FROM DA ARCHIVE... BUFFTERS IN DA FIX

SOME TIME IN THE DISTENDED PAST...

Just got home and it is very fooking spooky here. There are like 14 cars parked outside.... I have NEVER seen so many cars parked here. This building is only about half occupied - and the whole building is eerily quiet. It is never this quiet -- no traffic next door, no parties in progress, nothing - and yet I can still smell smoke.

I have Old Betsy loaded and by my side. I don't like this one bit and am of a mind to call 911 and voice my suspicions. Sparky's apparently in bed, I hope, not murdered in his sleep by the crack heads. So, did the raid take place? Don't know. Who the fook belongs to all those cars out front? Undercover drug agents? Crack heads? Drug dealers? Not a clue. I am afraid to go to bed, seriously... and yet I don't want to call 911 and sound paranoid or nutters.... last thing I need is cops showing up here at my door tipping off the crack heads that I blew the whistle on them. Also, it was like a bake oven when I got here, had to turn the heat off.

Running on fumes now, but still afraid to sack out in case the crack heads are planning to break in and dust me.

Hunter S. Gonzo

Fear and Loathing, New Mexico

DAT'S MAH BOY! COME BACK, BUFFTERS! WE LOVES YA!  WE REALLY DO-O-O-O!

Arf, arf!

THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST UNSAVOURY FREDDY

READ ALL ABOUT IT! BUFFTERS SPOTTED ON BOUVET ISLAND BOFFING HIS WAY THRU THE LOCAL LADY STOCK! WORLD EXCLUSIVE! UN URGENTLY RECALLS SECURITY COUNCIL TO SEND TROOPS, BOMB, EXTERMINATE, DEFUMIGATE, ASSURE, REINSURE AND UDDER IMPORTANT STUFF! HOLMES AND DR WATSON SENT TO INVESTIGATE... 

SAY VRAY - DAT'S FRENCH TO YOUSE ET MOI.  THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF OUR DEAR OLD BUFFTERS FROM DA MICHIGAN AREA CAUSED WIDESPREAD CONCERN AND MANIC TWEETING FOR SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER HOLIDAYING ON BOUVET ISLAND HAD A MOST UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER WITH A BONE-EH-FIDAH REPROBATE ANSWERING TO BUFFTERS' DESCRIPTION, AND NAME EVEN, AND IN SHEER PANIC JUMPED OFF THE NEAREST CLIFF AND SWAM FOR IT, LEAVING BEHIND A BOTTLE FOR DEXTERITY CONTAINING THE FOLLOWING NOTE: "He says he is Buffters. Gawd help me and Gawd help da whirled. Get Sherlock Holmes, pleez! Tiz our only hope."

BELOW IS ALL THAT REMAINS OF A DIARY ENTRY MADE BY WATSON PERTAINING TO THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST UNSAVOURY FREDDY...

WARNING: EXCESSIVE DOSES OF ALCOHOL AND OTHER SUBSTANCES SUCH AS BENADRYL REQUIRED TO MAKE ANY SENSE OF THIS STORY.


THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST
UNSAVOURY FREDDY.

WATSON:  I say, Holmes, what what what?

HOLMES: Yes, Watson, what?

WATSON: Terribly awful business about that inveterate reprobate, what what what?

HOLMES: Yes, Watson. But as with any other degenerate, one must square up to this reprobate, look him squarely in the eye and encourage him to mend his ways.

WATSON: Yes, quite. Damned rough crossing from the mainland. Feeling rather queasy, what what what?

HOLMES: Indeed. Most regrettable, but we have arrived in one piece and we must get to work. There's not a moment to lose. We must find this Buffters fellow and deal with him in the most humane way possible.

WATSON: But how are we going to find him, old thing, when we don't even know what he looks like?

HOLMES: O ye of little faith, Watters. Finding him is the easy part. What to do with him is the real challenge.

WATSON: Sorry, I don't think I follow you, Holmes.

HOLMES: Do you see these footprints in the sand, Watson?

WATSON: Well, yes, but what of them?

HOLMES: They are those of a white man, with a slight limp, a reasonable IQ but base desires and hedonistic tendencies.

WATSON: Why, you don't think...

HOLMES: Indeed I do.

WATSON: Good grief, Holmes, how could you possibly tell all those things from such innocuous footprints?

HOLMES: Elementary, my dear Strudel. Because he is over there, if I'm not mistaken boffing one of the local maidens.

WATSON: Oh, I say! Has the man no shame?!

HOLMES: Evidently not. Thankfully, he is so preoccupied with "giving her a good seeing to" as modern parlance would have it that we may sneak up on him with the greatest of ease.

(HOLMES AND WATSON APPROACH BUFFTERS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. THEY OBSERVE WITH HORROR AS BUFFTERS POUNDS AND PUMPS AWAY WITH RELENTLESS JOY, THE LOCAL MAIDEN MOANING WITH GREAT RELISH.)

WATSON: (whispering) I say, Holmes, it does appear as if the young lady is a willing participant in this overtly degrading copulatory act, what what what?

HOLMES: (whispering) Affirmative, Mein Herring. One can but admire his technique, no doubt honed over many thousands of sleepless nights with countless maidens.

WATSON: (whispering) Is it just me, or do you feel that we are intruding on something which nature always intended to come to pass?

HOLMES: (whispering) Watson, if I told you otherwise it would be a lie. Clearly, it is incumbent upon us to wait for nature to take its course before confronting this shameful reprobate who has become a horrendous blot on the landscape and an intolerable nuisance to the world community of decency and decorum.

WATSON: (whispering) Oh, jolly well put, Holmes. You have such a way with words. But, um, well, he doesn't show any signs of letting up, you know. We could be here for some time, what what what?

HOLMES: (whispering) Patience, old chum. Patience. He'll tire soon enough.

(TWO HOURS AND MANY GRUNTS AND WAILS LATER)

WATSON: Quite incredible. This repugnant reprobate knows no limits. Why, you'd think by now his Freddy would have dropped off, what what what?

HOLMES: I fear we are dealing with a phenomenon which transcends the boundaries of what we, science and Encyclopaedia Britannica think of as human. This man's energy and strength of purpose are truly remarkable, a testament to Quakers Oats and English Morning Breakfast Tea.

WATSON: Yes, and even though we are no longer whispering, in fact almost shouting, he refuses to desist.

HOLMES: With every beginning there must be an end, Botty Watty. And if I'm not mistaken, he will finish right...

(BUFFTERS YELPS)

HOLMES: ..now!

WATSON: I don't believe it! How could you know?

(THE LOCAL MAIDEN, HORRIFIED AT THE ONLOOKERS, GATHERS HER THINGS AND FLEES INTO THE JUNGLE, BUFFTERS COLLAPSES IN A HEAP, SIGHING CONTENTEDLY)

WATSON: You disgusting reprobate!

BUFFTERS:  (looks up) Huh? Who are you?

WATSON: I am Doctor Watson, and this is the world famous Sherlock Holmes. And who, may I ask, are you?

BUFFTERS: I am but a simple man of simple means and simple pleasures. They call me by many names but you can call me Buffters.

WATSON: You see, Holmes? He's admitted it. He is Buffters, the incorrigible reprobate which we seek.

HOLMES: He really couldn't be anyone else, doc. Now, tell me, Mr Buffters, is it true that you arrived a few months ago on this fair isle and immediately set about corrupting as many maidens as you could lay your hands...

WATSON: And your Freddy!

HOLMES: ..on?

BUFFTERS: Well, it's like this, Sherlock...

HOLMES: Don't call me Sherlock.

BUFFTERS: All right. It's like this, Mr Holmes, they was gagging for it, I was gagging for it after a prolonged period of abstinence and, uh, well, we came to a mutually satisfying agreement.

WATSON: Why, you filthy blackguard, you!

HOLMES: Watson, please. I'm trying to interrogate the revolting reprobate here. It will all go a lot smoother and quicker if you put a sock in it. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. So it is your contention that you have committed no crime nor compromised any maiden's virtue without permission?

BUFFTERS: Nope. And I can prove it. Ask any of them and they'll tell you. Since I arrived on this island, they've had the time of their lives. (pulls out a diary from his pocket) You see? Full up with assignations. If it carries on like this, I will literally bonk meself to death, innit. Not that I'm complaining, like.

WATSON: Holmes, permission to cut this degenerate's balls off right now and release these poor maidens from their carnal servitude.

HOLMES: Permission denied!

WATSON: But... but...

HOLMES: Shut it! Now, Mr Buffters, I must conclude from all you have told us and all I have observed that we have been dispatched here under false pretences.

WATSON: What?! Have you taken leave of your senses, Holmes?!

HOLMES: Watson, I won't warn you again. One more word out of you and I'll deck you! Now, Mr Buffters, I really must apologise for detaining you any longer when you have such a busy schedule.

BUFFTERS: Most thoughtful of ya, Mr Holmes.

HOLMES: There is just one small matter that I need to impart to you before we leave you to continue your life of orgasmic abandon.

BUFFTERS: Go on.

HOLMES: A lot of people have been worried about you since your disappearance without so much as a postcard. Perhaps you'd be good enough to give me a message which I can convey to all those back in Blighty and in the US of A who are convinced you have been abducted by aliens and are in fear of being vaporized for misdemeanours to the universe?

BUFFTERS: OK. Tell 'em not to worry, I am possessed by the gods. Go figger!

HOLMES: Thank you. I shall make sure they get your message.

BUFFTERS: Oh, and one more thing.

HOLMES: Yes?

BUFFTERS: Film at eleven.

HOLMES: I beg your pardon?

WATSON: How extraordinary...

BUFFTERS: Arf, arf!


HOLMES AND DR WATSON HAVE NOT BEEN SEEN OR HEARD OF SINCE THEY DEPARTED FOR BOUVET ISLAND. THIS DIARY ENTRY WAS TORN OUT AND SENT IN A BOTTLE WHICH WASHED ASHORE ON THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF BLIGHTLY. SOME SAY THEY HAVE BEEN BEWITCHED BY THE EARTHLY DELIGHTS OF BOUVET ISLAND AND HAVE TAKEN TO A LIFE OF UNBRIDLED DEBAUCHERY. OTHERS SAY THEIR BOAT CAPSIZED AND THEY WERE SNATCHED BY PIRATES, PUT IN CHAINS AND SET TO WORK IN THE GALLEYS. STILL OTHERS SAY THEY ARE SLOWLY MAKING THEIR WAY BACK TO BLIGHTY VIA FINLAND WHERE THEY HAVE FOUND THE PEOPLE TO BE UNIQUE, THOUGHTFUL, WISTFUL, PLAYFUL, PATRIOTIC AND TOTALLY INSANE. OR IT'S JUST POSSIBLE THAT THEY CAN'T BE ARSED TO TELL US WHERE THEY ARE AND WHAT THEY'RE DOING. GO FIGGER!

THE BIG BANG THEORY PLUS GUEST STARS...

Yahhhp. You've guessed it.  The Bird & Buffalo were invited to feature in a Big Bang Theory special. Unfortunately, Penny, Howard, Raj and Amy refused to entertain such an idea and stayed away. Sheldon and Leonard were kept in the dark as to the true nature of the episode and even when they were told it would be largely improvised and possibly largely degrading and unseemly, still agreed to go along with it. Although highly secretive and all in the worst possible taste, below is a transcript of the rehearsals for the one-hour special to be screened on New Year's Eve. Unfortunately, at the time of going to press we have no idea how much, if any of what features in rehearsals, will be broadcast. You decide.

DISCLAIMER: All dialogue is said in character and in no way expresses the actors, actresses or others' views on anything or anyone else. Thank the Lord.

(KNOCK AT DOOR)

LEONARD: Sheldon, get the door, will ya, I'm on the poop box!

SHELDON: Leonard, really! Your misuse of the English language is beginning to reach unacceptable levels. Don't make me refer you to the roommate agreement again.

LEONARD: Sheldon, I'm a little preoccupied at the moment to stand, I mean sit on ceremony. Just get the door. I'll be right out.

SHELDON: Hm! This isn't the end of it. I'll deal with your tawdry transgression later.

(SHELDON OPENS THE DOOR)

BIRD AND BUFFALO: Surprise!

SHELDON: Yes, it is. Who are you?

BIRD: Well, I'm Bird, but you can call me Birdy.

BUFFALO: And I'm the Buffalo, but you can call me Buff. And who are you?

SHELDON: Who am I? If you haven't heard of the great Sheldon Cooper, the foremost theoretical physicist of the present generation and no doubt of all time, you haven't been paying attention.

BUFFALO: Well, I've watched a few clips on YouTube, so I guess I haven't been paying attention.

BIRD: What Buff means is he admires your body of work.

BUFFALO: As opposed to the work of your body, like.

SHELDON: Interesting. How did we ever agree to do this? Can we have a timeout here?

VOICE FROM BEHIND THE CAMERA: Run with it, Jim. Wait till Johnny gets out of the john!

(LEONARD ZIPS OUT FROM THE CORRIDOR)

LEONARD: Hey! So... Wait a minute, where's Penny?

BUFFALO: I wish I knew. I was really looking forward to checking out her stack.

LEONARD: Uh, that's my girlfriend you're talking about there.

BUFFALO: Really? I thought you'd split up.

LEONARD: No, no, we're very much an item in the dating phase.

BUFFALO: Which is as far as you're going to get, right? So I say, while you're still dating Penny's still up for grabs.

BIRD: Drop it, Buff. Leonard's been through a lot with Penny. Cut him some slack, will ya?

BUFFALO: But I thought I was supposed to make him jealous and wait for him to rip me a new a...

SHELDON: Stop right there! This is a family show. We do not use language like that here.

BUFFALO: Arr, crapshite, you say bastid all the time. I've heard Leonard say it on several occasions.

SHELDON: Is that right, Leonard?

LEONARD: Uh, sure. What's wrong with that?

SHELDON: I'm going to have to watch the master tapes more thoroughly from now on. I've got my reputation to think about.

BUFFALO: Sheldon, you need to get laid.

SHELDON: Are you sure this is in the script, Leonard?

LEONARD: What script? And he's right, you need to get seriously drilled.

SHELDON: Oh, my! And I had to hear such filth in my own apartment.

LEONARD: Aw, come on, Sheldon, wouldn't you like to dip you little twinkle star into Amy Farrah's welcoming snug as a bug universe?

SHELDON: I certainly would not. I can't think of anything more unappealing than intimacy with Amy's welcoming universe.

BUFFALO: Well, I'm with you there, Sheldy, I wouldn't drink at her watering hole if you paid me, but I wouldn't say no to some rumpy pumpy with that gal from Nebraska.

LEONARD: Again, my girlfriend. Out of bounds.

BIRD: Yeah, dude, Leonard's a great guy. He and Penny deserve each other.

LEONARD: Thank you, Birdy. You're a real gent.

BIRD: Why, thank you, but I'm with Buff on Amy Farrah's doo-dah. She's got about as much oomph appeal as a lop-sided walrus on Benadryl. No offence, Sheldon.

SHELDON: None taken. Now if we may move on to more pressing matters...

BUFFALO: Hey, hold on, Shelds, was that a yes, I do need to get laid? Or no, I'd rather not, I'm afraid of what I might catch?

SHELDON: I cannot believe we are doing this.

LEONARD: Doing what?

SHELDON: Discussing my personal life with two total strangers.

LEONARD: Why not? We discuss my personal life enough on this show. Now it's your turn.

BIRD: He does have a point.

SHELDON: It's not about turns, it's about what's fair. I have given no basis for this invasive inquiry.

BUFFALO:  Seems to me you'd be much happier grabbing yerself a piece of Raj, if you get my drift.

BIRD: Dude....

SHELDON: Leonard, make him stop!

LEONARD: Sheldon, for him to stop he has to have started something and I really don't think he has.

SHELDON: Betrayed, abandoned by my own roommate. I really don't understand where this social interaction is leading. And I still don't know why you're in our apartment.

BUFFALO: Well, I thought Penny would be here. I was looking forward to ascending to her balcony.

BIRD: And I'm here because I think you guys are the bee's knees. You always send me to bed with a smile on my face.

SHELDON: Oh, that's so sweet. Well, now I'm glad you came.

LEONARD: Uh, yeah, so am I. I mean, I'm glad you came, Birdy. Not so sure about your friend here.

BIRD: Oh, he's harmless enough. He's just got a bit of a rampant Freddy. He's fine all the while he's on his medication.

LEONARD: Yeah, well, just as long as he understands that Penny is off limits.

SHELDON: And if I may be so bold, would you mind telling us why we always send you to bed with a smile on your face?

BIRD: Well, it's because you're both so goddamn funny. Right, Buff?

BUFFALO: Hey, I didn't say they were funny. I said I wanted Penny. You need to wash yer ears out, dude.

SHELDON: Wanted Penny?! You and several million other men on this earth, although why is a complete mystery to me. They haven't even invented a scale to measure her IQ level yet. What Leonard sees in her is beyond me.

LEONARD: Like you would really understand. Well, uh, it's been great meeting you guys, but that old thing on the wall that goes tick-tock boing is against us, I'm afraid so, uh...

SHELDON: What Leonard is trying to say in this faltering attempt at well-brought-up politeness is that you've overstayed your welcome, we're the stars, you're the nobodies, and the stars have got much more exciting and stimulating things to do and it's time for the nobodies to exit the stage. Stage left. Exit. Go. Right now.

BUFFALO:: Oh, it's like that, is it?

SHELDON: It most certainly is.

BIRD: I'd just like to apologise for...

SHELDON: There's really no need. Just scoot.

BUFFALO: Didn't feel like an hour special to me.

BIRD: Nope.

LEONARD: Sorry, fellas, the chemistry just wasn't there.

SHELDON: Neither the chemistry, nor the hour, nor the special. Get over it.

LEONARD: Bye, guys.

(BIRD AND BUFFALO TRAIPSE OFF, DEJECTED)

BIRD: So rude!

BUFFALO: I know! Let that be a lesson to you, Birdy. This is what happens to people who don't get laid on a regular basis.  Oh, hey! Wow! Is that Penny over there?

BIRD: You know what, Buff, I think it is.

BUFFALO: Quick, Birdy, the game is afoot!

BIRD: All right, Sherlock.

BUFFALO: Penny! It's me, Buff, Buffy, Bufters, your greatest fan! I want to get to know you better. Get to know the real Penny, get real close to you, share with you my innermost stirrings.

BIRD: Buff, stop! She's not been sullied by a reprobate like you before.

BUFFALO: There's always a first time, n'est pas? Film at eleven.

BIRD: Oh, gawwwwd!

BUFFALO: Arf, arf!

PRETTY COLOURS

Pretty Colours
by Birdy

Pretty colours
Pretty colours
Sliding down the window
And into the dustpan

Pretty colours
Pretty colours
Splashing on the slab
Of life's dead can

Pretty colours
Pretty colours
Slithering down the board
And into the drain

Here comes the pain
Here comes the pain

Pretty colours
Again
And again
And again

***

PLUS ADDED EXTRA TOTALLY FREE!
CULTURAL HIGHLIGHT OF THE WEEK

From the North Korean Times

"The Americans are coming, the Russians are coming, the Japanese are coming, the South Koreans are coming, and we're coming and none of us have got any brakes!"

GO FIGGER!

Film at eleven!

There Was A Young Man From Peru...

There Was A Young Man From Peru
by Marcel DeClercq

There was a young man from Peru
Who had nothing whatever to do
So he flew in the garret
And buggered the parrot
And sent the result to the zoo.


Winner of the Peruvian Golden Potty Award For Outstanding Fripperology, There Was A Young Man From Peru was perceived in desperation and became an instant hit with disaffected yoot worldwide, spawning thousands of copycat verses too lood to mention.  All proceeds are donated to the Save The Parrot From Self-Immolation Fund.  To donate, all you have to do is download the following book...






Arf, arf!

WE WANT THE OCTOPIDDLES!!!

Soaring demand for The Octopiddles has meant that the Peeps are begging, nay, pleading even, with da Buff and Birdy for more Octopiddles.  It would appear that the appetite for Doggy Brill is unquenchable, wot wot wot.  You want Doggy Brill? You got it.  AND don't furr get to tell yer friends bout da book, righty?

Doggy Brill
by Stewart Sumner

Half-munched cakes
and plates of
silence
on the
sidewalk
staring

Glaring
uncomfortably
at
trees and
things
postcards
on the
ledge
staring

Wag
your tale
as well
you must
be
weeping
not
staring

In a
trance
on a
barge
to
Doggy Brill
All
aboard
arf, arf!

LONG LOST RELLY

BUFFALO: Dude, I woke up this mawnin' and found this fooker at the bottom of my bed. I'm askin' ya, IS IT A SIGN?

MEET ME LITTER RARE E AGENT - MR I CHING

BIRD: Strap yourself in, dude, and listen in to me chewin' da breeze wid mah homey litter rare E agent, like.

BUFFALO: Dude, wot the fook are you talking about?!

BIRD: You, me, the universe and uddery. We got an agent, innit. After all these years of obscurantory.

BUFFALO: Woo-hoo! Nice! What'shisname?

BIRD: Mr I Ching. Dunno wot the I stands for, but dude, we're in! Pour yerself a strong one, lean back and listen to the chat we had but one hour ago.

BUFFALO: Cracking open a bottle of Muscatel as I lower myself into the recliner...

BIRD: Here goes!

Um, er, is that Mr Ching?

I CHING: Ask I Ching.

BIRD: Mr I Ching. Excellent. I've been trying to reach you for some time.

I CHING: Perseverance furthers.

BIRD: Sure does. Da auld Buff and I have been looking for an agent to publish our book, Tails From The Bird And Buffalo: The Walrus Years, like.

I CHING: If someone is not as he should be, He has misfortune, And it does not further him, To undertake anything.

BIRD: Well, yeah, I used to think that but now I've finally got through to you, hopefully, all that is about to change.

I CHING: Under heaven thunder rolls, All things attain the natural state of innocence.

BIRD: My thoughts entirely. So you're happy to represent us?

I CHING: The great departs; the small approaches.

BIRD: Absolutely. I can't tell you how excited we are about this.

I CHING: The superior man falls back upon his inner worth, In order to escape the difficulties.

BIRD: Oh, wow! Hey, could you hang on? I need to grab a pen. Just to jot down the basic elements of the contract, like.

I CHING: He does not permit himself to be honoured with revenue.

BIRD: Yes, well... So you think you can place our book?

I CHING: The superior man keeps the inferior man at a distance, Not angrily but with reserve.

BIRD: A-ha. So how long do we have to wait before we hear something?

I CHING: In the midst of the greatest obstructions, Friends come.

BIRD: So, what are we talking, a few weeks?

I CHING: Joy comes softly, It furthers one to make offerings and libations.

BIRD: Brill! So I'll be waiting for your call. An email even.

I CHING: The light has sunk into the earth, The image of Darkening of the Light, He veils his light, yet still shines.

BIRD: Right O! It's been a pleasure talking to you, Mr Ching. Um, just curious. What does the I stand for?

I CHING: The Clinging, The Arousing.

BIRD: I see. Waiting for your call.

I CHING: Above the arousing, Below the Abysmal.

BIRD: Bye then.

I CHING: Oppression. Success. Perseverance.

BIRD: Right back at ya!

*****

BUFFALO: Wow! This I Ching dude is well cool. Well done, Birdy. You have done well.

BIRD: Tanks, Buff. Onwards and upwards.

BUFFALO: Success on a plate.

BIRD: Gotta run. The Orifice beckons.

BUFFALO: Watch out for low flying.

BIRD: Film at eleven.

BUFFALO: Arf, arf!

THE MISSING P-COCK

BUFFALO: Dude.

BIRD: Yes, dude?

BUFFALO: I've lost the fookin' peacock!

BIRD: Eh?

BUFFALO: The one we were gonna use for the pilot episode. Zip. Ka-kronken-ho! Vanished.

BIRD: Dude, you can't just lose a peacock without a trace. Try and think. When did you see it last?

BUFFALO: Well, I gave it a shower, like, after a hearty meal of Spam and sardines and a fossilized mouse I found behind the cupboard in Sparky's room, all washed down with a Bud, you understand.

BIRD: OK. Then what?

BUFFALO: Then I kicked that jerk-berk Sparky out of his room and put Ms Paycock to bed, tucked her in, an' all.

BIRD: A-ha. And in the morning?

BUFFALO: Da peacock was gone.

BIRD: Have you checked the balcony?

BUFFALO: Yep.

BIRD: The kiddies' playground?

BUFFALO: Yah-p.

BIRD: The shooting range.

BUFFALO: O fahhhh-k. The shooting range. Those guys, the ones with the fahhhh-k off Uzis... They like to take pot shots at things and animals... And in her burst for freedom... Wot time is it? There may still be hope. Pray for me birdy, Birdy!

BIRD: Crossing everything that doesn't snap here, dude!

SOME TIME LATER...

BUFFALO: Birdy, it's OK.

BIRD: Thank Gosh!

BUFFALO: Ms Paycock ain't at the shooting range. All I found were a coupla stray hogs and a trunk with a dozen dead parakeet in and a ransom note.

BIRD: Phew!

BUFFALO: But the range was sans peacock. Now wot?

BIRD: Gotta phone the cocks... I mean cops.

BUFFALO: Yeah, right. No, wait. It's just recurred to me that Sparky may have mistaken it for an ostrich, what with his lumbago an' all.

BIRD: An ostrich? Nice, lean meat. Very nutritious!

BUFFALO: I wondered what that was roasting on the spit while I was stirring me porridge. The stoopid bat-twat. The waxwork shagger's fookin' munched our peacock, dude.

BIRD: Omigosh! Fukkit! Where are we gonna get another peacock in time for the shoot this afternoon?

BUFFALO: I'm gonna kick that bastid's ass so hard, he'll wish he was born a nun.

BIRD: We're fooked. Finished before we started.

BUFFALO: No, no, no, no. Wait. For 50 clams we can have the perfect peacock that never was. If Sparky can mistake a peacock for an ostrich...

BIRD: Brillo, dude.

BUFFALO: And with a little make-up... We're gonna do this, dude. Nothing's gonna stop us now. Woo-hoo! Buff does it again.

BIRD: Great. Once you swish open that red curtain and...

BUFFALO: Red curtain...

BIRD: You have got the red curtain?

BUFFALO: Not egg sack Lee. Cindy's still working on it.

BIRD: Oh, for Freddy's sake. The best laid lambs an' all.

BUFFALO: Fukkit, dude. We'll go cgi. Nobody'll know. It's all cgi these days. Even the actors. I've got Photoshop and Adobe and shit, MS Word even. I'll do the whole thing on my laptop.

BIRD: Brilliant! Dude, you're a genius! Let's run thru the script one more time and then hit those pixels!

BUFFALO: Hmm. The script...

BIRD: You did save it?

BUFFALO: I er... it's nearly there, Birdy. I mean, it's so close I can lick it.

BIRD: How close?

BUFFALO: VERY close. Just needs tweaking.

BIRD: Out of a 30-minute pilot, how many minutes would you say are missing?

BUFFALO: Um... well... uh...

BIRD: How many?

BUFFALO: About 29.

BIRD: Ofukkit!

BUFFALO: But we can improvise. Some of the best comedy is improvised, innit. Look at Curb Your Enthusiasm. It's all spontaneous. It's great stuff. We can do this, dude. Just keep the faith.

BIRD: Dude, I'm going back to the Bore Fest now, the Orifice that must be obeyed, the place where I will eke out the rest of my days because you decided to fookup the only real chance we ever had of stardom. Thanks, dude. It was mammorable.

BUFFALO: Dude... Dude? You don't understand. Dude? So that's it. The only true friend I ever had. The one guy who stood by me no matter what. I haven't felt this bad since I had a "venous Doppler scan" done of my "lower extremities" including my Freddy. I'll talk him round. I know I will. Tomorrow's another day, right? Arf, arf!

TO BE CONTINUED...

BIRD:

DICK VON FUXX REVELS ALL

FROM THE SECRET BLOG OF DICK VON FUXX, THE PREMIUM ADULT ENTERTAINMENT DIRECTOR

They say all the talent is deserting Limehouse for LA. But as everybody knows, with the spiralling production costs in the States, the industry is unsustainable in LA and once the great studios of Muffdom and Anal Sis are crippled by debt and thrown into receivership the doors will be thrown open to all sorts of amateur sickos waiting to flood the market with cgi-enhanced faked orgasm bullshit. So all I have to do is play the waiting game. In a matter of months, weeks even Limehouse will be the buzz on everyone’s lips and I, Dick von Fuxx III, shall assume my rightful place in filthy old pervs’ history.

After the years in the wilderness of sweat and toil, trying to turn seedy adult films into an art form, the world is about to acknowledge me for the outstanding auteur that I am. No more shall I have to endure the demeaning label of porn peddlar. My films shall stand alongside the truly filthy stuff of Bertolucci and others as unforgettable, groundbreaking works of art. The public shall come to see that the on screen gang bang is no more than a cinematic means to a spiritual enlightenment end that is not possible in blockbuster action films and soppy romcoms. “From the collective orgasm to universal freedom!” as Big Cock Drummond utters in the inimitable The Importance Of Being An Onanist, based on Oscar Wilde’s marvellous play. But I must admit, my shaggy poodle Paint Pot, keeps me sane. And having unlimited totty on tap helps keep my Freddy off the ground. Blimey! Is that the time? Time for a spot of champers. Cheers, everyone!

DICK VON FUXX WILL RETURN IN
THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN WANGER
STARRING ERIC LANGENSCHLONGENHOSER & TINA TITFEST

A CHRISTMAS SCENE Q TOBY IN THE PANTRY

WATSON: I say, Holmes.

HOLMES: Yes, Watson?

WATSON: You haven't, have you?

HOLMES: Not yet, but I was thinking about it.

WATSON: Shall we?

HOLMES: Well, I don't see why not.

WATSON: One, two, three...

(RIPPING SOUND)

WATSON: Toby, you filthy mutt!

HOLMES: Abominable hound!

WATSON: Whiffy woofer!

HOLMES: No more beans for you, my lad.

WATSON: Hudders, take him away.

HOLMES: Lock him in the pantry and throw away the key.

WATSON: Serves him right.

HOLMES: Quite.

WATSON: I say, Holmes.

HOLMES: Yes, Watson?

WATSON: I can feel another one coming on.

HOLMES: Me too.

WATSON: But now there's no Toby to take the flak.

HOLMES: Indeed.

WATSON: What to do what what what.

HOLMES: Open the window quick and get the bellows ready.

WATSON: Top hole!

HOLMES: Quick, I said!

(WINDOW IS FLUNG OPEN, FOLLOWED BY LOUD RIP)

HOLMES & WATSON: Ahhhh...

WATSON: Merry Christmas, Holmes!

HOLMES: Merry Christmas, Watson!

WATSON: Ablutions at eleven.

HOLMES: Not half!

WHAT'S FOR TEA, DORIS?

THE RUNNER-UP IN MARTHA'S MUFFINS SIMMERING GENTLY POETRY OF THE LOST MILLENNIUM SPONSORED BY YouBoob IS...

WHAT'S FOR TEA, DORIS?

Safe in

the

glow

Of

A

Dung Beetle's

Poo

What's for tea,

Doris?

NetFlix Fix Q Sparky Nooks

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.

HOT GROG SAVE ME Q 911

BUFFALO: Damn, nose stuffed up, head throbbing, muscles aching, eyes burning... and no lemons or whisky to make hot toddies with. Sonofabitch. No choice but to make a lemon and likker run, I guess. Hmmm. Let's see... there's some gin, but no whisky... blackberry brandy; God no, if I start on that, I'll do the whole pint and then I'm screwed, blue, er, black... black and blue. No, what I need is hot buttered rum - fookin' GROG! Yes, that's the ticket, hot grog with butter and biscuits. I can drink it and bathe in it. Okay, shower, fook the shave, off to Kroger's and the likker store. If that turd calls me "Boss" again I'm decking him. I don't know what's worse, "My friend" or "Boss". On second thoughts, maybe I'll just hang myself from the highest beam. But I can't find the rope I'm looking for, a classic Sacre Bleu Velveeta Rope (in Latin, an SPQR). All the others are much too scratchy (and tacky). When I finally do hang myself, it will be with the utmost style and decorum. Onwards and downwards. Birdy, you dere? Birdy! Dammit! Better phone 911 for a crane!

SEAHORSES ONLY GRIN WHEN THEY'RE READY

The seahorse leapt
up
from the
toilet bowl
And
nibbled
the
pork sausage
but
what a
grin

WOT THE FREDDY: DIMINISHING ASSETS

FROM PUB SPLASHER'S WEEKLY:

New research carried out by the Fecundatory Futures Movement has revealed that, as feared, men's testicles are shrinking at an alarming rate. The study, entitled The Lost Testicle In The Modern Era, measured over two million testicles worldwide. It finds that the average size of testicles in males is 7.5mm in diameter LESS than the average size of testicles of shrimp farmers in Wisconsin and potato growers in Patagonia.

Scientists predict that at the current rate of shrinkage, by 2021 testicles may disappear altogether. World leaders will be gathering at an extraordinary meeting of the Intergovernmental Welfare For Gonads Forum in Lucerne in December to discuss what can be done to halt the deflationary tendencies of the appendages sometimes referred to as "love sacs" or "balls" in more polite circles, and "bollocks" and "nuts" in less polite circles.

Males are being advised that if they are having trouble finding their testicles, they should consult their doctor and think about purchasing a bicycle pump which has been proven in laboratory conditions to temporarily halt the decline of testicular recidivism as the condition has been labelled by leading testes scientist Igor Jerkmybollokov. Yesterday, Mr Jerkmybollokov was unavailable for interview, having been delayed at Speedo's Bicycle Shop attempting to buy the most economically efficient and aesthetically pleasing bicycle pump.

G-FORCE VENDETTA PART 1

BUFFALO: At 2 AM, G-Force used his one and only phone call to let me know he’s in jail. Driving with a suspended license. Third offense. What should he do? After careful thought, I advised him to gently extract his cranial appendage from his rectal orifice. Or, just hang himself. He promised to think about it. And then he wrote this note:

"Dear Buff,
You've always been a true friend to me. And you've always said you'd take a bullet for me. A monster banger up the carpal tunnel too. And I respect that. And I know that over the years I have given you mucho shito with my wikkid ways. So I thought you should know, in case the tab doesn't work, compadre, that it was I that fooked up your marriage and got your sad ass fired from the production company. Indeed, if you hadn't been so fixated on watching Blazing Saddles YET AGAIN on TCM that hoary night in November, you woulda noticed me shivering like a skinned coyote behind your refrigerator with frozen balls the size of melons.

If it's any consolation, dude, balling your wife was about as exciting as shooting that drifter who tried to steal my chain saw. Which I also have told nobody about till now, bud.

O what the fook, dude. Let's face it. I'm a bad ass mother follicker and I deserve everthing that's coming my way. And I don't want you feeling sorry for me, Buff, after I'm gone. Cos with any luck, the bank WILL return all your funds and the credit card bangers won't charge you any interest on the few transactions that came to pass so that I could scoot.

And don't try and find me, dude, cos if anything happens to me, the puppy gets it. I think you know what I'm saying.

Oh, and one more thing - Clare, the chick you were doing until that unfortunate accident with the pitch fork - I porked her too. And Chrissy and Desiree and just about every other woman that ever showed you as much as a sleeve of their affection. And after what I told them, I doubt if you'll be doing any bone jumping for a VERY LONG TIME.

So, so long, loser. You deserve all the shit that's floating slowly your way. And believe me, dude, there is a LOT of it in the pipeline.

G-Force

PS Not quite the boob you thought, huh, sucker?


******

Well, folks, there is a moral in there, but I'm Freddied if I know what it is. What does the G stand for? Well, what do you think?!

ANGRY DUCKS, POTTY RUSKIES & FICKLEHOLES

BIRD: You sound pretty wasted, Buffters. What was you up to last nite?

BUFFALO: Alligators, Birdy. Up to my ass in 'em. Sometimes I get a break, though, and then it feels like I'm being eaten alive by ducks.

BIRD: Any particular kind of ducks?

BUFFALO: Very angry ducks, ducky.

BIRD: Bordering on mad?

BUFFALO: Yes, pre-size-lee. Mad ducks.

BIRD: Are they are bad as mad dogs?

BUFFALO: Wurse. They don't foam at the mouth, so by the time you've figgered out they're mad, you've already been bitten.

BIRD:And danger of infection? Contamination even?

BUFFALO: No, fortunately I've been quite mad for most of my life, so I'm immune. I think my current de-lemo can best be summed up in the dire log between our two most favorite Russian scallywags.

BIRD: Blimey, you mean the Russian virgin of Laurel and Hardy?

BUFFALO: The very ones. I've been eavesdropping on them. It appears that they've gotten themselves into a mighty pickle.

BIRD: Turn up the watts, Buff, so we can all have a listen, innit.

BUFFALO: Hang on, here they come.

BORODNY: Well, Pushkin, here is other fine mess you got me into.

PUSHKIN: It's not my fault! She said she will be doing both of us, on back seat of Trabant!

BORODNY: And you believed her? Are you not learning anything from last six times she duped us, turnip dick?

PUSHKIN: But she was so sincere, and eloquent, regular Daughter of the Revolution, already!

BORDONY: Da, and now here we are, hanging upside by our ankles, in Durance Vile, waiting for bloodsucking attorney to skewer us like couple of shish ka-knobs. Pushkin, you truly are idiot of distinction of former Soviet Mother's Union.

PUSHKIN: But it is not my fault! Mama dropped me on head as baby.

BORODNY: Is great shame she did not flush you down toilet, instead, already.

PUSHKIN: What toilet? We had bucket, like all citizens of revolution. Mama make many smellies. Wooo! We relieve ourselves once a year in correct procedure, on annual visit to Moscow.

BORODNY: What in name of pregnant goat with inflated udders you was doing in Moscow?

PUSHKIN: Visiting papa, in Lubayanka. We save money for him, so he bribe guards to give him cabbage to eat, but he was lunatic out of hungry and eat the money, already.

BORODNY: Da, suspicion confirmed. You come from long line of idiots.

PUSHKIN: Is not true! But we must stand in long line of idiots to use bathroom.

BORODNY: So is why you have shit for brains.

PUSHKIN: Excuse me, please. but I am hanging here in company, you know.

BORODNY: But of course. I am idiot to listen to you. I am telling myself you so potty that you are banging wet dream, already. Once again you hear Sirens drawing you to rocks, and like complete ficklehole I give you helm. For this, I deserve Order of Lennon, winter vacation in Siberia, and nice red hot poker up ficklehole.

PUSHKIN: I am sorry, already! You know how it happens when she flashes headlights at me and gives me come on, already. No man who is not prancing nancy boy is resisting it. I am just human, you know!

BORODNY: You are human turd, is what, you fooked idiot. If we get out of mess, I kick your sorry ficklehole from one end of Red Square to other, then I drown you in vat of vodka.

PUSHKIN: Drowned in vat of vodka? "Death, where is thy sting?"

BORODNY: You will see, if we survive. I put pitchfork so far up your ficklehole when you walk in room, everyone is saying, "Look, here comes Pushkin, who speaks with forked tongue." Enough of crying, already, die like man!

BUFFALO: And dat's where we must relieve it.

BIRD: Thank the Freddy. It's getting a bit tacky, innit? Funny how there seems to be a parallel between our current situations.

BUFFALO: There are parallels going all the way back to Eden, Birdy. Forbidden fruit, and all that.

BIRD: Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, is it?

BUFFALO: More like, beware of Vikings bearing melons, I think.

BIRD: I see what you mean, Buffers.

BUFFALO: Next time, do me a favor, Birdy. Shoot me in the fookin' head, willya?

BIRD: Or the Freddy.

BUFFALO: That, too. I should have the damned thing amputated, for all the good it does me.

BIRD: Live and learn, Buff.

BUFFALO: I think I have a learning disability, Birdy.

BIRD: No one's purr-fect.

BUFFALO: You can say that again.

BIRD: No one's purr-fect.

BUFFALO: Put a lid on it, Birdman, before I am throttling you, already.

BIRD: Whimper, whimper.

BUFFALO: Ditto that, Birdy, ditto that.

BIRD: Film at eleven?

BUFFALO: Yeah, "The Battleship Potemkin" - uncut, uncensored, un-fookin'-believable. Arf, arf!

POETRY MASTERCLASS #2 I SAY THAT HE WAS FREDDY

WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF SIEGFRIED SASSOON HAD TURNED TO THE BLUE SIDE...

I SAY THAT HE WAS FREDDY
Darkness: the sluice rained down;
The pockets were deep;
It was well past the post on a midsummer's flight
When parping nuns lay in bed snug up tight;
There, with much gargling to do before daylight,
We lugged our sweaty bodies as best we might
Along the gutter; sometimes a blackbird sang
And droning belles burst with a hollow bang
We were sozzled, soiled and wretched, everyone;
Darkness: the distant wink of a lady of pleasure
I tossed in the black ditch, loathing the warm;
A firework fizzled and cackled with excruciating flare,
And lit the arse of what had been a face
Floundering in the dish. He stood before me bare;
I say that he was Freddy; stiffened in the glare,
And arcing upwards from his burgeoning task,
Both love sacs in support; His focus all mine
Proud from the whimsical head that wore no mask
Of immoral pain in Mon Venus's unholy shrine.

And pounding in haste, the impatient buck
Mumbling: 'O Manchester United, now I'm stuck!"

LIKE A TURD FROM A TALL COW'S ASS

BUFFALO: Back from the south of France, are we?

BIRD: Alas, too true. Stuffed to the gunwales with pate de foie gras, truffles, escargot, brie, and buckets of Chateauneuf-du-Pape. So, I trust you fared well in my absence?

BUFFALO: No, but I falled well. . . fell, whatever.

BIRD: Cor blimey, missus! Not another accident?

BUFFALO: More like a catastrophe than an accident.

BIRD: Give us the feather and tails, Buff.

BUFFALO: A comedy of errors, Birdy. Mistake number one, I ventured into the shadowlands of downtown Detroit, at night, in a poorly lit neighborhood affectionately known as "The Bowery" - where one is advised to go armed.

BIRD: Blimey, were you trolling for muggers, like?

BUFFALO: No, I was enroute to a French flic.

BIRD: In a poorly lit alley?

BUFFALO: Argh. No, it was off-campus student housing for Wayne State University, named for Mad Anthony Wayne, a hero of the late unpleasantness between the Yanks and the Brits. A charming three story brick edifice that should have been condemned about 30 years ago.

BIRD: Ah, I see, you were trolling for co-eds.

BUFFALO: Argh. No, I was Lincoln up with my cameraman and his droogies. We were all going to see "Paris, J'Taime" at the bloody art theater.

BIRD: And you were struck by a lorry or sumfink?

BUFFALO: Ha, I wish. I followed Ken and his homies up to his flat where he proceeded to roll a spliff the size of a Monte Cristo.

BIRD: The sarnie?

BUFFALO: No, the cigar, you bloody obtuse ocelot.

BIRD: In udder wurst, you got stoned?

BUFFALO: Like Quasimodo, dude. That was mistake number two. I was in fookin' Wonderland.

BIRD: So, let me guess, you caught a rubber spark and set yourself on fire.

BUFFALO: No, worse than that. I was so wasted I left my jacket, wallet, money, driver's license, etc. in the bloody apartment. Mistake number three.

BIRD: Then time dilation set in and you missed the movie.

BUFFALO: Amazingly, I had the presence of mind to mind the time, so we departed Ken's den of iniquity on time.

BIRD: I see what's coming. With your gulliver in the ozone, you fell down the stairs and cracked your melon like a coconut.

BUFFALO: I wish I had. No, despite the fact that navigating the steep, narrow staircase was giving me flashbacks of "Vertigo", I made it to the front porch without incident.

BIRD: Ah, so you tumbled down the front steps, then?

BUFFALO: No, I made it to the sidewalk all right, then stepped off a curb, having failed to see it. Lost my balance and fell flat on my ugly mug, like a flippin' flapjack, in a patch of rough asphalt. Ken says I fell like a turd from a tall cow's ass, hitting the pavement KER-SPLAT, with no defensive moves, being highly tanked at the time.

BIRD: So how was the movie?

BUFFALO: Sod the movie! I was totally fooked up beyond all recognition, dude. Felt like someone had used me for an accordion and tried to bend me in two at the ribs. I was scraped from head to knee, bleeding and all.

BIRD: Hors alor, Buff! Did they take you to the horse pistol, then?

BUFFALO: No, I blew off the movie and drove to Osbee's place. She cleaned me up and bandaged me, like, and asked me how it happened.

BIRD: Did you tell her?

BUFFALO: Fook, no, I told her I was mugged. I was hoping I might get a sympathy sleeve job out of it, but no such luck.

BIRD: Did the lads go on to the movie, then?

BUFFALO: Yeah. Ken told me later that there were about five scenes in the movie where someone fell down, and every time, those wonkers laffed their arses off. Fookin' white punks on dope.

BIRD: A wee bit wet behind the ears, are they?

BUFFALO: Yeah, college students, green as grass. You could set yerself on fire and they'd think it was fookin' hilarious, ask you for an encore. Fookin' Philistines.

BIRD: So, how are you feeling now?

BUFFALO: Like a fookin' mule kicked me in the spare ribs, innit?

BIRD: Well, Buff, I certainly hope that you've learned something from all this, especially in regard to indulging in contraband, as it were.

BUFFALO: Indeed I have, Birdy.

BIRD: And that would be. . . ?

BUFFALO: When you know you're going to get ripped, be sure to bring a flashlight or a seeing-eye dog - and wear your wallet around your neck, like a flippin' albatross.

BIRD: I was hoping for more of a moral lesson, like.

BUFFALO: Birdy, we were going to a movie, not doing mushrooms.

BIRD: And you're quite sure you weren't trolling for co-eds?

BUFFALO: No way. Ken says the women who live in his apartment building rent themselves out for truffle hunts.

BIRD: Sacre bleu!

BUFFALO: Anyhoo, it's time for my meds, Birdy.

BIRD: A double dose of the old saltpeter, Buff?

BUFFALO: No, a handful of Mortrin, a couple of Darvocets, a good slug of codeine cough syrup, and a large snifter of Harvey's Bristol Cream, laced with Jack Daniels.

BIRD: My God, Buff, that would fell a shire horse!

BUFFALO: Yes, but fortunately, I'm a Buffalo, innit. Woo! Hit me, Mr Trank. Hit me!

BIRD: Film at eleven?

BUFFALO: Arf, arf!