BIRD: Buff, what's Sparky been up to lately?
BUFFALO: Fookin' up, as usual.
BIRD: What's he done now?
BUFFALO: I've been waiting all week for my first DVD from NetFlix. It finally occurred to me that bonehead might've intercepted it. Sure enough. The flaming twit didn't even bother to read the address label. He sent it back, because HE hadn't ordered it.
BIRD: Have you properly chastised him, then?
BUFFALO: No, it does no good. He just stands like a plank, inscrutable as a bleedin' Buddha. Doesn't matter if you praise him and give him a dog biscuit or smack him upside the head with a snow shovel. No reaction. It's inhuman, like.
BIRD: What about his cooking? Has it improved at all?
BUFFALO: Not a bit. Every day when he returns from work he nooks some kind of vile concoction in the nooker. No idea what it is, but it smells like the toxic residue from the horse-knacking factory. I have to fumigate the oven before I can use it, and I'm spending a small fortune on room deodorizers. It's a wonder the silly twit isn't glowing in the dark.
BIRD: Has his smeller gone tits up, then?
BUFFALO: Apparently so. I doubt if he can taste anything, either. He spent 22 years pickling his tongue with vodka, y'know.
BIRD: Ah, right, he was the original old booze machine, innit? He's still on the wagon, though?
BUFFALO: Yeah, but he was a lot more fun when he was on the sauce. Now he has the sense of humor of a Catholic missionary, which is to say, nun at all.
BIRD: Blimey. Has he no hobbies?
BUFFALO: Well, there's a persistent rumor that he weaves macramé key chains from his own ass hairs, but personally I doubt if he has that much ambition.
BIRD: Do the two of you ever just sit around and chew the fat?
BUFFALO: No, even when he was still putting away a quart of shellac a day, it was like trying to talk to your big toe, only to find out that it had become anti-social, like. The attention span of a two year old when he was in his cups.
BIRD: So, what exactly is the glue that keeps this relationship together?
BUFFALO: He pays half the rent and keeps a low profile. It's a lot like being married, with only half the inconvenience.
BIRD: You two are the contemporary Odd Couple, fur shore, Buffers.
BUFFALO: True. I could write a book.
BIRD: Or a blog.
BUFFALO: There's an idea.
BIRD: Well, have to go now. Time to wax the oven.
BUFFALO: Same here. I have an appointment to have my bowling ball redrilled.
BIRD: Good luck with that.
BUFFALO: Righto, and by the by, tanks for da mammaries.
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf.
BUFFALO: Fookin' up, as usual.
BIRD: What's he done now?
BUFFALO: I've been waiting all week for my first DVD from NetFlix. It finally occurred to me that bonehead might've intercepted it. Sure enough. The flaming twit didn't even bother to read the address label. He sent it back, because HE hadn't ordered it.
BIRD: Have you properly chastised him, then?
BUFFALO: No, it does no good. He just stands like a plank, inscrutable as a bleedin' Buddha. Doesn't matter if you praise him and give him a dog biscuit or smack him upside the head with a snow shovel. No reaction. It's inhuman, like.
BIRD: What about his cooking? Has it improved at all?
BUFFALO: Not a bit. Every day when he returns from work he nooks some kind of vile concoction in the nooker. No idea what it is, but it smells like the toxic residue from the horse-knacking factory. I have to fumigate the oven before I can use it, and I'm spending a small fortune on room deodorizers. It's a wonder the silly twit isn't glowing in the dark.
BIRD: Has his smeller gone tits up, then?
BUFFALO: Apparently so. I doubt if he can taste anything, either. He spent 22 years pickling his tongue with vodka, y'know.
BIRD: Ah, right, he was the original old booze machine, innit? He's still on the wagon, though?
BUFFALO: Yeah, but he was a lot more fun when he was on the sauce. Now he has the sense of humor of a Catholic missionary, which is to say, nun at all.
BIRD: Blimey. Has he no hobbies?
BUFFALO: Well, there's a persistent rumor that he weaves macramé key chains from his own ass hairs, but personally I doubt if he has that much ambition.
BIRD: Do the two of you ever just sit around and chew the fat?
BUFFALO: No, even when he was still putting away a quart of shellac a day, it was like trying to talk to your big toe, only to find out that it had become anti-social, like. The attention span of a two year old when he was in his cups.
BIRD: So, what exactly is the glue that keeps this relationship together?
BUFFALO: He pays half the rent and keeps a low profile. It's a lot like being married, with only half the inconvenience.
BIRD: You two are the contemporary Odd Couple, fur shore, Buffers.
BUFFALO: True. I could write a book.
BIRD: Or a blog.
BUFFALO: There's an idea.
BIRD: Well, have to go now. Time to wax the oven.
BUFFALO: Same here. I have an appointment to have my bowling ball redrilled.
BIRD: Good luck with that.
BUFFALO: Righto, and by the by, tanks for da mammaries.
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf.
2 comments:
Please tell Sparky I think he must be a hell of a nice guy to be able to live with a bad-tempered Buffalo with a bird picking his nits. xxoononnie
I'm in love with Sparky.
But I'm also still laffing.
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