMES: Oh, good. Show them up to my room. Would you be so kind as to tell them to slip into the tub and await my arrival?
HUDDERS: Certainly, Mr Sherlock.
WATSON: Jumping maggots on a toasting fork! This is utter bedlam! What is Victorian England coming to?!
HOLMES: Edwardian England, you silly billy. Now are you coming upstairs with me or not?
WATSON: Good Lord! Well, I suppose if you can’t beat them…
HOLMES: You’ll need your loofah.
WATSON: I have a spare one in my pocket, Holmes, for emergencies what what what. Crumpet impending?
HOLMES: Not half!
FORE MORE INFO-MATION ON DA BEER CHURCH - HIC! - CLICK EAR
http://www.beerchurch.com/Default.aspx?tabid=1214
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Have you heard of The Beer Church what what what?
HOLMES: Have you been at the smelling salts again, old chum?
WATSON: You may scoff, old boy, but it’s legitimatis totalatus. Which package would you like? The Parish Priest, Arch Bishop, or The Pope? The Pope one comes with a rather fetching T-shirt, you know.
HOLMES: I do believe those screws that connect your frontal lobe to your perpendicular have finally worked themselves loose.
WATSON: But Holmes, we could ordain people, never pay tax again, sell tea sets and crumpets, and souvenir tea towels.
HOLMES: Absolutely barking you are today, my friend. Why, you might as well call it The Church of Spiritus Frumenti.
WATSON: What a top-ho idea, Holmes. Splendid! Mind you, it does mean that you’ll have to give sermons of a Sunday.
HOLMES: My dear Watty, I shall do no such thing.
WATSON: And officiate over the occasional alcoholic wedding.
HOLMES: What on earth has got into you today? Doesn’t your practice pay you enough, old man?
WATSON: I’ve already sent off for the ordination certificate. I’ll order one for you, if you wish.
HOLMES: My dear quack, you know perfectly well that beer, or wine, are NOT my poison.
WATSON: Quite, old fruit, but it might take your mind off those wayward women you keep trying to help up the ladder, so to speak.
HOLMES: Fallen women can’t stay on their knees forever. Someone must take it upon themselves to educate and alleviate them.
WATSON: That’s all very well, Holmes, but you’ve been spending far too many hours locked away in your room educating and alleviating them, if you don’t mind me saying, and well, you’d enjoy the Church of Spiritus Frumenti. You’d make lots of new acquaintances, partake of the holy bread, keep your hands busy…
HOLMES: If you’re inferring that what I do with these pretty young waifs is not mutually beneficial and ultimately a heck of a lot of fun for all concerned, then I’m afraid this verbal intercourse is at an end.
WATSON: If only the physical kind with three in a tub were…
HOLMES: Watson, it does not become you to go peeping through keyholes. And I can assure you, whatever you saw was perfectly legal and fully open to wild misinterpretation. I was merely showing those nice nubiles how to bathe correctly.
WATSON: Good Lord, Holmes. I fear your reputation will be sullied and likely end up tatters.
HOLMES: Jealousy does not become you, Mr Medicine Man. If just one of my moves helps alleviate the plight of these lost souls, it is my duty to carry on what I’ve started, at the very least until everything I have to offer has been consumed.
WATSON: Shame on you, Holmes! You’re grooming them! Why, you’re no better than a pimp! Now I’ve booked you an appointment to see Dr Schlopenwanger to um, resolve your momentary lapse of reason.
HOLMES: I assure you, there is nothing wrong with my reason. I know what I’m doing and I shall go on doing it until the poor, unfortunate waifs have received all that I have to give them.
WATSON: You dirty old fool, Holmes. They’re only after you for your money and a big fat pay off from the tabloids. Heavens knows I did my best to try to dissuade him from ruin.
HUDDERS: Sorry to interrupt, Mr Sherlock, but there are seven vestal virgins at the door.
HOLMES: Oh, good. Show them up to my room. Would you be so kind as to tell them to slip into the tub and await my arrival?
HUDDERS: Certainly, Mr Sherlock.
WATSON: Jumping maggots on a toasting fork! This is utter bedlam! What is Victorian England coming to?!
HOLMES: Edwardian England, you silly billy. Now are you coming upstairs with me or not?
WATSON: Good Lord! Well, I suppose if you can’t beat them…
HOLMES: You’ll need your loofah.
WATSON: I have a spare one in my pocket, Holmes, for emergencies what what what. Crumpet impending?
HOLMES: Not half!
FORE MORE INFO-MATION ON DA BEER CHURCH - HIC! - CLICK EAR
http://www.beerchurch.com/Default.aspx?tabid=1214
Monday, June 18, 2007
YOUR BLOG CHANGED MY LIFE Q POSITIVE FEEDBAG
'TIS A HARD LIFE FLOGGING AWAY AT DA BLOG. ONE DOEST ENCOUNTER A HOLE HOIST OF VARICATORY PHENOMENA & DUDES SO 'TIS WITH GREAT PER-LEISURE DAT WE SHARE SOME POSITIVE FEEDBAG WID Y'ALL. 2, 3, 4!
Dear Holey Ones,
Simon here. I just had to write. Your blog changed my life. I was in a dead-end job, in a dead-end life with no one to love when suddenly I found you.
I thought I would die laughing. Each entry funnier than the previous one. You guys are true whack jobs who can't resist an opportunity to play with your wangers but I love you both to bits!
Now everywhere I go I have a permanent smile on my face as I think of you. Thank you so much!
Love
Simon
PS I am now happily married with twins on the way and a house in the country bequeathed by my long-lost Aunty Rosie, who died under mysterious circumstances but she was still able to sign the will, hahaha.
PPS Bring back Dotty!
**********************
Dear Bird & Buff!
I read your blog piece You're Fired on a recommendation and I laughed so much, I was violently sick. I may have to have my gall bladder removed now. Whatever. Thanks, guys. Your humour is out there. Have you thought of writing an opera?
Reggie Bluetooth-Forsyth
*****************
Dear Funny Ones,
You have shown me the way. No longer will I waste my time surfing for porn and Britney memorabilia. I want to laugh and I want it now! You're bookmarked, dudes!
D2
******************
I stood on railing of bridge and had feelings for Pubistan and thought, no, life is worth as long as Turds (sic.) of Bird & Buffalo live. I start fan club for every fans in Xhong Donger.
Kim il XXX
*****************
Darling Birdy & Buffy, hello!
Greetings from Russia. We love you. You like women? Come.
Boris
xxx
****************
You give good blog!
A Non
x
****************
THANKS, DUDES. WE OBLIGE TO AIM. NEVER KNOWLINGLY REGRESSED. I'LL TAKE TWO. WHO'S YOUR BLOGGY? WHO'S YOUR BLOGGY?! ARF, ARF!
Dear Holey Ones,
Simon here. I just had to write. Your blog changed my life. I was in a dead-end job, in a dead-end life with no one to love when suddenly I found you.
I thought I would die laughing. Each entry funnier than the previous one. You guys are true whack jobs who can't resist an opportunity to play with your wangers but I love you both to bits!
Now everywhere I go I have a permanent smile on my face as I think of you. Thank you so much!
Love
Simon
PS I am now happily married with twins on the way and a house in the country bequeathed by my long-lost Aunty Rosie, who died under mysterious circumstances but she was still able to sign the will, hahaha.
PPS Bring back Dotty!
**********************
Dear Bird & Buff!
I read your blog piece You're Fired on a recommendation and I laughed so much, I was violently sick. I may have to have my gall bladder removed now. Whatever. Thanks, guys. Your humour is out there. Have you thought of writing an opera?
Reggie Bluetooth-Forsyth
*****************
Dear Funny Ones,
You have shown me the way. No longer will I waste my time surfing for porn and Britney memorabilia. I want to laugh and I want it now! You're bookmarked, dudes!
D2
******************
I stood on railing of bridge and had feelings for Pubistan and thought, no, life is worth as long as Turds (sic.) of Bird & Buffalo live. I start fan club for every fans in Xhong Donger.
Kim il XXX
*****************
Darling Birdy & Buffy, hello!
Greetings from Russia. We love you. You like women? Come.
Boris
xxx
****************
You give good blog!
A Non
x
****************
THANKS, DUDES. WE OBLIGE TO AIM. NEVER KNOWLINGLY REGRESSED. I'LL TAKE TWO. WHO'S YOUR BLOGGY? WHO'S YOUR BLOGGY?! ARF, ARF!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
FATE ACCOMPLI Q FANGS AT DAWN
BUFFALO: "It is finished," he said, nailed to the cross ties, bleeding all over the carpet.
BIRD: Dude, you’re back.
BUFFALO: Managed to get two hours of sleep... argh. Off to the debacle, after steam cleaning der melon. I tell ya, learning new software sucks donkey balls!
BIRD: Got the video horrorshow ready then?
BUFFALO: Huh? Dude, the horrorshow’s been and gone.
BIRD: C’est vrai?
BUFFALO: Last nite.
BIRD: And?
BUFFALO: Dude, they fookin' loved it. They laffed, they cried, they clapped their hands and danced in the fookin' aisles. For once, showered with praise instead of being covered all in shit. It was good... no, it was better than good, it was great - no, it was better than that - it was Kean!
BIRD: Wow. Hi fivers!
BUFFALO: Who’s your daddy? Who’s your daddy?!
BIRD: Any chance of a copy of the DVD?
BUFFALO: Naturlich, mein Heir! Gawd, I feel so good. Must be some Finn in the air. Lemme at the next project.
BIRD: But dude, you haven’t got a name for your vampire flik yet.
BUFFALO: True. OK, we’ve got five minutes afore I go. Star-crossed lovers Vlad Dracula and sorceress Lucrezia Borgia, reunited after 500 years, rekindle their romance in a Manhattan courtroom as opposing attorneys in a billion dollar lawsuit in which immortality itself is at stake. Gotta have a romantic angle. Brainstorm!
BIRD: Courting Lucrezia?
BUFFALO: Not bad, lad. Bloodsuit?
BIRD: That was the original title.
BUFFALO: Busted. OK. Corking Lucrezia?
BIRD: Funny, but inappropriate. Love Sucks?
BUFFALO: Like it, but maybe a winkle’s length obscure.
BIRD: A Stake In Time? Dracula’s Rib?
BUFFALO: Both good but not exactly romantic, like.
BIRD: Hey, got it, got it. How’s about Love Sucks & Then You Die. Again?
BUFFALO: Oh, dude, now dat’s simperly sumptuous! Or Suck On This, Love… even?
BIRD: Keep it clean, dude. We’re talking Dollywood.
BUFFALO: The Vampire, His Stake, Her Heart & Her Lover?
BIRD: Too long.
BUFFALO: Bleeding Hearts?
BIRD: Wow. A definite contender.
BUFFALO: Love Blooders?
BIRD: Crikey! This is really hotting up! Got it! Be Still My Bleeding Heart?
BUFFALO: It says nothing about lawsuits or vampires, berky.
BIRD: Be Still My Bleeding Gavel?
BUFFALO: Getting cold, dude.
BIRD: Feeling Vlad All Over?
BUFFALO: That’ll be for the porno spinoff. Right, time’s up! Whadda we got?
BIRD: We got the lot!
BUFFALO: You know, dude. I think I’ll just call it Vlad & Lucrezia.
BIRD: Yeah, that’ll be original innit!
BUFFALO: Gotta run. Me dawg’s - peeing on the roses and the ex is threatening to put de old boy dahhhhn.
BIRD: Blimey. Laters. Fangs at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Dude, you’re back.
BUFFALO: Managed to get two hours of sleep... argh. Off to the debacle, after steam cleaning der melon. I tell ya, learning new software sucks donkey balls!
BIRD: Got the video horrorshow ready then?
BUFFALO: Huh? Dude, the horrorshow’s been and gone.
BIRD: C’est vrai?
BUFFALO: Last nite.
BIRD: And?
BUFFALO: Dude, they fookin' loved it. They laffed, they cried, they clapped their hands and danced in the fookin' aisles. For once, showered with praise instead of being covered all in shit. It was good... no, it was better than good, it was great - no, it was better than that - it was Kean!
BIRD: Wow. Hi fivers!
BUFFALO: Who’s your daddy? Who’s your daddy?!
BIRD: Any chance of a copy of the DVD?
BUFFALO: Naturlich, mein Heir! Gawd, I feel so good. Must be some Finn in the air. Lemme at the next project.
BIRD: But dude, you haven’t got a name for your vampire flik yet.
BUFFALO: True. OK, we’ve got five minutes afore I go. Star-crossed lovers Vlad Dracula and sorceress Lucrezia Borgia, reunited after 500 years, rekindle their romance in a Manhattan courtroom as opposing attorneys in a billion dollar lawsuit in which immortality itself is at stake. Gotta have a romantic angle. Brainstorm!
BIRD: Courting Lucrezia?
BUFFALO: Not bad, lad. Bloodsuit?
BIRD: That was the original title.
BUFFALO: Busted. OK. Corking Lucrezia?
BIRD: Funny, but inappropriate. Love Sucks?
BUFFALO: Like it, but maybe a winkle’s length obscure.
BIRD: A Stake In Time? Dracula’s Rib?
BUFFALO: Both good but not exactly romantic, like.
BIRD: Hey, got it, got it. How’s about Love Sucks & Then You Die. Again?
BUFFALO: Oh, dude, now dat’s simperly sumptuous! Or Suck On This, Love… even?
BIRD: Keep it clean, dude. We’re talking Dollywood.
BUFFALO: The Vampire, His Stake, Her Heart & Her Lover?
BIRD: Too long.
BUFFALO: Bleeding Hearts?
BIRD: Wow. A definite contender.
BUFFALO: Love Blooders?
BIRD: Crikey! This is really hotting up! Got it! Be Still My Bleeding Heart?
BUFFALO: It says nothing about lawsuits or vampires, berky.
BIRD: Be Still My Bleeding Gavel?
BUFFALO: Getting cold, dude.
BIRD: Feeling Vlad All Over?
BUFFALO: That’ll be for the porno spinoff. Right, time’s up! Whadda we got?
BIRD: We got the lot!
BUFFALO: You know, dude. I think I’ll just call it Vlad & Lucrezia.
BIRD: Yeah, that’ll be original innit!
BUFFALO: Gotta run. Me dawg’s - peeing on the roses and the ex is threatening to put de old boy dahhhhn.
BIRD: Blimey. Laters. Fangs at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
YOU'RE FIRED!
THERE ISN'T REALLY ANY NICE WAY TO SAY IT INNIT? YOU'VE FOOKED UP, FLAMMED OUT, FUDGED OFF BIG TIME & DA BOSS HAS GOTTA KICK YER SAD DERRIERE INTO TOUCH. HERE'S HOW IT HAPPENED TO SOME FRIENDS OF OURS...
BOSS #1: Ah, Damian, so glad you could make it.
ROSS: Sir Pelham.
BOSS #1: You're a fudgeweight. A total shambles. You're fired.
ROSS: Thank you, Sir Pelham.
BOSS #1: Don't worry about the blood, I'll get someone to come in later and mop it up.
ROSS: Goodbye, Sir Pelham.
BOSS #1: Here's looking at you, kid.
*************
GERALDINE: You wanted to see me, sir?
BOSS #2: No, don't sit down. You're fired.
GERALDINE: I see.
*************
BOSS #3: Rodney...
RODNEY: No, please don't. I've got a mortgage, a family and kids, a dog even...
BOSS #3: Get the **** out of my company and try not to pee yourself on the way out.
RODNEY: Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind? I'll give 110%. 250% if you insist.
BOSS #3: (picks up phone) Security?
****************
CHERYL: You drag me in here on my coffee break. This had better be good!
BOSS #4: I don't want you any more, I never have and I never will again. So long, loser.
****************
BOSS #5: Paul, come in. Sit down. Stand up. Sit down. Stand up. Turn around. Swing left. Swing right. Swing left again. Well, that was fun. Now shove off, will you? I'm a busy man.
***************
GARY: I should've known better.
BOSS #6: Go now.
GARY: I knew I was toast when you snubbed me at the business awareness meeting when I put a digit in the wrong place.
***************
BOSS #7: You're losing me money.
DIRK: I have consistently over performed for the last five years.
BOSS #7: For every pound you've made, we've lost two.
DIRK: Butter fingers!
******************
BOSS #8: Well, where is he?
HANSEL: He's gone.
BOSS #8: But I didn't get a chance to fire him.
HANSEL: Maybe not, but you can still go to his funeral.
BOSS #8: Nice one.
******************
SO, AS WE SAID, THERE REALLY ISN'T ANY DECENT WAY TO SAY, "HEY, BUDDY, YOU'RE A USELESS PIECE OF SHITE, DON'T DARKEN MY ANYTHING ANY MORE." BUT BIZNESS IS BIZNESS WASSUP.
COMING SOON: CHILLING TAILS FROM MORE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN HIRED THEN LOWERED
nb INSPIRED BY AN IDEA BUT IN NO WAY A COMMENTARY OR CONFLECTION UPON THE CONDUCT OF SIR ALAN OR TRUMPY POOS.
BOSS #1: Ah, Damian, so glad you could make it.
ROSS: Sir Pelham.
BOSS #1: You're a fudgeweight. A total shambles. You're fired.
ROSS: Thank you, Sir Pelham.
BOSS #1: Don't worry about the blood, I'll get someone to come in later and mop it up.
ROSS: Goodbye, Sir Pelham.
BOSS #1: Here's looking at you, kid.
*************
GERALDINE: You wanted to see me, sir?
BOSS #2: No, don't sit down. You're fired.
GERALDINE: I see.
*************
BOSS #3: Rodney...
RODNEY: No, please don't. I've got a mortgage, a family and kids, a dog even...
BOSS #3: Get the **** out of my company and try not to pee yourself on the way out.
RODNEY: Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind? I'll give 110%. 250% if you insist.
BOSS #3: (picks up phone) Security?
****************
CHERYL: You drag me in here on my coffee break. This had better be good!
BOSS #4: I don't want you any more, I never have and I never will again. So long, loser.
****************
BOSS #5: Paul, come in. Sit down. Stand up. Sit down. Stand up. Turn around. Swing left. Swing right. Swing left again. Well, that was fun. Now shove off, will you? I'm a busy man.
***************
GARY: I should've known better.
BOSS #6: Go now.
GARY: I knew I was toast when you snubbed me at the business awareness meeting when I put a digit in the wrong place.
***************
BOSS #7: You're losing me money.
DIRK: I have consistently over performed for the last five years.
BOSS #7: For every pound you've made, we've lost two.
DIRK: Butter fingers!
******************
BOSS #8: Well, where is he?
HANSEL: He's gone.
BOSS #8: But I didn't get a chance to fire him.
HANSEL: Maybe not, but you can still go to his funeral.
BOSS #8: Nice one.
******************
SO, AS WE SAID, THERE REALLY ISN'T ANY DECENT WAY TO SAY, "HEY, BUDDY, YOU'RE A USELESS PIECE OF SHITE, DON'T DARKEN MY ANYTHING ANY MORE." BUT BIZNESS IS BIZNESS WASSUP.
COMING SOON: CHILLING TAILS FROM MORE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN HIRED THEN LOWERED
nb INSPIRED BY AN IDEA BUT IN NO WAY A COMMENTARY OR CONFLECTION UPON THE CONDUCT OF SIR ALAN OR TRUMPY POOS.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
THE DARK ONE & FYODOR, PAGE 187
WATSON: I say, Holmes.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Any more news on the Dark One?
HOLMES: Well, my wacky quacky, it is most curious that you should mention it, because but half an hour ago I discovered a photo of her when she was in the buxom flame of her youth.
WATSON: But Holmes, I thought you'd burnt all those old photos.
HOLMES: This particular photograph was deputising as a bookmark in Dostoyevsky's Crime And Punishment.
WATSON: But why on earth, pray, were you poking around in Fyodor's masterpiece?
HOLMES: I was in philosophical mood with the coming of the equinox and I was trying to remember a certain profundity that I had encountered in that most excellent of literary works.
WATSON: Good Lord! And did you find it, old man?
HOLMES: Indeed I did, Botty Watty. It was bookmarked with the Dark One's photo at the very spot.
WATSON: And what is this profundity that led you there, may I enquire?
HOLMES: "Talk nonsense, but talk your nonsense and I shall kiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's."
WATSON: Good Lord! Why, that's deeper than Hudders' lemon drizzle cake. Tell me, old man, do you feel terribly upset now that you've found it?
HOLMES: The photo or the quote? I feel neither regret nor sadness for either. Both belong to a past I neither care for nor regard with interest.
WATSON: Oh, really, Holmes, you do tell the most whopping porky pies at times, you know. I can clearly see that you are not yourself. Tell you what, let's go for a stroll in the park and see if we can come upon that Mrs Hester and her fair bosom. It'll take your mind off the remnants.
HOLMES: My dear Watson, when I want titillation I shall settle down with a good book and some Horlicks.
WATSON: Suit yourself, old man. Just trying to help.
HOLMES: Anyway, why did you broach the subject of the Dark One?
WATSON: Oh, well, no reason, really. Well, if you must know Hudders stumbled on a photo of her in my bedside table whilst dusting and all hell has broken loose. A woman scorned...,
HOLMES: Not you as well, Watty? Caught under her spell.
WATSON: 'Fraid so, old chap. What is this monstrous pull she has over the male species of a certain tendency and waywardness?
HOLMES: One favourable glance in one's direction was sufficient to turn one's internal organs into blithering jelly. Most curious. I trust you explained to Hudders that she is of the night and shall never return to our light?
WATSON: I did, Holmes. It seemed to smooth things over some what what what.
HOLMES: And to think that she and I nearly...
WATSON: And she and I...
HOLMES: In the potting shed of all places.
WATSON: In the shrubbery of all places.
HOLMES: With no regard for the gardener.
WATSON: Ditto.
HOLMES: (sighs deeply) What nonsense did we descend to that day, Watson?
WATSON: 'Twas definitely the wrong way. But our way.
HOLMES: But I have no wish to kiss anyone for it.
WATSON: Nor I, old man.
HOLMES: We were but a nanowhisker away from total ruin.
WATSON: Or a threesome even, but permit me to elucidate no further.
HOLMES: Indeed. And that, as Fyodor would say, is the beginning of a new story.
WATSON: Yes, quite.
HOLMES: And we have yet to solve the mystery of the missing one-legged pygmy Doberman and the headless tabby cat on Brewer Street.
WATSON: Point well made, Holmes.
(both hold their respective photo of the Dark One aloft)
WATSON: Into the fire, old thing?
HOLMES: Irrefutably, old bean.
BOTH: Crinkle and burn o Dark One!
WATSON: Crumpet at eleven?
HOLMES: Not half!
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: Any more news on the Dark One?
HOLMES: Well, my wacky quacky, it is most curious that you should mention it, because but half an hour ago I discovered a photo of her when she was in the buxom flame of her youth.
WATSON: But Holmes, I thought you'd burnt all those old photos.
HOLMES: This particular photograph was deputising as a bookmark in Dostoyevsky's Crime And Punishment.
WATSON: But why on earth, pray, were you poking around in Fyodor's masterpiece?
HOLMES: I was in philosophical mood with the coming of the equinox and I was trying to remember a certain profundity that I had encountered in that most excellent of literary works.
WATSON: Good Lord! And did you find it, old man?
HOLMES: Indeed I did, Botty Watty. It was bookmarked with the Dark One's photo at the very spot.
WATSON: And what is this profundity that led you there, may I enquire?
HOLMES: "Talk nonsense, but talk your nonsense and I shall kiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's."
WATSON: Good Lord! Why, that's deeper than Hudders' lemon drizzle cake. Tell me, old man, do you feel terribly upset now that you've found it?
HOLMES: The photo or the quote? I feel neither regret nor sadness for either. Both belong to a past I neither care for nor regard with interest.
WATSON: Oh, really, Holmes, you do tell the most whopping porky pies at times, you know. I can clearly see that you are not yourself. Tell you what, let's go for a stroll in the park and see if we can come upon that Mrs Hester and her fair bosom. It'll take your mind off the remnants.
HOLMES: My dear Watson, when I want titillation I shall settle down with a good book and some Horlicks.
WATSON: Suit yourself, old man. Just trying to help.
HOLMES: Anyway, why did you broach the subject of the Dark One?
WATSON: Oh, well, no reason, really. Well, if you must know Hudders stumbled on a photo of her in my bedside table whilst dusting and all hell has broken loose. A woman scorned...,
HOLMES: Not you as well, Watty? Caught under her spell.
WATSON: 'Fraid so, old chap. What is this monstrous pull she has over the male species of a certain tendency and waywardness?
HOLMES: One favourable glance in one's direction was sufficient to turn one's internal organs into blithering jelly. Most curious. I trust you explained to Hudders that she is of the night and shall never return to our light?
WATSON: I did, Holmes. It seemed to smooth things over some what what what.
HOLMES: And to think that she and I nearly...
WATSON: And she and I...
HOLMES: In the potting shed of all places.
WATSON: In the shrubbery of all places.
HOLMES: With no regard for the gardener.
WATSON: Ditto.
HOLMES: (sighs deeply) What nonsense did we descend to that day, Watson?
WATSON: 'Twas definitely the wrong way. But our way.
HOLMES: But I have no wish to kiss anyone for it.
WATSON: Nor I, old man.
HOLMES: We were but a nanowhisker away from total ruin.
WATSON: Or a threesome even, but permit me to elucidate no further.
HOLMES: Indeed. And that, as Fyodor would say, is the beginning of a new story.
WATSON: Yes, quite.
HOLMES: And we have yet to solve the mystery of the missing one-legged pygmy Doberman and the headless tabby cat on Brewer Street.
WATSON: Point well made, Holmes.
(both hold their respective photo of the Dark One aloft)
WATSON: Into the fire, old thing?
HOLMES: Irrefutably, old bean.
BOTH: Crinkle and burn o Dark One!
WATSON: Crumpet at eleven?
HOLMES: Not half!
Monday, June 11, 2007
SUMMER FRIVOL0TARY - Q LIMERIX
SUMMER IS ALMOST UPON US. WITH MUCH FRIVOLOTARY, WEEZ CHILLIN' IN DA SUN, INNIT. WIKKED. Q LIMERIX.
FROM THE SHORTLY TO BE INGESTED ANTHOLOGY OF The Very Best Of Tails From The Bird & Buffalo Volume 0.5, WE BRING YOU...
THE LIMERICK OF OZ
by The Auld Buffalo
There was a young man from Australia
Who had elephantine genitalia
His ancestors were felons
His balls were like melons
And his dick was a map of Westphalia
IF YOU'D LIKE YOUR LIMERICK TO APPEAR HERE, OR SIMPLY IF YOU'D LIKE TO SHARE YOUR WANTON GARGOYLES WID US, SEND DA MESSAGE TO: birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
FROM THE SHORTLY TO BE INGESTED ANTHOLOGY OF The Very Best Of Tails From The Bird & Buffalo Volume 0.5, WE BRING YOU...
THE LIMERICK OF OZ
by The Auld Buffalo
There was a young man from Australia
Who had elephantine genitalia
His ancestors were felons
His balls were like melons
And his dick was a map of Westphalia
IF YOU'D LIKE YOUR LIMERICK TO APPEAR HERE, OR SIMPLY IF YOU'D LIKE TO SHARE YOUR WANTON GARGOYLES WID US, SEND DA MESSAGE TO: birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
Thursday, June 07, 2007
DYLAN SAYS: SUPPORT MORE POETRY ON YouTube
I balanced ma' tool, brought Woody to mind,
The beers to come seemed nuthin' but grief
I'm blowin' in the wind, me and ma' behind
In balance with ma' mojo, but I can't get no relief
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GImgXAg-Sh4
SUPPORT MORE POETRY ON YouTube, NOW, DUDES!
DOWNLOAD YOUR POEM ON YouTube & EDUCATE & ALLEVIATE THE ASSES
The beers to come seemed nuthin' but grief
I'm blowin' in the wind, me and ma' behind
In balance with ma' mojo, but I can't get no relief
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GImgXAg-Sh4
SUPPORT MORE POETRY ON YouTube, NOW, DUDES!
DOWNLOAD YOUR POEM ON YouTube & EDUCATE & ALLEVIATE THE ASSES
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
LUCINDA NEVER L0VED ME - Q HANDKERCHIEF
BIRD: Love, love, love. I know, you're expecting another tired old blog entry about the one thing that - sometimes - separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. But habitually, I want to draw your attention to something else - the curious frequency of bad happenings with those amongst you who have come into contact with Lucinda. Blawwww, I hear you say. There's more than one Lucinda, and some Lucindas are quite nice - kinda hot too. But when I sent out a questionnaire to blokes around the whirled about the deep hurt they've encountered in their oftenwhile miserable lives, one name kept cropping up again and again - Lucinda. So... I was inverting that maybe there is one Lucinda who is to blame for the exponential increase in handkerchief sales since 1997. From 200,000 a year since 1945 to a whopping 3.67 million a year in 2006. Sure Lee, no coincidence.
To put this into some dire consequence, here is just a cross section of the comments from blokes who should know better:
Rod Dickfurbrains(real name withheld pending legal arguments):
Everything was fine until I mentioned that word (Love. ed.) That night she tattooed the word "Loser!" on my Freddy. Mom says I shouldn't take it lying down. I keep telling her, it won't stand up anymore. God, I miss her!
Norm Dummyassholler (as above)
She smiled a lot and then soiled my sheets. I need closure. Sorry. Gotta go now. There's a man at a door with a syringe.
Mort Allfool (as above)
That's not love. I wouldn't feed it to my dog.
Dez Emboweld (as above)
She was. We were. I am. No more.
Sohahi Domigachi Mark I (as above)
My flower was removed of its petals. My lawyer seeks my satisfaction.
So you see, it's quite serious. Now, it would appear that there is a common needle running through all these blokes' threads. But... is it just the one Lucinda or many? Let's look at the evidence. They all speak of loss. They all find it hard to fully express themselves. And they all feel that Lucinda never loved them. I'd say that's enough empirical data to draw the convolution that more than likely it is THE SAME LUCINDA, and indeed after compelling new evidence from a supergrass in Arizona named Buster (real name, habitually, this guy is built like a brick shite house and has been fed on live barn owls from an early age) I can announce to the infamodular world cyber community that LUCINDA is NOT her real name. Now... the question is will CLARA DOTTY come clean or does this blog have to make her?! Personally, I reckon we have to make her.
So, it is time to extract a punishment that befits the crime, and for that, I turn to you, oh esteemed cyber dwellers.
You have until July 1st 2007 to suggest an appropriate fate for Potty Dotty's granny - yes, granny! - and Friends Of The Bird & Buff shall undergo the necessary performance on a heath of our choosing.
So without further igloo, start suggesting... NOW!
birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: The Bird & Buffalo would like to point out that Clarissa Braithwaite "Knockers" Dotty was not harmed in the writing of this blog entry and is being kept in relative obduracy and being fed a nutritious diet of fruit, fibre, meat and two veg until Judgement Day. For those disensatiated by this disclaimer, may we refer you to the following disclaimer which aptly reiterates everything anyone has ever wanted to say about disclaimers in the long and varicated history of disclaimers. Peace be unto the derivables!
http://www.rjgeib.com/about-me/disclaimer.html
To put this into some dire consequence, here is just a cross section of the comments from blokes who should know better:
Rod Dickfurbrains(real name withheld pending legal arguments):
Everything was fine until I mentioned that word (Love. ed.) That night she tattooed the word "Loser!" on my Freddy. Mom says I shouldn't take it lying down. I keep telling her, it won't stand up anymore. God, I miss her!
Norm Dummyassholler (as above)
She smiled a lot and then soiled my sheets. I need closure. Sorry. Gotta go now. There's a man at a door with a syringe.
Mort Allfool (as above)
That's not love. I wouldn't feed it to my dog.
Dez Emboweld (as above)
She was. We were. I am. No more.
Sohahi Domigachi Mark I (as above)
My flower was removed of its petals. My lawyer seeks my satisfaction.
So you see, it's quite serious. Now, it would appear that there is a common needle running through all these blokes' threads. But... is it just the one Lucinda or many? Let's look at the evidence. They all speak of loss. They all find it hard to fully express themselves. And they all feel that Lucinda never loved them. I'd say that's enough empirical data to draw the convolution that more than likely it is THE SAME LUCINDA, and indeed after compelling new evidence from a supergrass in Arizona named Buster (real name, habitually, this guy is built like a brick shite house and has been fed on live barn owls from an early age) I can announce to the infamodular world cyber community that LUCINDA is NOT her real name. Now... the question is will CLARA DOTTY come clean or does this blog have to make her?! Personally, I reckon we have to make her.
So, it is time to extract a punishment that befits the crime, and for that, I turn to you, oh esteemed cyber dwellers.
You have until July 1st 2007 to suggest an appropriate fate for Potty Dotty's granny - yes, granny! - and Friends Of The Bird & Buff shall undergo the necessary performance on a heath of our choosing.
So without further igloo, start suggesting... NOW!
birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: The Bird & Buffalo would like to point out that Clarissa Braithwaite "Knockers" Dotty was not harmed in the writing of this blog entry and is being kept in relative obduracy and being fed a nutritious diet of fruit, fibre, meat and two veg until Judgement Day. For those disensatiated by this disclaimer, may we refer you to the following disclaimer which aptly reiterates everything anyone has ever wanted to say about disclaimers in the long and varicated history of disclaimers. Peace be unto the derivables!
http://www.rjgeib.com/about-me/disclaimer.html
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
INFERNAL QUESTIONS & THE EVER PIDDLING STREAM OF CONSCIENTIOUSNESS
BUFFALO: So many questions, so little time.
BIRD: Maudlin again, are we?
BUFFALO: Dude, I am THIS close to pulling my Magnum out and blowing me fecking brains out.
BIRD: Why don't you?
BUFFALO: Coz it won't solve anything, willit? Coz the bad karma will come get me over there, on the udder side of da fence. Coz say what you like, we are all more than just carbon. Coz somewhere I can be, and not in a fizzy logical sense, if ya get m'drift. Bluddy Rud Yard and his If. Not if but somewhere. Somewhere I belong. Somewhere I shall overcome. Somewhere, as Eisenstein once said - forward! Somewhere I shall be at one with the Universal Power Grid of dreams and archetypal douche bags. As Wittgenstein put it - “Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.” Or as Olaf Dribble, the Swede that never was put it - "How many apples?"
BIRD: Bravo, El Buffters! Well spoken. But if X and Y don't get on, what hope is there for the rest of us?
BUFFALO: In the ever piddling stream of conscientiousness, hope rings but it's always the wrong number.
BIRD: Wow.
BUFFALO: The debtors are at my door, dude. Pray for me. And the Dark One is mustering her forces for one last Putsch. And we both know there is nothing worse than a failed coup d'etat. If I'm not back by this time to Myra, shake a leg, and cup yer cake, coz this ear Bovidae is a-roaming no more. Arf, arf!
AND IN OTHER NEWS:
Potty Dotty calls for democracy in Minnesota;
Sparky says no to toe jam and hello to Joe's mam;
and Walter Egoless says "I've never had id so good!"
COMING SOON:
DYLAN MAKES IMPASSIONED PLEA FOR POETRY ON YouTube. No, Really.
BIRD: What now?
BUFFALO: Call me Rodney, but I've never been happy, nay, I have no concept of happiness, I don't expect to be happy, I don't even WANT to be happy and as for reassessing my life - from what to what? Today, I'm here. Yesterday, I was there. Tomorrow, I'll be somewhere else. Really, dude, it's no big deal.
BIRD: Maudlin again, are we?
BUFFALO: Dude, I am THIS close to pulling my Magnum out and blowing me fecking brains out.
BIRD: Why don't you?
BUFFALO: Coz it won't solve anything, willit? Coz the bad karma will come get me over there, on the udder side of da fence. Coz say what you like, we are all more than just carbon. Coz somewhere I can be, and not in a fizzy logical sense, if ya get m'drift. Bluddy Rud Yard and his If. Not if but somewhere. Somewhere I belong. Somewhere I shall overcome. Somewhere, as Eisenstein once said - forward! Somewhere I shall be at one with the Universal Power Grid of dreams and archetypal douche bags. As Wittgenstein put it - “Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.” Or as Olaf Dribble, the Swede that never was put it - "How many apples?"
BIRD: Bravo, El Buffters! Well spoken. But if X and Y don't get on, what hope is there for the rest of us?
BUFFALO: In the ever piddling stream of conscientiousness, hope rings but it's always the wrong number.
BIRD: Wow.
BUFFALO: The debtors are at my door, dude. Pray for me. And the Dark One is mustering her forces for one last Putsch. And we both know there is nothing worse than a failed coup d'etat. If I'm not back by this time to Myra, shake a leg, and cup yer cake, coz this ear Bovidae is a-roaming no more. Arf, arf!
AND IN OTHER NEWS:
Potty Dotty calls for democracy in Minnesota;
Sparky says no to toe jam and hello to Joe's mam;
and Walter Egoless says "I've never had id so good!"
COMING SOON:
DYLAN MAKES IMPASSIONED PLEA FOR POETRY ON YouTube. No, Really.
Monday, June 04, 2007
SAVE PARIS HILTON NOW!
WE, THE UNDECIDED, BELIEVE THAT RICH BITCH PARIS HILTON SHOULD BE SAVED NOW, BECAUSE SHE IS A HUMAN BEING AND UM, ER, WELL, SHE'S A FAKE BLONDE, BUT WE WON'T HOLD THAT AGAINST HER, AND UM, SHE HAS THE CHARM AND CHARISMA OF A FLATULENT GIANT SLUG DROWNING IN ITS OWN SLIME, BUT WE WON'T HOLD THAT AGAINST HER, AND BECAUSE SHE HAS DEVOTED THOUSANDS OF HOURS OF PRECIOUS TV AIR TIME TO HER SELF-CENTRED, DUMB JOURNEY OF INCONSEQUENTIAL SEX AND PRECIOUS LITTLE ROCK AND ROLL, BUT WE WON'T HOLD THAT AGAINST HER, AND BECAUSE SHE HAS CONSISTENTLY FAILED TO ENTERTAIN OR INSPIRE ANY OTHER LIVING BEING ON THIS PLANET WITH HER PRANCING AROUND THE WORLD WITH NO PANTIES ON AND TRYING TO SING LIKE BRITNEY, BUT WE WON'T HOLD THAT AGAINST HER, AND BECAUSE SHE HAS SQUANDERED MILLIONS OF POUNDS ON USELESS ITEMS OF JEWELLERY AND CLOTHES AND FAILED BEAUTY TREATMENTS AND BRAINLESS ANTICS INVOLVING LOTS OF BOOZE AND IDIOTIC YOUNG MALES WHOSE WANGERS ARE MIGHTIER THAN THEIR SENSE, BUT WE WON'T HOLD THAT AGAINST HER, AND BECAUSE, AND LET THIS BE FINALLY, SINCE WE ALL HAVE A LIMITED TIME SPAN AND INDEED A LIMITED TIME TO SPAN, AND FINALLY BECAUSE SHE HAS FAILED TO ACHIEVE ANYTHING IN HER LIFE OR MANAGED TO HELP ANYONE ELSE ACHIEVE ANYTHING IN THEIR LIVES, BUT WE WON'T HOLD THAT AGAINST HER. WELL, ACTUALLY, LET'S NOT SAVE HER AT ALL. LET'S IGNORE HER, LET'S ALL COME OUT EN MASS AT MIDNIGHT TONIGHT WITH A CANDLE AND SHOUT AT THE TOP OF OUR VOICES "I WAS WRONG. I AM ASHAMED THAT I EVER SHOWED AN INTEREST IN THIS TALANTLESS TART. I PROMISE I WILL NOT DO THIS AGAIN. WITHOUT ME, SHE IS NOTHING. INDEED, WITH ME SHE IS NOTHING. PARIS PATHETIC HILTON, WE HAVE SUFFERED ENOUGH. GOOD RIDDANCE!
THIS WAS A PARTY POLITICAL BROADCAST ON BEHALF OF THE MAKE NON-ENTITIES HISTORY CAMPAIGN. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WE ARE COMING TO GET YOU. NO, REALLY.
THIS WAS A PARTY POLITICAL BROADCAST ON BEHALF OF THE MAKE NON-ENTITIES HISTORY CAMPAIGN. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND WE ARE COMING TO GET YOU. NO, REALLY.
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