D-D-D-D-D-DEATH AND THE SPIDER

BIRD: Awfully quiet in here, Buffers, what's going on in the old melon, like?

BUFF: Thinking about D-D-D-D-D-Death, Birdy.

BIRD: Blimey, bit gruesome, innit?

BUFF: Not at all. We don't think about it enough. It's always out there, y'know, lurking about, waiting.

BIRD: Maybe so, but why dwell on it?

BUFF: Don't you ever feel it? Creeping around you, waiting to tap you on the shoulder?

BIRD: Fook no, you morbid sod. You've not gone off your sweeties again, have you?

BUFF: No. It's just that there's been a lot of shit and death around here lately, as Bukowski would say.

BIRD: Spiders in the tub again? Screaming girlfriends? Overflowing bog? Broken broomsticks and all?

BUFF: Eggs Zacklee. It wears on the nerves, like. Don't like killing spiders, but when they're in your face, what can a bloke do?

BIRD: In your face? Not literally?

BUFF: Well, I woke up the other night with a big fat one dangling right over me honker.

BIRD: Holy shit, Batman, did you soil yourself?

BUFF: Close, but no cigar. I swatted the bugger as hard as I could. Slam-dunked his ass against the TV screen. It knocked him silly, but he still managed to crawl behind some file boxes. So he's still there somewhere... lurking.

BIRD: Like D-D-D-D-D-Death.

BUFF: Precisely. Makes me wonder if Death isn't a big fat spider that hangs around waiting for an opportunity to dangle over your proboscis and crawl up inside and suck your brains out.

BIRD: Sacre bleu, Buff! What a revolting image. Why would you imagine such an horrible thing?

BUFF: Woke up this morning with a nosebleed.

BIRD: And you think the spider was responsible for THAT?

BUFF: Well, why else would my fookin' hooter be bleeding, like?

BIRD: Uh, cos Osbee's whacked up your blood pressure again?

BUFF: Good point. She's been a screeching pain in the ass lately.

BIRD: Time to change your phone number again?

BUFF: Possibly, witch rewinds me. . . the Coyote is seriously pissed off at me.

BIRD: Eh? The Coyote NEVER gets pissed off, innit?

BUFF: True, but I outdid myself this time. An act of incredible stupidity, for which I may have to hire someone to put a boot up me arse in order to kick-start my brain.

BIRD: Hors alors! What the heck did you DO?

BUFF: I was indiscreet, like - and as a result he is being pestered by one of my lunatic friends.

BIRD: You filthy auld Buff, what the hell were you thinking?

BUFF: I wasn't thinking, that's the whole point, innit, you plank.

BIRD: Er, right. . . so how do you intend to make amends?

BUFF: I'm giving serious thought to Seppuku.

BIRD: You're going to disembowel yourself? Do you have the proper tools?

BUFF: No, but my brother-in-law has offered to loan me his chainsaw.

BIRD: Sounds messy, Buff. Sparky will be upset, won't he?

BUFF: I plan to do it out in the woods, about a mile in. With any luck the critters will have picked my bones cleaned and scattered them before anyone knows I'm missing.

BIRD: Surely you're not really planning to discorporate, like?

BUFF: I don't know, Birdy, it alla depends onna da weather, as Father Guido Sarducci says.

BIRD: What's the weather got to do wiffit?

BUFF: If the weather stays nice, as it is now, I may postpone it.

BIRD: You auld lunatic. You've gone flippin' wonkers, Buff. You realize that you probably just need to get laid, innit?

BUFF: Yes, probably, but there's not a bird in sight, lad.

BIRD: But what about the birds at Borders, Buff?

BUFF: Good point, but I can't go there with a bloody nose bleed, can I?

BIRD: Your still dribbling from the facial pecker like?

BUFF: Jawohl, mein herring.

BIRD: Shouldn't you be seeing a doctor, then?

BUFF: Probably, but Osbee will have a shit fit if I make another doc appointment. She's worried about losing her health insurance.

BIRD: Well, fooker, Buff. Can't you go on Medicare or some damn thing?

BUFF: Yeah, but it would mean giving up my beer money, Berky. It ain't fookin' free, y'know.

BIRD: Much as I'd love to hear more of your horrible fookin' life, I have to wax the oven now then say adieu to D-D-D-D-D-Death in the shower, like.

BUFF: Truly creepy. Squelching at eleven.

BIRD: Arf, arf!

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Arf, arf!

MORE PROBLEMS WITH DA REAR THAN YOU CAN WAVE A STICK AT

Woke up this morning to find... a wrinkled bottom. Now how did THAT get there? So I googled it. And that's when I realised... there are a lot of people who let their arse go. Or is it ass? I'm never sure. Except I know I have one and I know it's wrinkled. And it wasn't the last time I looked. But one interesting fact I did pick up from an online message board - or is it forum? - is that it is a common complaint among nuns. And chief executives. Wrinkled bottom. Not even Wikipedia dares to include an entry but on present estimates 1.2 BILLION... let me say that again, 1.2 BILLION people worldwide suffer from it and the medical profession hasn't got a fecking clue where it comes from or what to do about it. Try all the creams you like. Consult your local plastic surgeon. See a faith healer even. Nothing but nothing works. And here's the worst thing about it. It gets worse. Yes. That's right. It doesn't stay a little wrinkled. It gets more and more wrinkled until you find your grandparents have pitched up on your derriere. Oh, shit, feck, foch even, you've just noticed you've got a wrinkled bottom too, right? Help! You say? OK, well, I don't know if this works, but I have devised a series of exercises to try to unwrinkle the butt based on old Sanskrit texts and ancient recipes for toejam brulee. Bear with me on this, I think we might have cracked it. Geddit? There's only five of them so even a cretinous single-celled swamp dweller - yeah, just like your next door neighbour - will be able to follow them and get some sort of relief.

1. Raise your left arm in the air, spread your legs as wide as they will go, then bounce up and down off a bed of approximately ten nails for a minute.

2. Attach a clothes line peg to each cheek, then attack one peg by using a strong piece of cord to the nearest locked door and pull hard for 3o seconds, and/or until you feel a burning sensation.

3. Rub your arse/ass/butt hard along the nearest cobbled surface for five minutes or until you feel faint and smell blood or pus.

4. Lower and raise your arse/ass/butt onto the side of a bath 5o times then grab the nearest hairbrush and scrape any residue or dead skin away and check on the results.

5. Get someone who's very special to you and will do literally anything for you without asking questions or worrying about medical bills to suck hard on each cheek for five minutes at a time every hour on the hour for seven days.

And if that doesn't work, try shoving a cigar up the crack and lighting it. Cigar smoke contains a chemical known in the hairdresser's profession as ZLT16 which is proven in laboratory tests to relax hair follicles and smooth out dermatological deluvial cavities. If blistering occurs, consult your doctor, lawyer, teacher, cleaner, butcher, baker, banker, dentist, economist, agent, priest, local bystander. Or better still, buy a dog.

OR... contact wrinkledbottomsputtothetest@weirdbuttdiseases.com

Arf, arf!