Showing posts with label laughter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laughter. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
OF PROBITY AND UDDER BLUNDERS
BUFFALO: The udder day, my head doc Maxine said, "You know, Buff, I'm not sure who's probing who here any more." So I said... "Shouldn't that be whom." A cheap shot, I know, but hey, it's not every day Maxine probes so deep. Oooh la la.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
A BLOG WITHIN A BLOG, OR IZZIT THE?
BIRD: Dude, I've got an idea for a blog within a blog.
BUFFALO: I'm all ears.
BIRD: It's about this poor fookwad who's got bipolar disorder, sleep apnea and narcolepsy, right? He's coming off two weeks of Horrormania and is as depressed and suicidal as dried shit on a potting stick. You know, seriously fugged up, like.
BUFFALO: Hold the jiminy, Roger. I've got all those things, innit?
BIRD: Blimey, so you have! But this guy is a fictional character.
BUFFALO: But I know this guy. Fook, I AM this guy. I should write his dialogue. Lemme write his dialogue. I'll portray him in the film too. But only online. Those movie fuggsters are way too fond of early starts.
BIRD: Wizard. It'll be authentic, like, woenit?
BUFFALO: Fook the Casbah, Nigel. Now, what we've gotta decide is, does this poor shitfook loosely based on this here poor shitfook dribbling here before you live or die?
BIRD: Well, he can live till he dies, like. Long as you're still breathing, the dialogue'll be flowing like cat piss in a dog fight, innit. You can't make up shit like that. I mean, you're crazier than a shit-house rat, right?
BUFFALO: I sure am. Off the scale. A lost fruit and nut. TOTALLY screwed in all orifices, off the record, like. So we'll make him a regular character. Hey, wait, does he get shagged or not?
BIRD: Possibly.
BUFFALO: I think he should get shagged.
BIRD: Yeah, well, you would, wouldn't you?
BUFFALO: A lot. Till his brains splatter on life's sullied sidewalk.
BIRD: Harelip! Harelip!
BUFFALO: Get us another coupla pints, willya?
BIRD: Toppo idea, Buff. Now, this wacko has a buddy, right?
BUFFALO: Right.
BIRD: A very clever buddy who through the power of superior intellect and all manner of trickery and chemical concoctions gradually brings this guy back from the brink into what unwittingly turns out to be something much worse.
BUFFALO: I see. But what could possibly be worse?
BIRD: Ah, now that's where the dancing Rottweilers and lyrical rabbits trapped in the theatre of the Ab-Turd come in.
BUFFALO: The what?
BIRD: But is it real or in his head?
BUFFALO: Dude, I can't write dialogue for that. I don't know nobody who's got a dancing Rottweiler or a lyrical rabbit.
BIRD: Dude, the Theatre of the Ab-Turd is a metaphor.
BUFFALO: A metaphor for wot?
BIRD: Dunno yet. We'll think of something. Anyway, this nutjob gets treated by the genius guy who despite his best efforts can't save him.
BUFFALO: You mean, the loon snuffs himself?
BIRD: Yeah. Or does he?
BUFFALO: And that's it, is it, the idea in full elaboratory splendour?
BIRD: Reassuringly simple yet empirically elusive, doncha think?
BUFFALO: It's not without intrigue and confusion, I'll give ya that. OK, let's try it. When do we start?
BIRD: We already have.
BUFFALO: Huh?
BIRD: See those dancing Rottweilers?
BUFFALO: And the lyrical rabbits... behind the red curtain. Omifook. It really has started. But when's it going to end?
BIRD: When the dialogue runs out, dude. I already told you.
BUFFALO: If only Audrey Horne were here...
BIRD: Oh, but she is.
BUFFALO: Audrey?!
BIRD: Behind the red curtain. Blog da blog at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: I'm all ears.
BIRD: It's about this poor fookwad who's got bipolar disorder, sleep apnea and narcolepsy, right? He's coming off two weeks of Horrormania and is as depressed and suicidal as dried shit on a potting stick. You know, seriously fugged up, like.
BUFFALO: Hold the jiminy, Roger. I've got all those things, innit?
BIRD: Blimey, so you have! But this guy is a fictional character.
BUFFALO: But I know this guy. Fook, I AM this guy. I should write his dialogue. Lemme write his dialogue. I'll portray him in the film too. But only online. Those movie fuggsters are way too fond of early starts.
BIRD: Wizard. It'll be authentic, like, woenit?
BUFFALO: Fook the Casbah, Nigel. Now, what we've gotta decide is, does this poor shitfook loosely based on this here poor shitfook dribbling here before you live or die?
BIRD: Well, he can live till he dies, like. Long as you're still breathing, the dialogue'll be flowing like cat piss in a dog fight, innit. You can't make up shit like that. I mean, you're crazier than a shit-house rat, right?
BUFFALO: I sure am. Off the scale. A lost fruit and nut. TOTALLY screwed in all orifices, off the record, like. So we'll make him a regular character. Hey, wait, does he get shagged or not?
BIRD: Possibly.
BUFFALO: I think he should get shagged.
BIRD: Yeah, well, you would, wouldn't you?
BUFFALO: A lot. Till his brains splatter on life's sullied sidewalk.
BIRD: Harelip! Harelip!
BUFFALO: Get us another coupla pints, willya?
BIRD: Toppo idea, Buff. Now, this wacko has a buddy, right?
BUFFALO: Right.
BIRD: A very clever buddy who through the power of superior intellect and all manner of trickery and chemical concoctions gradually brings this guy back from the brink into what unwittingly turns out to be something much worse.
BUFFALO: I see. But what could possibly be worse?
BIRD: Ah, now that's where the dancing Rottweilers and lyrical rabbits trapped in the theatre of the Ab-Turd come in.
BUFFALO: The what?
BIRD: But is it real or in his head?
BUFFALO: Dude, I can't write dialogue for that. I don't know nobody who's got a dancing Rottweiler or a lyrical rabbit.
BIRD: Dude, the Theatre of the Ab-Turd is a metaphor.
BUFFALO: A metaphor for wot?
BIRD: Dunno yet. We'll think of something. Anyway, this nutjob gets treated by the genius guy who despite his best efforts can't save him.
BUFFALO: You mean, the loon snuffs himself?
BIRD: Yeah. Or does he?
BUFFALO: And that's it, is it, the idea in full elaboratory splendour?
BIRD: Reassuringly simple yet empirically elusive, doncha think?
BUFFALO: It's not without intrigue and confusion, I'll give ya that. OK, let's try it. When do we start?
BIRD: We already have.
BUFFALO: Huh?
BIRD: See those dancing Rottweilers?
BUFFALO: And the lyrical rabbits... behind the red curtain. Omifook. It really has started. But when's it going to end?
BIRD: When the dialogue runs out, dude. I already told you.
BUFFALO: If only Audrey Horne were here...
BIRD: Oh, but she is.
BUFFALO: Audrey?!
BIRD: Behind the red curtain. Blog da blog at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
RAZOR BLADDER
BUFFALO: Muddily bloodily indomitably irrevocably presumably imperceptibly exponentially existentially verily merrily quite contrarily incredibly sparingly artificially incomprehensibly intoxicatingly lonely and...
When the senator known as Barack
Gave a speech from the back of a yak
Though try as he might
The yak was so tight
That his speech came out yakkity-yak.
BIRD: Dude, you need to get laid.
BUFFALO: The Lonely Adverb... does anyone REALLY care?
BIRD: Is that the Michigan Laffing Academy? Yeah, you need to get an ambulance to the auld Buff's place quick. The adverbs are flowing and he hasn't got a stick.
BUFFALO: Arf-ily, barf-ily, carf-ily, diddly, dee, ly.
BIRD: Hang on, Buffters. They're coming.
BUFFALO: Lone-ily. SO lone-ily. Piddle me biddle ly. Eeee. See that asparagus. It's stalking me!
BIRD: Rimshot! But is it too late?
When the senator known as Barack
Gave a speech from the back of a yak
Though try as he might
The yak was so tight
That his speech came out yakkity-yak.
BIRD: Dude, you need to get laid.
BUFFALO: The Lonely Adverb... does anyone REALLY care?
BIRD: Is that the Michigan Laffing Academy? Yeah, you need to get an ambulance to the auld Buff's place quick. The adverbs are flowing and he hasn't got a stick.
BUFFALO: Arf-ily, barf-ily, carf-ily, diddly, dee, ly.
BIRD: Hang on, Buffters. They're coming.
BUFFALO: Lone-ily. SO lone-ily. Piddle me biddle ly. Eeee. See that asparagus. It's stalking me!
BIRD: Rimshot! But is it too late?
Thursday, July 03, 2008
COMING SOON: B&B THE SITCOM
I was at the Bore Fest doing captions for "Juno and the Paycock" when I suddenly became aware that I was surrounded by red curtains -just like in the Black Lodge from "Twin Peaks". It hit me then that I had stumbled into the auld Buff's dream in which he fancied himself to be Special Agent Dale Cooper, having breakfast with Audrey Horne at the Great Northern. This wigged me out a bit. I tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom but then I began to get rather peggish. I had a sudden craving for a bucket of hot black coffee and a cherry pie and sent the gopher out to fetch them.
About an hour later as I was finishing off the pie, Caroline (our receptionist and office tart) buzzed me. She was all in a dither about some cheeky bloke who'd wandered into the lobby and made a pass at her after introducing himself as my uncle from America - Professor Splendor G. Mainwaring. This was a bit odd seeing as how I don't have a fookin' uncle in America, so I asked her to describe the fellow and then realized that the mystery man could be no other than the auld Buff himself, who'd been threatening for months to cross the pond and drop in on me in London when I least expected it.
The auld lunatic told Caroline that I should meet him after work at the Hound & Hare, just around the corner from the Bore Fest. Caroline asked if she could come along, as she seemed to fancy the Buff, proving once again that there is no accounting for taste.
At the stroke of five Caroline and I made our way to the pub, she as happy as a lark - but myself dreading that the Buff might try to ram his great woolly, horned head up Caroline's skirt. Thus did I prepare myself for the wurst... or the blutwurst, if you get m'drift.
AND DON'T FORGET DA RUDDER UNLIKE NO UDDER AT...
http://www.insolentrudder.net/
Thursday, April 17, 2008
EINSTEIN'S LAST THEORY INNIT
BIRD: Wot's happnin', dude?
BUFFALO: Nuffink much. Just reading about that darty old muff muncher Bertie Einstein.
BIRD: Eh? Xplain, plis, Lucy.
BUFFALO: Great new bio just out - Einstein: Quantum Chick Magnet. Did you know, Birdy, that Einstein married his second wife Elsa cuz she was well endowed, like?
BIRD: Great fornicating follicles, Buffters! Is nothing sacred?!
BUFFALO: He postulated that if you are attracted to women with large breasts, the attraction is stronger if there is a DNA connection.
BIRD: Fascinating stuff.
BUFFALO: For real. This came to be known as Einstein's Theory of Relative Titty.
BIRD: Rimshot!
BUFFALO: Nuffink much. Just reading about that darty old muff muncher Bertie Einstein.
BIRD: Eh? Xplain, plis, Lucy.
BUFFALO: Great new bio just out - Einstein: Quantum Chick Magnet. Did you know, Birdy, that Einstein married his second wife Elsa cuz she was well endowed, like?
BIRD: Great fornicating follicles, Buffters! Is nothing sacred?!
BUFFALO: He postulated that if you are attracted to women with large breasts, the attraction is stronger if there is a DNA connection.
BIRD: Fascinating stuff.
BUFFALO: For real. This came to be known as Einstein's Theory of Relative Titty.
BIRD: Rimshot!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
REQUIEM FOR A SHITHOUSE RAT
SPARKY: He's on the cellphone. He's asking for ya, man.
BIRD: Thank you, God. Put him on.
BUFFALO: Meet me by the grave of Percy Longwater Gooding, by the light of the silvery moon.
BIRD: Dude?
BUFFALO: Why Percy Longwater Gooding? Because his bones are slight and the earth is soft.
BIRD: Are you OK?
BUFFALO: How we let the silence swallow us up. So little moves me any more. If only I had an extra pair of lungs.
BIRD: Just how much trank have you had, dude?
BUFFALO: I’ve kept this last piece specially for you. Sorry if I’m a little vague, but human contact was never my forte. Don't forget to water the balls, old chum. Cheerio, Lucy.
(cellphone cuts out)
BIRD: Sparky?
SPARKY: Fifi?
FIFI: Dotty?
DOTTY: Watson?
WATSON: Holmes?
HOLMES: Hm. One is reminded of The Notorious Case Of The Missing Gamete Of Bayswater, alas no longer in print, but if memory serves me right a most malicious toxic mixture of horse manure, pig's trotters' glue and Toblerone was injected into a passing coal man for a bet.
WATSON: Oh, good Lord, Holmes! That unfortunate creature went quite bonkers and after running the length and breadth of Westminster Bridge stark bollock - a-hm - naked plunged into the murky waters of the cavernous Thames never to be seen or heard of again. You don't think...
BIRD: You don't think... It's finally happened! He really has become as crazy as a shithouse rat! And all before we ever got to share that pint at the Dog & Duck. 'Tis a cruel fate that bares a false wind on the aft. Fare ye well, dear Buffters. Alas, I knew him not but his mark is undeliverable and writ large. It shall dwell in this here cyberspace FOREVER. Ah MEN!
BIRD: Thank you, God. Put him on.
BUFFALO: Meet me by the grave of Percy Longwater Gooding, by the light of the silvery moon.
BIRD: Dude?
BUFFALO: Why Percy Longwater Gooding? Because his bones are slight and the earth is soft.
BIRD: Are you OK?
BUFFALO: How we let the silence swallow us up. So little moves me any more. If only I had an extra pair of lungs.
BIRD: Just how much trank have you had, dude?
BUFFALO: I’ve kept this last piece specially for you. Sorry if I’m a little vague, but human contact was never my forte. Don't forget to water the balls, old chum. Cheerio, Lucy.
(cellphone cuts out)
BIRD: Sparky?
SPARKY: Fifi?
FIFI: Dotty?
DOTTY: Watson?
WATSON: Holmes?
HOLMES: Hm. One is reminded of The Notorious Case Of The Missing Gamete Of Bayswater, alas no longer in print, but if memory serves me right a most malicious toxic mixture of horse manure, pig's trotters' glue and Toblerone was injected into a passing coal man for a bet.
WATSON: Oh, good Lord, Holmes! That unfortunate creature went quite bonkers and after running the length and breadth of Westminster Bridge stark bollock - a-hm - naked plunged into the murky waters of the cavernous Thames never to be seen or heard of again. You don't think...
BIRD: You don't think... It's finally happened! He really has become as crazy as a shithouse rat! And all before we ever got to share that pint at the Dog & Duck. 'Tis a cruel fate that bares a false wind on the aft. Fare ye well, dear Buffters. Alas, I knew him not but his mark is undeliverable and writ large. It shall dwell in this here cyberspace FOREVER. Ah MEN!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)