PARENTAL ADVISORY: EXQUISITE LANGUAGE
BUFFALO: Yoo, hoo! Birdy, you der?
BIRD: Bare Lee. Gimme a minute, like.
BUFFALO: It's Erection Day here, dude, and I may have to emigrate if the dirty rotten fooker goes South again.
BIRD: Write somethin' about it for da blog. It'll be a laff.
BUFFALO: Will dew.
BIRD: Any news?
BUFFALO: There’s been a tentative offer to shag me, like.
BIRD: Sparky?
BUFFALO: No, you berk... the outrageous Clare.
BIRD: Your platonic girlfriend, like? The paratrooper?
BUFFALO: Jeez. Paralegal, dude. She’s fookin’ brilliant and built like a brick shithouse. Check yer email, I just sent you a pic of her at 18.
BIRD: Lemme see... ah, here it is. (pregnant pause). Gott in Himmel! Is that really her?
BUFFALO: Aye, though she’s a bit more mature now, mind.
BIRD: But still scrumptious?
BUFFALO: Eat her with a spoon, Birdy, especially the naughty bits. Bigger balcony now, too; she hadn’t topped out at 18.
BIRD: The mind reels. Erection Day, indeed. But is this on the level, then? The tentative offer, I mean?
BUFFALO: Well, let me put this way, dude; Clare is not prone to practical jokes and she doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.
BIRD: Not yet, anyway... tee, hee.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: I’ve had a really good feeling all day that something amazing is about to happen.
BUFFALO: Of course, it's Erection Day... woke up with one.
BIRD: But that’s merely the norm, isn’t it?
BUFFALO: Aye, but this puppy damn near perforated my quilt, Birdy.
BIRD: Oh, Lord. Clare Quilty!
BUFFALO: Cosmic, Birdy... dig it, her middle name is Dolores.
BIRD: Epic, Buff... hell, Homeric. It fairly takes me breath away.
BUFFALO: Ah, now if only it takes HER breath away.
BIRD: Rimshot!
BUFFALO: More like quimshot, I think.
BIRD: You randy auld dawg!
BUFFALO: Quilty as charged.
BIRD: (Groans) All right, now, so when is this coupling scheduled?
BUFFALO: Fairly soon, I think. If I had my druthers I’d lure her over here on Friday after work for a romantic candlelight dinner, with a jeroboam of Lambrusco on the TV tray and Il Vino Confuso on the stereo, like.
BIRD: What, no tafel music?
BUFFALO: No tafel, dude.
BIRD: What, they still haven’t delivered your new dining room set?
BUFFALO: No room for it. The bloody Carfax Arms is all buggered up with stacks of bloody books and toys.
BIRD: Toys? Yours, or Sparky’s?
BUFFALO: Sparky’s, mostly, except the battery-powered self-gratification machine.
BIRD: Buff, I’m shocked!
BUFFALO: Get off it... it’s only 6 Volts DC, for crissake. Cut me some slack, you want me to go blind?
BIRD: Eh? Oh, I get it... the machine doesn’t count, is that it?
BUFFALO: Of course not, berko, it’s a mechanical schlanger wanger, not a bloody abacus.
BIRD: I see.
BUFFALO: Titties like virgin moons, Birdy, the size of Casaba melons.
BIRD: I’ll have a lookee tomorrow morning afore I go to werk.
BUFFALO: Tell me another one, Birdo. I’ll eat my chapeau if you aren’t eyeballing it right now and polishing your knob in 7-8 time.
BIRD: Comin’ at ya now, Buffo, the Old Filipino Creamy, in quarts and shorts, like!
BUFFALO: Filthy swine.
BIRD: Just pulling yer chain, dude. I'm werking, remember? Write something about the election, why don't you?
BUFFALO: Yes, the erection... might be hard.
BIRD: Ker-ching! Doesn't have to be an essay, either. As long as you like.
BUFFALO: Pretty much tops out at 7.5 inches, dude, out of my hands, so to speak. Watching Wolf Blitzer on CNN; staying up to watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, LIVE tonight, from 11 to Midnight. By then the shouting and the tumult should be over – apple-polly-woggies to Walt Kelly. I’m keeping a running log.
BIRD: Yes, I’m picturing it. Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Filthy old git. By the way, can you fookin' believe they gave Saddam his pink slip on the eve of the bloody erection?
BIRD: A bunch of right bah-stards, for sure.
BUFFALO: Aye, they got their noses so far up Arbusto’s derriere they’re obliged to breathe through their fookin’ ears. Colbert last night: “The appeal process could last a couple of months.” Then he plants his chin on both palms, elbows on the desk, the quintessential Norman Rockwell portrait of the all-American barefoot boy with cheek. “Gee, you think we may be in for a Christmas hangin'?”
BIRD: Bloody macabre, that, Buffters.
BUFFALO: Aye, film at eleven, Alcatraz.
BIRD: Cheep, cheep! Ciao!
BUFFALO: Boners for tunas, dude! Arf, arf!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
O The Tangled Web We Weave Part 2
BUFFALO: Episode two coming up, Birdman. Cool, they’re (pardon the expression) milking the last five minutes of the previous episode. Yep, there’s Lois’s little articulated nippers again... lovely.
BIRD: I hope you’re taping this.
BUFFALO: They should have taped Lois’s niblets, dude, they’re so perky. Hard to believe they paid somebody to write this drivel, though.
BIRD: The dialogue’s that lame, eh?
BUFFALO: Dig it, this is rich... the Spider Lady is making an anonymous phone call to the police department. She’s telling them she’s going to pull a heist at the Metropolis Museum in one hour and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it. A bemused henchman asks, “Gee, boss, do you think it was a good idea tipping off the cops like that?”
BIRD: Does seem a bit precipitous, like.
BUFFALO: Aye... hard to say who’s dumber, the Spider Lady or the cops, who have planted two fat dumb flatfeet outside the front door of the museum, which looks more like the entrance to a Victorian funeral home. Ah, here’s Lois.
BIRD: Eh? I thought she was tied up and fried up, like?
BUFFALO: Yeah, she must have escaped. The plot is more full of holes than a round of Swiss cheese, Birdo. The coppers are hassling her, but she tells them she has an appointment with Professor Morgan, and they believe her. Metropolis’s Finest, indeed. God help us. She’s going through the front door, swinging her hips, and they’re ogling her legs and smirking, the dirty swine. Cut to Morgan’s office. Lois enters. Morgan rises, in more ways than one, the lecherous old bugger; he’s practically salivating, and slurring his words: “I think you’ll be more comfortable in my study, Lois.” (drool, drool)
BIRD: She’s not falling for it, is she?
BUFFALO: Like a big-arse safe out of a ten story window, Birdy. Cut to close-up of the wall clock... a power surge; the hour hand did a 360 in five seconds. The study door opens... Lois staggers out, hair mussed, buttons awry... she’s walking funny, all bow-legged, like.
BIRD: Surely not!
BUFFALO: Swear to God, Birdy... and don’t call me Shirley.
BIRD: Sorry, old chum.
BUFFALO: Omigod, this is too much... the Spider Lady’s henchmen have lured the cops away from the museum entrance with a phony car crash! What a pair of lummoxes. Now two other henchmen slip through the front door carrying a large, klutzy Geiger counter. Ah, of course, they’re after the Kryptonite meteor accidentally discovered by the randy Professor Morgan... lordy, lordy, Superman is in deep dog poo now, dude.
BIRD: I knew it! I knew I smelled Kryptonite!
BUFFALO: Either that or the script.
BIRD: Go on, what next?
BUFFALO: For some reason Lois is now tied up and gagged, lying on the floor. I can’t believe the henchmen didn’t shag her while they had the chance. Ooh, good thigh shot! Holy batshite, Robin, the Geiger counter probe has come to life! It’s waving about in the air like a snake that’s just got religion. Rather obscene, actually, like one of those space alien probes. Uh, oh, it’s got Lois’s scent, Birdy. It’s like a bloody mechanical one-eyed trouser snake on the prowl. Hold the phone. . . hot damn, it’s sliding under her skirt! BLOODY HELL!
BIRD: Holy shite, Buffo, WHAT?
BUFFALO: “Continued Next Week”... and “Buy War Bonds.”
BIRD: I’m boogered here... drenched in sweat, like.
BUFFALO: That was the last episode in the vaults, too. Those baa-stoods.
BIRD: And where the hell was Superman all this time?
BUFFALO: His alter ego, Clark Kent, is trapped like a rat back at the Daily Planet. Ironically, Perry White’s punishing the Man of Steel for cowardly behavior by making him write an advice to the lovelorn column... while Lois Lane is in imminent danger of being deflowered by old “Steely Dan.”
BIRD: What about Jimmy Olsen, cub reporter?
BUFFALO: He’s out looking for Lois; following his old divining rod, if you get my drift. That poor green kid is hornier than a hop toad. Alas, we may have to write the ending for this one ourselves, Birdy. Film at eleven, the good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.
BIRD: Oh, Momma, check me... am I all right?
BIRD: I hope you’re taping this.
BUFFALO: They should have taped Lois’s niblets, dude, they’re so perky. Hard to believe they paid somebody to write this drivel, though.
BIRD: The dialogue’s that lame, eh?
BUFFALO: Dig it, this is rich... the Spider Lady is making an anonymous phone call to the police department. She’s telling them she’s going to pull a heist at the Metropolis Museum in one hour and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it. A bemused henchman asks, “Gee, boss, do you think it was a good idea tipping off the cops like that?”
BIRD: Does seem a bit precipitous, like.
BUFFALO: Aye... hard to say who’s dumber, the Spider Lady or the cops, who have planted two fat dumb flatfeet outside the front door of the museum, which looks more like the entrance to a Victorian funeral home. Ah, here’s Lois.
BIRD: Eh? I thought she was tied up and fried up, like?
BUFFALO: Yeah, she must have escaped. The plot is more full of holes than a round of Swiss cheese, Birdo. The coppers are hassling her, but she tells them she has an appointment with Professor Morgan, and they believe her. Metropolis’s Finest, indeed. God help us. She’s going through the front door, swinging her hips, and they’re ogling her legs and smirking, the dirty swine. Cut to Morgan’s office. Lois enters. Morgan rises, in more ways than one, the lecherous old bugger; he’s practically salivating, and slurring his words: “I think you’ll be more comfortable in my study, Lois.” (drool, drool)
BIRD: She’s not falling for it, is she?
BUFFALO: Like a big-arse safe out of a ten story window, Birdy. Cut to close-up of the wall clock... a power surge; the hour hand did a 360 in five seconds. The study door opens... Lois staggers out, hair mussed, buttons awry... she’s walking funny, all bow-legged, like.
BIRD: Surely not!
BUFFALO: Swear to God, Birdy... and don’t call me Shirley.
BIRD: Sorry, old chum.
BUFFALO: Omigod, this is too much... the Spider Lady’s henchmen have lured the cops away from the museum entrance with a phony car crash! What a pair of lummoxes. Now two other henchmen slip through the front door carrying a large, klutzy Geiger counter. Ah, of course, they’re after the Kryptonite meteor accidentally discovered by the randy Professor Morgan... lordy, lordy, Superman is in deep dog poo now, dude.
BIRD: I knew it! I knew I smelled Kryptonite!
BUFFALO: Either that or the script.
BIRD: Go on, what next?
BUFFALO: For some reason Lois is now tied up and gagged, lying on the floor. I can’t believe the henchmen didn’t shag her while they had the chance. Ooh, good thigh shot! Holy batshite, Robin, the Geiger counter probe has come to life! It’s waving about in the air like a snake that’s just got religion. Rather obscene, actually, like one of those space alien probes. Uh, oh, it’s got Lois’s scent, Birdy. It’s like a bloody mechanical one-eyed trouser snake on the prowl. Hold the phone. . . hot damn, it’s sliding under her skirt! BLOODY HELL!
BIRD: Holy shite, Buffo, WHAT?
BUFFALO: “Continued Next Week”... and “Buy War Bonds.”
BIRD: I’m boogered here... drenched in sweat, like.
BUFFALO: That was the last episode in the vaults, too. Those baa-stoods.
BIRD: And where the hell was Superman all this time?
BUFFALO: His alter ego, Clark Kent, is trapped like a rat back at the Daily Planet. Ironically, Perry White’s punishing the Man of Steel for cowardly behavior by making him write an advice to the lovelorn column... while Lois Lane is in imminent danger of being deflowered by old “Steely Dan.”
BIRD: What about Jimmy Olsen, cub reporter?
BUFFALO: He’s out looking for Lois; following his old divining rod, if you get my drift. That poor green kid is hornier than a hop toad. Alas, we may have to write the ending for this one ourselves, Birdy. Film at eleven, the good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.
BIRD: Oh, Momma, check me... am I all right?
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
O The Tangled Web We Weave Part 1
BIRD: Wuzzup, Buff? Unless my nose relieves me, I smell Kryptonite.
BUFFALO: Your snorter is on the money, Birdo. They’re showing back-to-back episodes of “Superman” on Turner Classic Movies.
BIRD: Blam! Ker-whamo! Grunkkk! Episodes? ‘Splain, pliss, Lucy.
BUFFALO: Old one-reelers from the early Forties, my avian friend, predating the TV show with George Reeves and the movies with Chris Reeve. “Cliffhangers,” they called ‘em.
BIRD: Any good?
BUFFALO: They’re high camp, written by alcoholic hacks and closet queens. In the current episode, the infamous Spider Lady is out to nail Superman.
BIRD: What, to shag him, like?
BUFFALO: No, you jerk-berk, to dust him, take him out, settle his hash, buy him a one-way ticket to Palookaville. Capice?
BIRD: One question... is she hot?
BUFFALO: Like a string of firecrackers, dude. She’s a Lana Turner look-alike in a sheer black Rita Hayworth fookme evening gown, festooned with sequins. Lovely bit of prime cleavage, too.
BIRD: Brilliant... but how are her stems?
BUFFALO: Dazzling, my feathered friend. Perfectly shaped calves, trim ankles, and a totally hot pair of black stiletto shag-me-all-night pumps from the golden age of Frederick’s of Hollywood.
BIRD: I would expect no less from a Spider Lady. Does she have special powers, like?
BUFFALO: Aye, the power to cloud men’s minds, make them drool like TV evangelists, stomp their hind feet like lovesick prairie dogs and bark at the moon like fevered coyotes in estrus.
BIRD: Is she deliciously evil an’ all?
BUFFALO: Is she ever, dude. Her parlor wall sports a giant electrified silver lamé spider web, for frying her enemies. Whoa! She just fried Professor Morgan’s hapless lab assistant, Short Circuit Leeds. And now it’s Lois Lane’s turn... she’s been snatched, blindfolded, kidnapped, and transported to the spider lair.
BIRD: Diabolical... is it Margot Kidder, then?
BUFFALO: I don’t think Margot was born then, dude. It’s Noel Neill, in her prime... a bit on the mousy side, but tasty - in a virginal librarian sort of way. She’s dressed rather severely, in one of those horrible professional womens’ business suits. Nice gams, though.
BIRD: The suspense is killing me.
BUFFALO: Lois is pleading now, “You don’t have to kill me. I’ve been blindfolded the whole time, there’s no way I could identify you!”
BIRD: Is the Spider Lady buying it?
BUFFALO: No way, dude. She says, “I might take a chance and let you go, if I didn’t know you’re a reporter. Did you really think we wouldn’t search your hand bag?” What a hoot. Uh, oh, the henchmen are tying Lois to the spiderweb.
BIRD: Good heavens, she’s not going to toast Lois, is she?
BUFFALO: Looks bad, Birdy. Lois is miffed now. “You’ll never get away with this!” she protests. “Superman can’t help you now,” the Spider Lady smirks. Gorgonzola, dude, she’s done it! She’s thrown the mothering switch! There’s really cheesy animated lightning bolts jumping all over Lois’s bod!
BIRD: Sounds absolutely grizzly, Buffo.
BUFFALO: No, no bears so far, but Lois is twitching like a bug on a hot plate, screaming blue murder.
BIRD: Horrifying!
BUFFALO: It’s not all bad... the old juice has caused her nips to go all articulated, like... which would be incredibly arousing if it wasn’t so comical. Ah, bloody hell, should have seen this coming - “Continued Next Week.”
BIRD: Gott und Gorgonzola!
BUFFALO: Indeed. I’ll keep you posted. Ten-four.
BIRD: No film at eleven, sigh.
BUFFALO: Your snorter is on the money, Birdo. They’re showing back-to-back episodes of “Superman” on Turner Classic Movies.
BIRD: Blam! Ker-whamo! Grunkkk! Episodes? ‘Splain, pliss, Lucy.
BUFFALO: Old one-reelers from the early Forties, my avian friend, predating the TV show with George Reeves and the movies with Chris Reeve. “Cliffhangers,” they called ‘em.
BIRD: Any good?
BUFFALO: They’re high camp, written by alcoholic hacks and closet queens. In the current episode, the infamous Spider Lady is out to nail Superman.
BIRD: What, to shag him, like?
BUFFALO: No, you jerk-berk, to dust him, take him out, settle his hash, buy him a one-way ticket to Palookaville. Capice?
BIRD: One question... is she hot?
BUFFALO: Like a string of firecrackers, dude. She’s a Lana Turner look-alike in a sheer black Rita Hayworth fookme evening gown, festooned with sequins. Lovely bit of prime cleavage, too.
BIRD: Brilliant... but how are her stems?
BUFFALO: Dazzling, my feathered friend. Perfectly shaped calves, trim ankles, and a totally hot pair of black stiletto shag-me-all-night pumps from the golden age of Frederick’s of Hollywood.
BIRD: I would expect no less from a Spider Lady. Does she have special powers, like?
BUFFALO: Aye, the power to cloud men’s minds, make them drool like TV evangelists, stomp their hind feet like lovesick prairie dogs and bark at the moon like fevered coyotes in estrus.
BIRD: Is she deliciously evil an’ all?
BUFFALO: Is she ever, dude. Her parlor wall sports a giant electrified silver lamé spider web, for frying her enemies. Whoa! She just fried Professor Morgan’s hapless lab assistant, Short Circuit Leeds. And now it’s Lois Lane’s turn... she’s been snatched, blindfolded, kidnapped, and transported to the spider lair.
BIRD: Diabolical... is it Margot Kidder, then?
BUFFALO: I don’t think Margot was born then, dude. It’s Noel Neill, in her prime... a bit on the mousy side, but tasty - in a virginal librarian sort of way. She’s dressed rather severely, in one of those horrible professional womens’ business suits. Nice gams, though.
BIRD: The suspense is killing me.
BUFFALO: Lois is pleading now, “You don’t have to kill me. I’ve been blindfolded the whole time, there’s no way I could identify you!”
BIRD: Is the Spider Lady buying it?
BUFFALO: No way, dude. She says, “I might take a chance and let you go, if I didn’t know you’re a reporter. Did you really think we wouldn’t search your hand bag?” What a hoot. Uh, oh, the henchmen are tying Lois to the spiderweb.
BIRD: Good heavens, she’s not going to toast Lois, is she?
BUFFALO: Looks bad, Birdy. Lois is miffed now. “You’ll never get away with this!” she protests. “Superman can’t help you now,” the Spider Lady smirks. Gorgonzola, dude, she’s done it! She’s thrown the mothering switch! There’s really cheesy animated lightning bolts jumping all over Lois’s bod!
BIRD: Sounds absolutely grizzly, Buffo.
BUFFALO: No, no bears so far, but Lois is twitching like a bug on a hot plate, screaming blue murder.
BIRD: Horrifying!
BUFFALO: It’s not all bad... the old juice has caused her nips to go all articulated, like... which would be incredibly arousing if it wasn’t so comical. Ah, bloody hell, should have seen this coming - “Continued Next Week.”
BIRD: Gott und Gorgonzola!
BUFFALO: Indeed. I’ll keep you posted. Ten-four.
BIRD: No film at eleven, sigh.
Monday, November 06, 2006
THE FIFI TAPES - A RETROSPECTIVE
WHEN THE FIFI TAPES WERE FIRST PUBLISHED IN NEWS PRICK FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, THE WORLD WAS STUNNED & CURIOUSLY AROUSED. NOW IN A LONG-OVERDUE RETROSPECTIVE, THE ORIGINAL INTERVIEWER, SOME SAY SALACIOUS TOAD WITH A PERMANENT STIFFY, RETRACES WHAT IT FELT LIKE TO SMASH THE QUASI-ETHEREAL BANALITIES OF EXISTENCE, AND EXPLORES THE SUBSEQUENT CATHARTIC REAWAKENING OF THE MOST INCREDIBLE GODDESS TO EVER COMBUST IN CYBERSPACE
JERRY ARSHLICKER: You said fifteen years ago you were shocked by the furore the tapes caused. How do you think people would react today?
FIFI: Time is circular. How the sands of time run through my fingers. Yoick!
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Hm. Do you regret anything you said then?
FIFI: His was full-on but no tongue. Mine was a bit more guarded. What more can I say?
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Perhaps it’s not what you say, or said even, but what you do, did?
FIFI: Oh, I don’t know. All desire left me and I retreated to my bills and my bathroom floor.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Yes. Tell me about your bathroom floor. I gather it’s been a great source of solace over the years.
FIFI: Oh, you know, it’s much like any other, but it’s mine.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: I see. You said before we started that there would be no topics off-limits. With that in mind, I’d like to ask you about Noel and the all-night tea parties.
FIFI: OK.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: What was it about Noel that first attracted you to him?
FIFI: We aren’t talking tea and crumpets here. Danger lurked behind that mysterious dark exterior.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So you were frightened and aroused in his company?
FIFI: As free as a boid! A caged canary.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Did you have any inkling then that he’d wind up face down butt nekkid in a vat of vanilla and toffee crunch at Ben & Jerry’s?
FIFI: Well, he always had a sweet tooth and he often likened orgasm to a choc ice, so I suppose yes.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Do you regret now introducing him to the banana split?
FIFI: Not really. I’d had a craving for one and I knew he’d like it. All our desires were fulfilled.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: But for that craving, Noel might still be alive. You must feel some pang of guilt, surely?
FIFI: It will happen when it happens. The world spins on.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So, no regrets.
FIFI: None.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: I’d like to bring up the thorny topic of the Pope, if I may.
FIFI: Fine.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: It seems to me that your life has been dominated by the Pope and the search for extreme self-gratification. Is that a fair analysis?
FIFI: You stop that right now, or I’ll tan your bottom.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So, I take it you’d rather not talk about it?
FIFI: Don’t get me started. Oh, OK. Did you hear that The Pope is abolishing Limbo? He's throwing hundreds and thousands of unbaptized babies out in the cold. No diapers. Babies without a country. They can join all the people who went to hell for eating meat. Wonder where they're wandering? The stockyards?
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Is that a yes, then, to my question?
FIFI: Then all the saints that are no more. I hear tell their golden crowns were all melted for bouillion. Is it for God's coffers or the Pope's? In job applications they could list 'former saint'.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Indeed. You raise some interesting issues. What do you think all those years in the gutter have taught you?
FIFI: Patience, my darling. Good things come in time. Sometimes life sparkles brightly and leads folks to beguiling paths. Sometimes that life holds responsibilities and duties that take precedence over a quick appearance in digital, delightful though it may be. Sometimes old friends must be comforted.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Which brings me on to your collaboration with The Bird & Buffalo. Would it be fair to say your encounters with these goons, especially with the auld perv, have re-energized a tired, flagging career?
FIFI: The lady only accepts rubies and poils.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Finally, knowing what you know now, is there anything you would’ve done differently fifteen years ago?
FIFI: I don’t like air conditioners; much prefer fans. I'd never had one before, but last summer someone gave me a used one, and it helped some.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Thank you so much for talking to me again, Fifi. Still got the stiffy.
FIFI: You forgot to plug my new book, Arshlicker!
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So I did. Briefly, in the dying seconds of this scintillating reunion of minds and bodies, just tell us how you came to write it.
FIFI: Earlier last fall, whilst slurping canned lentil soup (lo how the mighty have fallen) the whole idea came to me & I dropped the spoon, picked up a pencil, and began writing furiously when--the phone rang and I made the mistake of picking it up.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: That’s quite incredible. And Fifi Lamour’s slice it up and spit it out and lick what’s left over autobiography If This Is Tuesday I Must Be In Heaven, is out this Friday and will be available from all reputable retailers. Still no chance of a shag?
FIFI: Dreamy, lovely, but useless.
IF YOU’D LIKE TO TALK TO FIFI LAMOUR ABOUT HER AUTOBIOGRAPHY ON BIRD & BUFFALO INTERACTIVE, WRITE TO US AT birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
SHORTLY AFTER THIS INTERVIEW WAS RECORDED, JERRY ARSHLICKER DISAPPEARED UNDER A CLOUD AND WAS LAST SEEN IN RIO WITH A BRAZILIAN TRANNY NAMED RUPERT, BUT THAT’S ANOTHER STORY, PROBABLY NEVER TO BE TOLD.
FOR THE FULL TEXT OF THIS INTERVIEW & A 6-MINUTE DVD EXCLUSIVE OF FIFI LAMOUR IN THE BUFF IN THE BATH BLOWING BUBBLES & QUAFFING CHAMPAGNE, PLEASE SEND 1OO BIG ONES TO fifilamourinbuffwithbubbles@hotmail.com OR TEXT LAMOURBUFF99 WITH WHATEVER YOU CAN AFFORD
JERRY ARSHLICKER: You said fifteen years ago you were shocked by the furore the tapes caused. How do you think people would react today?
FIFI: Time is circular. How the sands of time run through my fingers. Yoick!
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Hm. Do you regret anything you said then?
FIFI: His was full-on but no tongue. Mine was a bit more guarded. What more can I say?
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Perhaps it’s not what you say, or said even, but what you do, did?
FIFI: Oh, I don’t know. All desire left me and I retreated to my bills and my bathroom floor.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Yes. Tell me about your bathroom floor. I gather it’s been a great source of solace over the years.
FIFI: Oh, you know, it’s much like any other, but it’s mine.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: I see. You said before we started that there would be no topics off-limits. With that in mind, I’d like to ask you about Noel and the all-night tea parties.
FIFI: OK.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: What was it about Noel that first attracted you to him?
FIFI: We aren’t talking tea and crumpets here. Danger lurked behind that mysterious dark exterior.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So you were frightened and aroused in his company?
FIFI: As free as a boid! A caged canary.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Did you have any inkling then that he’d wind up face down butt nekkid in a vat of vanilla and toffee crunch at Ben & Jerry’s?
FIFI: Well, he always had a sweet tooth and he often likened orgasm to a choc ice, so I suppose yes.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Do you regret now introducing him to the banana split?
FIFI: Not really. I’d had a craving for one and I knew he’d like it. All our desires were fulfilled.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: But for that craving, Noel might still be alive. You must feel some pang of guilt, surely?
FIFI: It will happen when it happens. The world spins on.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So, no regrets.
FIFI: None.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: I’d like to bring up the thorny topic of the Pope, if I may.
FIFI: Fine.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: It seems to me that your life has been dominated by the Pope and the search for extreme self-gratification. Is that a fair analysis?
FIFI: You stop that right now, or I’ll tan your bottom.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So, I take it you’d rather not talk about it?
FIFI: Don’t get me started. Oh, OK. Did you hear that The Pope is abolishing Limbo? He's throwing hundreds and thousands of unbaptized babies out in the cold. No diapers. Babies without a country. They can join all the people who went to hell for eating meat. Wonder where they're wandering? The stockyards?
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Is that a yes, then, to my question?
FIFI: Then all the saints that are no more. I hear tell their golden crowns were all melted for bouillion. Is it for God's coffers or the Pope's? In job applications they could list 'former saint'.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Indeed. You raise some interesting issues. What do you think all those years in the gutter have taught you?
FIFI: Patience, my darling. Good things come in time. Sometimes life sparkles brightly and leads folks to beguiling paths. Sometimes that life holds responsibilities and duties that take precedence over a quick appearance in digital, delightful though it may be. Sometimes old friends must be comforted.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Which brings me on to your collaboration with The Bird & Buffalo. Would it be fair to say your encounters with these goons, especially with the auld perv, have re-energized a tired, flagging career?
FIFI: The lady only accepts rubies and poils.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Finally, knowing what you know now, is there anything you would’ve done differently fifteen years ago?
FIFI: I don’t like air conditioners; much prefer fans. I'd never had one before, but last summer someone gave me a used one, and it helped some.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: Thank you so much for talking to me again, Fifi. Still got the stiffy.
FIFI: You forgot to plug my new book, Arshlicker!
JERRY ARSHLICKER: So I did. Briefly, in the dying seconds of this scintillating reunion of minds and bodies, just tell us how you came to write it.
FIFI: Earlier last fall, whilst slurping canned lentil soup (lo how the mighty have fallen) the whole idea came to me & I dropped the spoon, picked up a pencil, and began writing furiously when--the phone rang and I made the mistake of picking it up.
JERRY ARSHLICKER: That’s quite incredible. And Fifi Lamour’s slice it up and spit it out and lick what’s left over autobiography If This Is Tuesday I Must Be In Heaven, is out this Friday and will be available from all reputable retailers. Still no chance of a shag?
FIFI: Dreamy, lovely, but useless.
IF YOU’D LIKE TO TALK TO FIFI LAMOUR ABOUT HER AUTOBIOGRAPHY ON BIRD & BUFFALO INTERACTIVE, WRITE TO US AT birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
SHORTLY AFTER THIS INTERVIEW WAS RECORDED, JERRY ARSHLICKER DISAPPEARED UNDER A CLOUD AND WAS LAST SEEN IN RIO WITH A BRAZILIAN TRANNY NAMED RUPERT, BUT THAT’S ANOTHER STORY, PROBABLY NEVER TO BE TOLD.
FOR THE FULL TEXT OF THIS INTERVIEW & A 6-MINUTE DVD EXCLUSIVE OF FIFI LAMOUR IN THE BUFF IN THE BATH BLOWING BUBBLES & QUAFFING CHAMPAGNE, PLEASE SEND 1OO BIG ONES TO fifilamourinbuffwithbubbles@hotmail.com OR TEXT LAMOURBUFF99 WITH WHATEVER YOU CAN AFFORD
Sunday, November 05, 2006
SPARKY IN THE PARK WITH ALCOPOPS PART 4
SPARKY: I miss her, man. I really do. She may be potty. She may be dotty. But she was ALL woman. Hey, anybody got a beer?!
SPARKY IN THE PARK WITH ALCOPOPS PART 3
SPARKY: Birds, trees, baseball, football, volleyball. Gawd, I hate Bicardi Breezers. Do I have to drink this shit?
SPARKY IN THE PARK WITH ALCOPOPS PART 2
SPARKY: Ice creams and swings. "Higher, Pop, higher! Yikes, think I'm gonna chuck up! Watch out!"
SPARKY IN THE PARK WITH ALCOPOPS
SPARKY: Gawd, it's real peaceful in this park, man. Back to nature, y'know? See those leaves up there? The US of A. It's a big place, man. Things happen here. Every day.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
TREATISE OF THE OCTOPIDDLE INVERSION UDDER
TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH BY OLAF DRIBBLE (All Rights Reversed)
O great Udder, speak to us. We are forever in your debt. Udder as dream, Udder as music. No udder passes our conscience in the way you do, penetrating deep down into the dark loins of our souls. We write in Octopiddle Inversion, awaiting the flesh and sinew of images. Udder is everything, we are nothing. Udder is time’s carcass. Let us worship at the altar of none Udder, inverted in the Octopiddle way. "Diagonal! Diagonal!" I hear you say. Coming, Indigo. Coming.
FORTHCOMING ATTRACTIONS:
SPARKY IN THE PARK WITH ALCOPOPS
THE FIFI TAPES - A RETROSPECTIVE
OH WOT A TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE, PART 1 REDUX
PLUS!
THE CONCLUDING EXTRACT OF THE DIARY OF MR PITIFUL MOTOWN
PLUS! PLUS!
WHEN THE SQUIDGIES DON'T WORK - BIRDY SHARES HIS INNERMOST THOUGHTS ABOUT LIFE ON THE McDUMPSTER
ALL THIS AND SO MUCH MORE ON THE JERK-BERK BLOG SIMPLY EVERYBODY'S TALKING ABOUT!!!!
"Gratuitous!" - The New Porker
"Insipid!" - Pub Splashers Weekly
"Lightweight!" - Rollin' Stoned
"Hermetic!" - East Fenwick Advertiser
FOR A SLICE OF THE ACTION, SUBSCRIBE, SUBSCRIBE, SUBSCRIBE
AT birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO TELL YOUR GRANDCHILDREN WITH PRIDE "I WAS THERE".
Arf, arf!
O great Udder, speak to us. We are forever in your debt. Udder as dream, Udder as music. No udder passes our conscience in the way you do, penetrating deep down into the dark loins of our souls. We write in Octopiddle Inversion, awaiting the flesh and sinew of images. Udder is everything, we are nothing. Udder is time’s carcass. Let us worship at the altar of none Udder, inverted in the Octopiddle way. "Diagonal! Diagonal!" I hear you say. Coming, Indigo. Coming.
FORTHCOMING ATTRACTIONS:
SPARKY IN THE PARK WITH ALCOPOPS
THE FIFI TAPES - A RETROSPECTIVE
OH WOT A TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE, PART 1 REDUX
PLUS!
THE CONCLUDING EXTRACT OF THE DIARY OF MR PITIFUL MOTOWN
PLUS! PLUS!
WHEN THE SQUIDGIES DON'T WORK - BIRDY SHARES HIS INNERMOST THOUGHTS ABOUT LIFE ON THE McDUMPSTER
ALL THIS AND SO MUCH MORE ON THE JERK-BERK BLOG SIMPLY EVERYBODY'S TALKING ABOUT!!!!
"Gratuitous!" - The New Porker
"Insipid!" - Pub Splashers Weekly
"Lightweight!" - Rollin' Stoned
"Hermetic!" - East Fenwick Advertiser
FOR A SLICE OF THE ACTION, SUBSCRIBE, SUBSCRIBE, SUBSCRIBE
AT birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO TELL YOUR GRANDCHILDREN WITH PRIDE "I WAS THERE".
Arf, arf!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
OLAF DRIBB AND THE OCTOPIDDLES
POTTY DOTTY: Well, pardon me for saying so, but don't you think this Motown Piffle is overrated? I mean flow-of-consciousness is just SO yesterday. Has no-one in here read Olaf Dribb and the Octopiddle movement? Now THAT'S cutting edge.
BUFFALO: Wot the fookster on a spit are you goin' on about, Dott P?
POTTY DOTTY: Ah, so someone's alive.
BUFFALO: Bare Lee.
POTTY DOTTY: Olaf Dribb and the Octopiddle movement - literature for the multidimensional.
BUFFALO: Jeez. Shakespeare must be turning in his grave.
POTTY DOTTY: O ye of little faith. Listen to this, taken from his latest work The Bead Of Nevermore: "I woke up this morning, I thought I was dead, but I pinched myself VERY slowly and soon realised that dead has no place in my life, not today, not tomorrow but someday, and then when I noticed the clock on the wall I thought, damn, I'm late for the mortuary, well, not exactly late, because I don't work there or anything, just observe and help my friend Rodney, who does work there but would prefer to play games in Neutron Park, which doesn't actually exist yet but nevertheless is VERY real for him and makes his heart throb whenever he thinks of it, which is a blessing, really, because when he's alone he feels SO superfluous and diagonal..." Well? What do you feel about it?
BUFFALO: Garroted.
POTTY DOTTY: Beg pardon?
BUFFALO: It's shite, PD. Empty, inconsequential cod spew. And you dare to compare this gibberish to Diary of The Pitiful Motown? Pah, I say. Pah! Not only that, there's no full stop!
POTTY DOTTY: Must one always search for closure?
BUFFALO: Always.
POTTY DOTTY: Does Letter To A Parliamentarian In Indigo mean nothing to you?
BUFFALO: Nothing.
POTTY DOTTY: What about The Octopiddles Are Coming Thither?
BUFFALO: Not a blutwurst.
POTTY DOTTY: Then Olaf is finished.
BUFFALO: Before he started.
POTTY DOTTY: But wait.
BUFFALO: Must I?
POTTY DOTTY: For now I will reveal the true identity of he who has until now remained nameless and faceless and... truth be told, fairly clueless.
BUFFALO: Oh, go on then.
POTTY DOTTY: For it is none other than...
BUFFALO: Popeye the sailorman?
POTTY DOTTY: Drum roll, per-leeeeze! THE SAGE OF SWEDEN!
BUFFALO: No!
POTTY DOTTY: Yes! And he comes with a message for us all.
BUFFALO: (gulps hard) Go on.
POTTY DOTTY: "If one's nose is pointing ahead, the feet will surely follow."
BUFFALO: Wow.
POTTY DOTTY: "The Octopiddles are upon us and there isn't a Gammler thing we can do about it."
BUFFALO: Gammler?! You mean Jeremy...
POTTY DOTTY: Is an Octopiddle? Oh, yes.
BUFFALO: Lummee! I must recant.
POTTY DOTTY: Indeed you should.
BUFFALO: Respect, Sage.
POTTY DOTTY: I'm e-mailing you Treatise Of The Octopiddle Inversion Udder. Read it and we shall talk again. Film at eleven, Buffy.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Wot the fookster on a spit are you goin' on about, Dott P?
POTTY DOTTY: Ah, so someone's alive.
BUFFALO: Bare Lee.
POTTY DOTTY: Olaf Dribb and the Octopiddle movement - literature for the multidimensional.
BUFFALO: Jeez. Shakespeare must be turning in his grave.
POTTY DOTTY: O ye of little faith. Listen to this, taken from his latest work The Bead Of Nevermore: "I woke up this morning, I thought I was dead, but I pinched myself VERY slowly and soon realised that dead has no place in my life, not today, not tomorrow but someday, and then when I noticed the clock on the wall I thought, damn, I'm late for the mortuary, well, not exactly late, because I don't work there or anything, just observe and help my friend Rodney, who does work there but would prefer to play games in Neutron Park, which doesn't actually exist yet but nevertheless is VERY real for him and makes his heart throb whenever he thinks of it, which is a blessing, really, because when he's alone he feels SO superfluous and diagonal..." Well? What do you feel about it?
BUFFALO: Garroted.
POTTY DOTTY: Beg pardon?
BUFFALO: It's shite, PD. Empty, inconsequential cod spew. And you dare to compare this gibberish to Diary of The Pitiful Motown? Pah, I say. Pah! Not only that, there's no full stop!
POTTY DOTTY: Must one always search for closure?
BUFFALO: Always.
POTTY DOTTY: Does Letter To A Parliamentarian In Indigo mean nothing to you?
BUFFALO: Nothing.
POTTY DOTTY: What about The Octopiddles Are Coming Thither?
BUFFALO: Not a blutwurst.
POTTY DOTTY: Then Olaf is finished.
BUFFALO: Before he started.
POTTY DOTTY: But wait.
BUFFALO: Must I?
POTTY DOTTY: For now I will reveal the true identity of he who has until now remained nameless and faceless and... truth be told, fairly clueless.
BUFFALO: Oh, go on then.
POTTY DOTTY: For it is none other than...
BUFFALO: Popeye the sailorman?
POTTY DOTTY: Drum roll, per-leeeeze! THE SAGE OF SWEDEN!
BUFFALO: No!
POTTY DOTTY: Yes! And he comes with a message for us all.
BUFFALO: (gulps hard) Go on.
POTTY DOTTY: "If one's nose is pointing ahead, the feet will surely follow."
BUFFALO: Wow.
POTTY DOTTY: "The Octopiddles are upon us and there isn't a Gammler thing we can do about it."
BUFFALO: Gammler?! You mean Jeremy...
POTTY DOTTY: Is an Octopiddle? Oh, yes.
BUFFALO: Lummee! I must recant.
POTTY DOTTY: Indeed you should.
BUFFALO: Respect, Sage.
POTTY DOTTY: I'm e-mailing you Treatise Of The Octopiddle Inversion Udder. Read it and we shall talk again. Film at eleven, Buffy.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
SQUIDGIES GALORE, OOPS ARMAGEDDON
BUFFALO: It's the impending Armageddon thing, dude.
Shit hitting fans from every direction,
One week away from the telltale election
Newscasts interfering with a decent erection
Holding Seppeku knife, contemplating vivisection.
POTTY DOTTY: I want more!
BUFFALO: Hey, Potty Dotty. Long time no see.
POTTY DOTTY: Went to Brighton for a while, to sort my head out. I became surrounded, if you will, by sensations. Didn't know where to turn. Spun a little. Then woke up in a Sainsbury's trolley on the pier with my knickers over my ears. With the Squidgies in tow.
BUFFALO: Sorry to hear that.
POTTY DOTTY: And with a thirst for blutwurst.
BUFFALO: Oh, baby!
POTTY DOTTY: And movies in May.
BUFFALO: Huh?
POTTY DOTTY: You can tell Sparky I'm ready for him now. This time his duvet and Toe Jam WON'T save him. Ta-ra.
BUFFALO: Dotty? Dotty? Where'd she go?
BIRD: Dude?
BUFFALO: Birdy? Squidgie update?
BIRD: Steady, Roy, steady. But ne'er mind that, Reggie. Ready for more The Diary of Mr Pitiful Motown?
BUFFALO: You betcha!
BIRD: This bit's a corker, dude. Zip up and get ready for the ride: "I can finish here a recluse with a soaked brain to receive my telephone numbers. They know this one bumsen.. I will go impact on his ass. The true problem is I write with nothing to insert. And nevertheless, it is my exit. Sadly, in this moment my life of Scheisse is complete. Time for another drink. A better life by chemistry. Anyhow, to grip to feel you in the Octo. Return me this donkey."
BUFFALO: (weeps) I can't... Pliz, Lucy...
BIRD: Gee, sorry, dude. Didn't mean to upset ya.
(BUFFALO wails like last ever Dodo facing extinction)
BIRD: (sings) The holly and the ivy... Film at eleven.
Shit hitting fans from every direction,
One week away from the telltale election
Newscasts interfering with a decent erection
Holding Seppeku knife, contemplating vivisection.
POTTY DOTTY: I want more!
BUFFALO: Hey, Potty Dotty. Long time no see.
POTTY DOTTY: Went to Brighton for a while, to sort my head out. I became surrounded, if you will, by sensations. Didn't know where to turn. Spun a little. Then woke up in a Sainsbury's trolley on the pier with my knickers over my ears. With the Squidgies in tow.
BUFFALO: Sorry to hear that.
POTTY DOTTY: And with a thirst for blutwurst.
BUFFALO: Oh, baby!
POTTY DOTTY: And movies in May.
BUFFALO: Huh?
POTTY DOTTY: You can tell Sparky I'm ready for him now. This time his duvet and Toe Jam WON'T save him. Ta-ra.
BUFFALO: Dotty? Dotty? Where'd she go?
BIRD: Dude?
BUFFALO: Birdy? Squidgie update?
BIRD: Steady, Roy, steady. But ne'er mind that, Reggie. Ready for more The Diary of Mr Pitiful Motown?
BUFFALO: You betcha!
BIRD: This bit's a corker, dude. Zip up and get ready for the ride: "I can finish here a recluse with a soaked brain to receive my telephone numbers. They know this one bumsen.. I will go impact on his ass. The true problem is I write with nothing to insert. And nevertheless, it is my exit. Sadly, in this moment my life of Scheisse is complete. Time for another drink. A better life by chemistry. Anyhow, to grip to feel you in the Octo. Return me this donkey."
BUFFALO: (weeps) I can't... Pliz, Lucy...
BIRD: Gee, sorry, dude. Didn't mean to upset ya.
(BUFFALO wails like last ever Dodo facing extinction)
BIRD: (sings) The holly and the ivy... Film at eleven.
Monday, October 30, 2006
THE CURSE OF THE SQUIDGIES
BIRD: Dire Rear, Buffo.
BUFFALO: Dude, youse wastin' away. You gotta do somefin'.
BIRD: I've tried all the remedies, Buffters - buttermilk, carrot soup, ginger, mint, pomegranate, mango, rice, but so far da only thing that's had any success, albeit limited, is the old Cabernet Sauvignon wine cork, strategically placed, like.
BUFFALO: Eeks!
BIRD: Difficult to regulate at night, if ya get m'drift.
BUFFALO: So is you off work, like?
BIRD: Off work, off play, off shagging after Tiffin. Jeepers, even Cadbury's Fruit & Nut has lost its allure.
BUFFALO: Boogeroo, dude. Does this mean the serialisation of dat Plasterung book might be delayed, like?
BIRD: Aw, that. Well, hactually, Ralf found a better deal.
BUFFALO: Die Grosse Schlanger Shagger!
BIRD: Quite. With the New Porker. But...
BUFFALO: No...
BIRD: Jeremy...
BUFFALO: Inmypants?
BIRD: Yahhh-p. Has agreed, for a small fee that would make the true hoors of this world salivate mightily...
BUFFALO: Gosh!
BIRD: ..to serialise his new book, well, short story, really, here, with us. Entitled, wait for it, drum roll, pliz - Diary Of Mr Pitiful Motown.
BUFFALO: Hey, great title!
BIRD: You'll love it, dude. It's flow-of-consciousness, surrealist seeker on a cheapo holiday in Dusseldorf type shit.
BUFFALO: You're selling it, dude, B Leave Me.
BIRD: So here goes... "Sometimes, I think of my opening bent in a block, or of my language which is drawn. I cannot decide with whom to stammer, the Udder or the Hammer. Insane dreams step either side of the nightmares. I am fallow and although I enjoy ballet, always pointing upwards. I am Gammler. I smell. My esteem approaches quickly with the fear of the opinion or the meal and a simple despair that most of the time I cannot live."
BUFFALO: (choking back tears) Beautiful, Birdman. Can hardly speak.
BIRD: To be continued...
BUFFALO: No!
BIRD: Yes!
BUFFALO: "A simple despair that most of the time I cannot live..." O so true.
BIRD: Oh, no! The Squidgies are flying. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: I am Gammler... Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Dude, youse wastin' away. You gotta do somefin'.
BIRD: I've tried all the remedies, Buffters - buttermilk, carrot soup, ginger, mint, pomegranate, mango, rice, but so far da only thing that's had any success, albeit limited, is the old Cabernet Sauvignon wine cork, strategically placed, like.
BUFFALO: Eeks!
BIRD: Difficult to regulate at night, if ya get m'drift.
BUFFALO: So is you off work, like?
BIRD: Off work, off play, off shagging after Tiffin. Jeepers, even Cadbury's Fruit & Nut has lost its allure.
BUFFALO: Boogeroo, dude. Does this mean the serialisation of dat Plasterung book might be delayed, like?
BIRD: Aw, that. Well, hactually, Ralf found a better deal.
BUFFALO: Die Grosse Schlanger Shagger!
BIRD: Quite. With the New Porker. But...
BUFFALO: No...
BIRD: Jeremy...
BUFFALO: Inmypants?
BIRD: Yahhh-p. Has agreed, for a small fee that would make the true hoors of this world salivate mightily...
BUFFALO: Gosh!
BIRD: ..to serialise his new book, well, short story, really, here, with us. Entitled, wait for it, drum roll, pliz - Diary Of Mr Pitiful Motown.
BUFFALO: Hey, great title!
BIRD: You'll love it, dude. It's flow-of-consciousness, surrealist seeker on a cheapo holiday in Dusseldorf type shit.
BUFFALO: You're selling it, dude, B Leave Me.
BIRD: So here goes... "Sometimes, I think of my opening bent in a block, or of my language which is drawn. I cannot decide with whom to stammer, the Udder or the Hammer. Insane dreams step either side of the nightmares. I am fallow and although I enjoy ballet, always pointing upwards. I am Gammler. I smell. My esteem approaches quickly with the fear of the opinion or the meal and a simple despair that most of the time I cannot live."
BUFFALO: (choking back tears) Beautiful, Birdman. Can hardly speak.
BIRD: To be continued...
BUFFALO: No!
BIRD: Yes!
BUFFALO: "A simple despair that most of the time I cannot live..." O so true.
BIRD: Oh, no! The Squidgies are flying. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: I am Gammler... Arf, arf!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
EVERYDAY ABSCESS HORROR, AKA MAKE SQUIDGIES HISTORY
BIRD: Fookin’ abscess. The gum’s in agony. And the antibios are giving me the squidgies.
BUFFALO: Sorry to hear that, dude.
BIRD: Still, been milking the sympathy from all the ladies, like. And I did win at pool last night.
BUFFALO: Glad somebody won. The Tigers were beaten like gongs last night by the flaming St. Louis Cardinals, in St. Louis. Trying to raise my spirits by sipping Prince of Wales tea and eating homemade apple-cinnamon oatmeal.
BIRD: Fancy tigers being beaten by cardinals. The shame of it. Head feels like it's about to go splat. Things can only get better.
BUFFALO: Rewinds me of when mah wisdom teeth were removed in my early 20s. For two weeks I was on potent pain killers, yet I still thought my lower jaw was coming off. The first night after the surgery I woke up in the middle of the night choking on my own blood. Anyhoo, I hope you feel better soon.
BIRD: Either that or it’ll be a shotgun farewell, dude.
BUFFALO: Now, now, let's have none of that, lad. Grin and bear it, stiff upper lip, and all that. This too shall pass. And then something worse will happen and you'll look back on this as a mere lark... or a Cardinal.
BIRD: Now there's a thought. Thanks, Buff. Cheered me up no end.
BUFFALO: Think nothing of it. What are friends for? If it's any consolation to you, thank your lucky stars you don't have to take Ritalin to prevent you from falling asleep at the wheel and Ativan to discourage you from driving off cliffs. Think of your pain and discomfort as a pleasant distraction from the everyday horrors of life, and soon you'll be grinning ear to ear and gibbering like a great bloody ape. And now I'm off to the land of snails and adventure, aboard the Golden Hind. "Hi, folks, this is your host, Bob Hind..."
BIRD: Ker-ching! Direct hit!
BUFFALO: Still waiting for the trank to kick in here. Let's see, what else is good for stress? No, don't have the energy for that. Maybe a movie.
BIRD: Sounds like a good idea, Buffters. Oh, well, back to the squidgies. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Ohhhhh…
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: FOR THOSE OF YOU SUFFERING FROM THE SQUIDGIES & IN NEED OF SYMPATHY & ADVICE, CONTACT THE INTERNATIONAL SQUIDGIES ASSOCIATION AT squidgies.R.US@wellsoft.net
"MAKE SQUIDGIES HISTORY" T-SHIRTS, MUGS, PENS & OTHER USEFUL & HIGHLY IMPRESSIVE MERCHANDISE ARE AVAILABLE AT www.makesquidgieshistorydirect.com
ALL DONATIONS TO THE ERADICATE SQUIDGIES BY 2015 FUND GRATEFULLY RECEIVED AT www.eradicatesquidgiesnow.com
PLEASE NOTE: IF SYMPTOMS PERSIST, CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR & INVEST IN EXTRA STRONG UNDIES. YOUR FAMILY & FRIENDS WILL THANK YOU FOR IT.
BUFFALO: Sorry to hear that, dude.
BIRD: Still, been milking the sympathy from all the ladies, like. And I did win at pool last night.
BUFFALO: Glad somebody won. The Tigers were beaten like gongs last night by the flaming St. Louis Cardinals, in St. Louis. Trying to raise my spirits by sipping Prince of Wales tea and eating homemade apple-cinnamon oatmeal.
BIRD: Fancy tigers being beaten by cardinals. The shame of it. Head feels like it's about to go splat. Things can only get better.
BUFFALO: Rewinds me of when mah wisdom teeth were removed in my early 20s. For two weeks I was on potent pain killers, yet I still thought my lower jaw was coming off. The first night after the surgery I woke up in the middle of the night choking on my own blood. Anyhoo, I hope you feel better soon.
BIRD: Either that or it’ll be a shotgun farewell, dude.
BUFFALO: Now, now, let's have none of that, lad. Grin and bear it, stiff upper lip, and all that. This too shall pass. And then something worse will happen and you'll look back on this as a mere lark... or a Cardinal.
BIRD: Now there's a thought. Thanks, Buff. Cheered me up no end.
BUFFALO: Think nothing of it. What are friends for? If it's any consolation to you, thank your lucky stars you don't have to take Ritalin to prevent you from falling asleep at the wheel and Ativan to discourage you from driving off cliffs. Think of your pain and discomfort as a pleasant distraction from the everyday horrors of life, and soon you'll be grinning ear to ear and gibbering like a great bloody ape. And now I'm off to the land of snails and adventure, aboard the Golden Hind. "Hi, folks, this is your host, Bob Hind..."
BIRD: Ker-ching! Direct hit!
BUFFALO: Still waiting for the trank to kick in here. Let's see, what else is good for stress? No, don't have the energy for that. Maybe a movie.
BIRD: Sounds like a good idea, Buffters. Oh, well, back to the squidgies. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Ohhhhh…
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: FOR THOSE OF YOU SUFFERING FROM THE SQUIDGIES & IN NEED OF SYMPATHY & ADVICE, CONTACT THE INTERNATIONAL SQUIDGIES ASSOCIATION AT squidgies.R.US@wellsoft.net
"MAKE SQUIDGIES HISTORY" T-SHIRTS, MUGS, PENS & OTHER USEFUL & HIGHLY IMPRESSIVE MERCHANDISE ARE AVAILABLE AT www.makesquidgieshistorydirect.com
ALL DONATIONS TO THE ERADICATE SQUIDGIES BY 2015 FUND GRATEFULLY RECEIVED AT www.eradicatesquidgiesnow.com
PLEASE NOTE: IF SYMPTOMS PERSIST, CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR & INVEST IN EXTRA STRONG UNDIES. YOUR FAMILY & FRIENDS WILL THANK YOU FOR IT.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
PLASTERUNG IST GERADE AUS!
BIRD: Get this, dude. That German geezer Ralf.
BUFFALO: Oh, him. Mr Babelfish Schweinhund Shagger.
BIRD: That's the one. Well... his book...
BUFFALO: Gescheitze Strasse Nomer Eins.
BIRD: The Plasterung... has sent the big hitters in the publishing world into a bidding war.
BUFFALO: No way!
BIRD: As a result of appearing on da blog, like.
BUFFALO: Yeeks!
BIRD: They're talking half a mill.
BUFFALO: Wass?
BIRD: Apparent Lee, the internet yoot love all that pidjin-English-where's-the-fookin'-verb-and-object-MTV-has-fooked-over-our-beautiful-language- this-makes-no-sense-shite.
BUFFALO: Bunch of dummy kopfs!
BIRD: So...
BUFFALO: So?
BIRD: As a mark of gratitude...
BUFFALO: Huh?
BIRD: Ralf is gonna let us serialize the first six chapters on da blog.
BUFFALO: Goering on die Scheitze hausen! Nichts!
BIRD: Ja. Isn't that great news?
BUFFALO: Wunderbra! Check, pliz!
BIRD: And his German publishers want to translate Tails From The Bird & Buffalo Uncut.
BUFFALO: Ah, diese besser, like. But tell me I don't have to be called Bueffel.
BIRD: Nah, course not. The name stays the same.
BUFFALO: Praise the Lord.
BIRD: And get this... for the launch party, we're going to Berlin to meet the Hoff.
BUFFALO: David Hasselhoff?! Grrrrrrrrrrrreat! Whoopee. I love that guy. You know he's got a 16-inch schlonger?
BIRD: Really?
BUFFALO: Yup. Maybe if we play our cards right, he'll let us sing on his next single.
BIRD: Yes... Anyhoo, moving on. Press releases to write, photo shoots to arrange.
BUFFALO: Not half, Birdman.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Gerade aus. Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Oh, him. Mr Babelfish Schweinhund Shagger.
BIRD: That's the one. Well... his book...
BUFFALO: Gescheitze Strasse Nomer Eins.
BIRD: The Plasterung... has sent the big hitters in the publishing world into a bidding war.
BUFFALO: No way!
BIRD: As a result of appearing on da blog, like.
BUFFALO: Yeeks!
BIRD: They're talking half a mill.
BUFFALO: Wass?
BIRD: Apparent Lee, the internet yoot love all that pidjin-English-where's-the-fookin'-verb-and-object-MTV-has-fooked-over-our-beautiful-language- this-makes-no-sense-shite.
BUFFALO: Bunch of dummy kopfs!
BIRD: So...
BUFFALO: So?
BIRD: As a mark of gratitude...
BUFFALO: Huh?
BIRD: Ralf is gonna let us serialize the first six chapters on da blog.
BUFFALO: Goering on die Scheitze hausen! Nichts!
BIRD: Ja. Isn't that great news?
BUFFALO: Wunderbra! Check, pliz!
BIRD: And his German publishers want to translate Tails From The Bird & Buffalo Uncut.
BUFFALO: Ah, diese besser, like. But tell me I don't have to be called Bueffel.
BIRD: Nah, course not. The name stays the same.
BUFFALO: Praise the Lord.
BIRD: And get this... for the launch party, we're going to Berlin to meet the Hoff.
BUFFALO: David Hasselhoff?! Grrrrrrrrrrrreat! Whoopee. I love that guy. You know he's got a 16-inch schlonger?
BIRD: Really?
BUFFALO: Yup. Maybe if we play our cards right, he'll let us sing on his next single.
BIRD: Yes... Anyhoo, moving on. Press releases to write, photo shoots to arrange.
BUFFALO: Not half, Birdman.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Gerade aus. Arf, arf!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
JEREMY YOUTUBE LEMONS JUGS ARF, ARF
BIRD: Well, that went well.
BUFFALO: Sure did.
BIRD: And the, ah-hm, donations are flying in.
BUFFALO: Yowzer to that, dude. Got holes in me socks and I need a new hooter.
BIRD: Hmm. Yes. Anyhoo, you know that Jeremy guy?
BUFFALO: The one who's got a blog called jeremyindiapers or somefink?
BIRD: In pants. Jeremyinpants. Nothing on it yet, but we'll keep an eye out for developments. Well, he wrote us the mostest coolest e-mail.
BUFFALO: Respect.
BIRD: So good, infarct, that I reproduce it here for your highest of pleasures.
BUFFALO: Right-o.
BIRD: And he writes: "Dear Bird & Buffalo, Last year I lost my wife, my cat, my goat, my mind and my rare Mongolian birds stamp collection. And then you two loons came into my life. I just wanna say... Ch-ch-cho-cho... Gimme a minute, will ya? Choking up over here."
BUFFALO: Poor fookster.
BIRD: "I just wanna say when I read the extract from Helmut's novel yesterday..."
BUFFALO: Ralf, dude. Ralf. Bueffel indeed! Schweinhund shagger.
BIRD: "When I read the extract from Helmut's novel yesterday, I realised that just about anyone can write a novel then send it off to those wise guys at Babelfish, sign on the dotted line and make a mint. So..."
BUFFALO: Omigod. Here it comes.
BIRD: "So I wondered if you'd take a look at what I knocked together over an omelette and chips last night in my cramped but nice bedsit in Peckham?"
BUFFALO: Peckham? Any relation to Pecker?
BIRD: It's a suburb of London, dude.
BUFFALO: Oh. Do we have to read this?
BIRD: Yep. "Well, OK, it's not finished yet, but it starts off in a fairly lively fashion. 'He came round the bend and stuttered to a halt. Where was the gravy?'"
BUFFALO: That's it?!
BIRD: A-ha. So what do you think? Has it got legs?
BUFFALO: Tell me life's too short. Tell me.
BIRD: Wait, the e-mail's not finished yet. "And where can I find Sharon and the dancing titties? YouTube keeps saying 'File not found'. Love you guys. Wicked."
BUFFALO: The durty auld perv. We'll send you the link.
BIRD: And lastly... "Is it too late for my 8 Me-Me's? Here goes.
1. I wear my Y-fronts back to front to improve my circulation.
2. I've ghost written a biography for five prime ministers and sixteen presidents worldwide, but I wouldn't advise it. They pay very shitty rates.
3. I stole my great aunt's pet Yorkshire terrier shortly before she died and renamed her Horny.
4. I always mis-spell my name on forms, so people will remember me.
5. I think Titanic is the greatest film EVER made and I still find Celine Dion a total Freddy teaser.
6. My big left toe has two nails.
7. I shave under my arms and around my gonads. My girlfriend, well, ex-girlfriend was a bit of a stroker.
8. I'm learning the Collins Millennium dictionary word by word, for a laugh. Just got up to "enarthrosis". Looking forward to "en brochette".
Cheers
Jeremy Hoopla
PS Ha-ha. That's not my name. Can you guess what it really is?"
BUFFALO: Jeez. Another nutjob. Wot is it about us that attracts every wacko in town?
BIRD: Jeremy Hoofer, or whatever your name is, he didn't mean it. He's trying to be ironic. If you could only see his eyebrows slewing like waves...
BUFFALO: Yeah, Jez. Don't mind me. I haven't been laid since the summer.
BIRD: Nae true, laddy.
BUFFALO: Well, OK, a few weeks ago. And the nights are drawing in.
BIRD: What about last weekend?
BUFFALO: Doesn't count. Money changed hands, remember?
BIRD: Oh, Buffo. You'll have to stop taking them to those exclusive restaurants. KFC is perfectly adequate.
BUFFALO: I tell ya, those cherries were so ripe...
BIRD: Yes, all right, Buffters. What the mind doesn't see the imagination can fill in. So, anyway, here's to the next interactive, coming soon.
BUFFALO: Can't wait! And Sharon's new YouTube video, in which she juggles a dozen lemons on her jugs to the tune of Bachman Turner Overdrive's You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet!
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Sure did.
BIRD: And the, ah-hm, donations are flying in.
BUFFALO: Yowzer to that, dude. Got holes in me socks and I need a new hooter.
BIRD: Hmm. Yes. Anyhoo, you know that Jeremy guy?
BUFFALO: The one who's got a blog called jeremyindiapers or somefink?
BIRD: In pants. Jeremyinpants. Nothing on it yet, but we'll keep an eye out for developments. Well, he wrote us the mostest coolest e-mail.
BUFFALO: Respect.
BIRD: So good, infarct, that I reproduce it here for your highest of pleasures.
BUFFALO: Right-o.
BIRD: And he writes: "Dear Bird & Buffalo, Last year I lost my wife, my cat, my goat, my mind and my rare Mongolian birds stamp collection. And then you two loons came into my life. I just wanna say... Ch-ch-cho-cho... Gimme a minute, will ya? Choking up over here."
BUFFALO: Poor fookster.
BIRD: "I just wanna say when I read the extract from Helmut's novel yesterday..."
BUFFALO: Ralf, dude. Ralf. Bueffel indeed! Schweinhund shagger.
BIRD: "When I read the extract from Helmut's novel yesterday, I realised that just about anyone can write a novel then send it off to those wise guys at Babelfish, sign on the dotted line and make a mint. So..."
BUFFALO: Omigod. Here it comes.
BIRD: "So I wondered if you'd take a look at what I knocked together over an omelette and chips last night in my cramped but nice bedsit in Peckham?"
BUFFALO: Peckham? Any relation to Pecker?
BIRD: It's a suburb of London, dude.
BUFFALO: Oh. Do we have to read this?
BIRD: Yep. "Well, OK, it's not finished yet, but it starts off in a fairly lively fashion. 'He came round the bend and stuttered to a halt. Where was the gravy?'"
BUFFALO: That's it?!
BIRD: A-ha. So what do you think? Has it got legs?
BUFFALO: Tell me life's too short. Tell me.
BIRD: Wait, the e-mail's not finished yet. "And where can I find Sharon and the dancing titties? YouTube keeps saying 'File not found'. Love you guys. Wicked."
BUFFALO: The durty auld perv. We'll send you the link.
BIRD: And lastly... "Is it too late for my 8 Me-Me's? Here goes.
1. I wear my Y-fronts back to front to improve my circulation.
2. I've ghost written a biography for five prime ministers and sixteen presidents worldwide, but I wouldn't advise it. They pay very shitty rates.
3. I stole my great aunt's pet Yorkshire terrier shortly before she died and renamed her Horny.
4. I always mis-spell my name on forms, so people will remember me.
5. I think Titanic is the greatest film EVER made and I still find Celine Dion a total Freddy teaser.
6. My big left toe has two nails.
7. I shave under my arms and around my gonads. My girlfriend, well, ex-girlfriend was a bit of a stroker.
8. I'm learning the Collins Millennium dictionary word by word, for a laugh. Just got up to "enarthrosis". Looking forward to "en brochette".
Cheers
Jeremy Hoopla
PS Ha-ha. That's not my name. Can you guess what it really is?"
BUFFALO: Jeez. Another nutjob. Wot is it about us that attracts every wacko in town?
BIRD: Jeremy Hoofer, or whatever your name is, he didn't mean it. He's trying to be ironic. If you could only see his eyebrows slewing like waves...
BUFFALO: Yeah, Jez. Don't mind me. I haven't been laid since the summer.
BIRD: Nae true, laddy.
BUFFALO: Well, OK, a few weeks ago. And the nights are drawing in.
BIRD: What about last weekend?
BUFFALO: Doesn't count. Money changed hands, remember?
BIRD: Oh, Buffo. You'll have to stop taking them to those exclusive restaurants. KFC is perfectly adequate.
BUFFALO: I tell ya, those cherries were so ripe...
BIRD: Yes, all right, Buffters. What the mind doesn't see the imagination can fill in. So, anyway, here's to the next interactive, coming soon.
BUFFALO: Can't wait! And Sharon's new YouTube video, in which she juggles a dozen lemons on her jugs to the tune of Bachman Turner Overdrive's You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet!
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Monday, October 23, 2006
BIRD & BUFF INTERACTIVE IS GO!
BIRD: Woo! This is fun!
BUFFALO: Sure is.
BIRD: Welcome to Bird & Buff Interactive, where you... yes, YOU, the READER, gets to talk live to the Bird & Buffalo. Ask us anything, that's anything. We're here for you. And our first caller is...
BUFFALO: Uh, that'd be Ralf from Germany.
BIRD: Hey, Ralf! Welcome to the show! What would you like to ask us?
RALF: I would like to connect it blog. You are fantastisch. I write mean first novel in English. Possibly you can help.
BIRD: Er, yeah. No problem. And your question is?
RALF: My novel ist The Plasterung. Like it.
BUFFALO: Hey, dude, that's great! Uh, Sharon's on Sky Pee 2. Hi, Sharon! I believe you can make your titties dance in 4/4 time?
BIRD: Not so fast, Buffters. So, Ralf, you're writing a novel.
RALF: Ja. I read.
BUFFALO: Oh, scheitze on die Biken.
RALF: Your German not so gut, Bueffel.
BUFFALO: Bueffel?! Who the fook's Bueffel?
BIRD: Cork it, Buffo. Sorry about that, Ralf. About your novel...
RALF: The Plasterung.
BIRD: Which means?
RALF: Pavement.
BIRD: Interesting.
RALF: Listen. I read.
BUFFALO: Can't we get ditch this jer-berk and get on to Sharon and her dancing titties?
BIRD: Buff, pliz! Ralf can hear you. Go on, Ralf. Sock it to us, dude.
RALF: Ja. It goes in such a way: "Paul regarded above the sun. The sharp gloss was unbearable. It waited that the car began then, the road to cross exceeds. A thin older Mrs., their head stooped, tottered over here from the other side. Their dress was the Flimsy, which is white with bright yellow flowers on. Their hair was briefly, grey, permed. Their face had shrunk. A luggage car shot from a lateral rotation. Paul main header its hand on, in order to try to slow it down. The luggage car accelerated above. The older woman looked above and stopped in the middle in the road. The brakes squealed. The luggage car slipped to the tariff of a stop arm Paul stretched by Pauls turned to the older woman. She fell into its arms. The luggage car driver went out and helped Paul to carry the woman to the Plasterung. "it is OKAY," said Paul, "I call for an ambulance."
BIRD: Excrement, dude. Oh, yes. Where'd you learn to write English like that?
RALF: Nein, Geburdy Wurdy. I use Babelfish, ja?
BUFFALO: Babelfish... Jesus H Gondola in Berlin.
BIRD: Well done, Ralf, and good luck with the novel. Now on Sky Pee 2, Sharon and her dancing titties to the tune of Leo Sayer's You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.
BUFFALO: Now dat's better. Watching da YouTube vid here, dude. Look at those nipples go! Touchdown!
BIRD: Wow. So Sharon, when did you first discover you could strut yer jugs?
SHARON: Well, it was when I was ******************************
FOR THE FULL STORY OF WHAT SHARON HAS ACHIEVED IN AN INCREDIBLY SHORT TIME WITH HER TERRIFICALLY RHYTHMIC TITTIES, SUBSCRIBE TO THE BIRD & BUFFALO PODCAST BY E-MAILING birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com AND CLICKING ON THE LINK. CHARGES MAY VARY DEPENDING ON YOUR GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION AND WHETHER YOU WISH TO SELECT THE PREMIUM OR ECONOMY SERVICE, BUT ALL CLICKS WILL BE CHARGED. OH, AND HURRY, THE FIRST 100 SUBSCRIBERS WILL RECEIVE SPARKY'S TOE JAM CHRISTMAS HAMPER ABSOLUTELY FREE!
BUFFALO: Sure is.
BIRD: Welcome to Bird & Buff Interactive, where you... yes, YOU, the READER, gets to talk live to the Bird & Buffalo. Ask us anything, that's anything. We're here for you. And our first caller is...
BUFFALO: Uh, that'd be Ralf from Germany.
BIRD: Hey, Ralf! Welcome to the show! What would you like to ask us?
RALF: I would like to connect it blog. You are fantastisch. I write mean first novel in English. Possibly you can help.
BIRD: Er, yeah. No problem. And your question is?
RALF: My novel ist The Plasterung. Like it.
BUFFALO: Hey, dude, that's great! Uh, Sharon's on Sky Pee 2. Hi, Sharon! I believe you can make your titties dance in 4/4 time?
BIRD: Not so fast, Buffters. So, Ralf, you're writing a novel.
RALF: Ja. I read.
BUFFALO: Oh, scheitze on die Biken.
RALF: Your German not so gut, Bueffel.
BUFFALO: Bueffel?! Who the fook's Bueffel?
BIRD: Cork it, Buffo. Sorry about that, Ralf. About your novel...
RALF: The Plasterung.
BIRD: Which means?
RALF: Pavement.
BIRD: Interesting.
RALF: Listen. I read.
BUFFALO: Can't we get ditch this jer-berk and get on to Sharon and her dancing titties?
BIRD: Buff, pliz! Ralf can hear you. Go on, Ralf. Sock it to us, dude.
RALF: Ja. It goes in such a way: "Paul regarded above the sun. The sharp gloss was unbearable. It waited that the car began then, the road to cross exceeds. A thin older Mrs., their head stooped, tottered over here from the other side. Their dress was the Flimsy, which is white with bright yellow flowers on. Their hair was briefly, grey, permed. Their face had shrunk. A luggage car shot from a lateral rotation. Paul main header its hand on, in order to try to slow it down. The luggage car accelerated above. The older woman looked above and stopped in the middle in the road. The brakes squealed. The luggage car slipped to the tariff of a stop arm Paul stretched by Pauls turned to the older woman. She fell into its arms. The luggage car driver went out and helped Paul to carry the woman to the Plasterung. "it is OKAY," said Paul, "I call for an ambulance."
BIRD: Excrement, dude. Oh, yes. Where'd you learn to write English like that?
RALF: Nein, Geburdy Wurdy. I use Babelfish, ja?
BUFFALO: Babelfish... Jesus H Gondola in Berlin.
BIRD: Well done, Ralf, and good luck with the novel. Now on Sky Pee 2, Sharon and her dancing titties to the tune of Leo Sayer's You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.
BUFFALO: Now dat's better. Watching da YouTube vid here, dude. Look at those nipples go! Touchdown!
BIRD: Wow. So Sharon, when did you first discover you could strut yer jugs?
SHARON: Well, it was when I was ******************************
FOR THE FULL STORY OF WHAT SHARON HAS ACHIEVED IN AN INCREDIBLY SHORT TIME WITH HER TERRIFICALLY RHYTHMIC TITTIES, SUBSCRIBE TO THE BIRD & BUFFALO PODCAST BY E-MAILING birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com AND CLICKING ON THE LINK. CHARGES MAY VARY DEPENDING ON YOUR GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION AND WHETHER YOU WISH TO SELECT THE PREMIUM OR ECONOMY SERVICE, BUT ALL CLICKS WILL BE CHARGED. OH, AND HURRY, THE FIRST 100 SUBSCRIBERS WILL RECEIVE SPARKY'S TOE JAM CHRISTMAS HAMPER ABSOLUTELY FREE!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
FIFI IN THE NIGHT
PLEASE NOTE: THIS SKETCH WAS SEVERELY COMPROMISED WHEN PARTS OF IT WERE LEAKED TO THE LOCAL PROSECUTOR GENERAL'S OFFICE BY A JEALOUS EX-POSTMAN AND A GAGGING ORDER WAS SLAPPED ON THE SCENES OF GRATUITOUS SEX, VIOLENCE AND GLUTTINOUS ABANDON ACCOMPANIED BY SPARKY'S TOE JAM. IF YOU FEEL INCENSED, OUTRAGED OR JUST PLAIN CURIOUS AS TO THE BITS LEFT OUT, E-MAIL US AND WE WILL PUBLISH AND BE DAMNED... OR NEVER BE SEEN OR HEARD OF AGAIN. WHICH SOME CLAIM MAY BE A GOOD THING. YOU DECIDE.
FIFI: What I get up to under the cover of darkness is very poisonal, not for your prying eyes, but I will say that I'm often so tired the next morning I feel that I simply MUST slow down. There's only so much of me to give. Coffee...
Can you hear the paper clips falling from the sky, pelting my window panes? Why? Why? Why?
Last night I dreamt the earth was round and the G spot went deeper and deeper and...
The love of my life is a frog
Who lives in a slime-covered bog
Our noisy assignations
Cause public demonstrations--
We fancy a hump on a log.
More coffee... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
FIFI: What I get up to under the cover of darkness is very poisonal, not for your prying eyes, but I will say that I'm often so tired the next morning I feel that I simply MUST slow down. There's only so much of me to give. Coffee...
Can you hear the paper clips falling from the sky, pelting my window panes? Why? Why? Why?
Last night I dreamt the earth was round and the G spot went deeper and deeper and...
The love of my life is a frog
Who lives in a slime-covered bog
Our noisy assignations
Cause public demonstrations--
We fancy a hump on a log.
More coffee... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Friday, October 20, 2006
FRESH OCTOPUS IN THE NIGHT
PLEASE NOTE: NO OCTOPUSES OR OTHER ANIMALS WERE HURT DURING THE RECORDING OF THIS SKETCH
(Octopussy plays Donna Summer's I Feel Love badly on bagpipes, squirts dark inky substance across playpen, does several rolly pollys with bagpipes entwined, comes to rest in the corner with all three hearts about to burst, pants contentedly, strokes bagpipes with leading suction cup then sinks into deep, satisfying slumber)
BUFFALO: Ah, sweet!
BIRD: Brings tears to yer eyes.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
(Octopussy plays Donna Summer's I Feel Love badly on bagpipes, squirts dark inky substance across playpen, does several rolly pollys with bagpipes entwined, comes to rest in the corner with all three hearts about to burst, pants contentedly, strokes bagpipes with leading suction cup then sinks into deep, satisfying slumber)
BUFFALO: Ah, sweet!
BIRD: Brings tears to yer eyes.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
BUFF IN THE NIGHT
BUFFALO: Gently does it. Sleep, Sparkers old chum, sleep. I know you've got some cash in that mattress of yours and I'm gonna find it, I mean borrow it. Times are hard and you don't need it, not now Cindy's cinders, like. Ah, what's that? Something lumpy. Yes, I think it could be exactly what the doc ordered. Wass this? A newspaper, from 1985. Pasadena Times. "Embezzler Walter Sparkington Flees Court House. Massive Manhunt Begins." Gott und Himmell, Sparky, just WHO are you?
SPARKY: (muttering) I'll... get you, Charlie. Not another step, man. I'll blow yer head off, marzipan.
BUFFALO: Mon dieu. A fugitive from justice, like. Gawd, is that the time. The wolf will be howling out yonder. Gotta go. Jeez, wot am I doing? Sparky must never know. But... My oldest friend. But... Stuck with me through thick and thin. But... There might be a reward for his capture. Sorry, old chum, the law's the law. And this poor auld Buff's got no choice.
(shuffles away while tittering maniacally)
SPARKY: (muttering) I'll... get you, Charlie. Not another step, man. I'll blow yer head off, marzipan.
BUFFALO: Mon dieu. A fugitive from justice, like. Gawd, is that the time. The wolf will be howling out yonder. Gotta go. Jeez, wot am I doing? Sparky must never know. But... My oldest friend. But... Stuck with me through thick and thin. But... There might be a reward for his capture. Sorry, old chum, the law's the law. And this poor auld Buff's got no choice.
(shuffles away while tittering maniacally)
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
RODDERS 8 ME-ME
BIRD: Thinking of buying a goat to cut the grass.
BUFFALO: Great idea. Get the right one and you could get yer milk for free.
BIRD: Or we could just rip it up and cover it with gravel.
BUFFALO: In an English country garden? No way, Birdman.
BIRD: Good point, Buffters. Any Hooey, this 8 Me-Me thingie...
BUFFALO: Yeah?
BIRD: Got some great e-mails. Today it's Rodders from Plymouth. Get ready to soil yerself, dude. This guy is one serious jerk-berk.
"Dear Birdy,
Rodders here. You're so funny. Here are eight things about me I have never told anyone. Hope it helps.
1. I'm afraid of lemons. Whenever I see one, I have to cross the road.
2. My mother has a Willy Wonka, but my dad says it's OK, it's hormonal. But I wish she'd shave her beard off!
3. My first love was my maths teacher, Miss Scruncher. I saw her panties once when she bent over whilst sharpening her pencil. God bless Marks & Spencers.
4. I read very slowly - about ten words a minute - but I'm not thick and I like reading a lot. Well, OK, I prefer comics, really, and violent computer games. Is that so strange?
5. I like to climb on people's roofs and wee down their chimneys. So far I haven't been caught.
6. I walk backwards with my head down if I see someone I don't like. I must stop doing this, because people keep tripping me up and stamping on my nose, which is flat enough already, and because I'm walking backwards I don't get a good enough look at their face, so the police think I'm really silly.
7. I eat my Corn Flakes without milk but put milk in my tea. Wacky, eh?
8. I sleep with the light on in case the government needs me for some top secret mission in the early hours of the morning.
Oh, and eight and a half - my left foot is bigger than my right foot and is much harder to wash.
Your blog is the bestest thing on the internet. Even mummy thinks so.
Rodders
BUFFALO: Omigod! I... (falls into giggling fit)
BIRD: Cheers, Rodders. Keep 'em coming. Buff?
BUFFALO: (parps profusely)
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Great idea. Get the right one and you could get yer milk for free.
BIRD: Or we could just rip it up and cover it with gravel.
BUFFALO: In an English country garden? No way, Birdman.
BIRD: Good point, Buffters. Any Hooey, this 8 Me-Me thingie...
BUFFALO: Yeah?
BIRD: Got some great e-mails. Today it's Rodders from Plymouth. Get ready to soil yerself, dude. This guy is one serious jerk-berk.
"Dear Birdy,
Rodders here. You're so funny. Here are eight things about me I have never told anyone. Hope it helps.
1. I'm afraid of lemons. Whenever I see one, I have to cross the road.
2. My mother has a Willy Wonka, but my dad says it's OK, it's hormonal. But I wish she'd shave her beard off!
3. My first love was my maths teacher, Miss Scruncher. I saw her panties once when she bent over whilst sharpening her pencil. God bless Marks & Spencers.
4. I read very slowly - about ten words a minute - but I'm not thick and I like reading a lot. Well, OK, I prefer comics, really, and violent computer games. Is that so strange?
5. I like to climb on people's roofs and wee down their chimneys. So far I haven't been caught.
6. I walk backwards with my head down if I see someone I don't like. I must stop doing this, because people keep tripping me up and stamping on my nose, which is flat enough already, and because I'm walking backwards I don't get a good enough look at their face, so the police think I'm really silly.
7. I eat my Corn Flakes without milk but put milk in my tea. Wacky, eh?
8. I sleep with the light on in case the government needs me for some top secret mission in the early hours of the morning.
Oh, and eight and a half - my left foot is bigger than my right foot and is much harder to wash.
Your blog is the bestest thing on the internet. Even mummy thinks so.
Rodders
BUFFALO: Omigod! I... (falls into giggling fit)
BIRD: Cheers, Rodders. Keep 'em coming. Buff?
BUFFALO: (parps profusely)
BIRD: Film at eleven.
Monday, October 16, 2006
SPARKY 8 ME-ME
EIGHT THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT SPARKY.
WARNING ADVISORY: NOT SUITABLE FOR THOSE WHO HAVE JUST HAD BREAKFAST. MAY ONLY BE READ BY MINORS ACCOMPANIED BY A PARENT
SPARKY: OK, here goes, man. First thing you didn't know about me is I got a very small bladder.
BUFFALO: Jeez. The WHOLE world knows that, Sparkers. Give us sumfin' truly deeply revelatory.
SPARKY: I love the smell of Napalm. Got some in my wardrobe for a rainy day.
BUFFALO: Fookin' Nelly! You really are a weird fookeroo, y'know that? Next.
SPARKY: I lost my virginity at the age of ten when I saved a 17-year-old brunette cheerleader from treading on a pitch fork just outside Pasadena. Name of Trudy. Last thing she said to me was, "Now beat it, punk shite". If only I could find her now...
BUFFALO: Getting better. Next.
SPARKY: I cheated on Cindy with all the other dolls. Don't matter any more... now she's melted, man.
BUFFALO: Oh, Sparkers. That roaming rod of yours'll get you into big trouble one of these days. Go on.
SPARKY: My favorite film is Lassie Come Home. When I was young, I wanted to be that dog! Still do.
BUFFALO: Digging a mighty hole for yerself here, dude. Next.
SPARKY: My Uncle Ray wasn't my uncle. He's my brother. But he never knew. Dumbass shoulda twigged it, considerin' he's ten years YOUNGER than me. He's layin' out there in Nam beneath the begonias.
BUFFALO: Got anything normal for us, perchance?
SPARKY: Got a tattoo of Marilyn Monroe on my left testicle.
BUFFALO: That's normal?
SPARKY: Wanna see it?
BUFFALO: Uh, not right now, dude. OK, this is number eight, Sparkers, old chap, so make it a good one.
SPARKY: Man, I ain't got an eighth. And I feel real cheap now that I've told ya all my secrets. No wonder Potty Dotty kicked my ass into touch.
BUFFALO: There is one more, isn't there?
SPARKY: Jehovah's H Michaelmas! Are you tryin' to destroy me, man?
BUFFALO: Say it, dude. It's OK.
SPARKY: No way, man.
BUFFALO: It's part of the healing process, remember?
SPARKY: O wot the fookery. OK. I had sex with my psychiatrist in Wal-Mart by the sausage counter. Satisfied?
BUFFALO: Very. Now run along, Sparkers, you must be dyin' for a...
SPARKY: Sure am, man. Hey, you said I'd feel better afterwards.
BUFFALO: I also said that Cindy's coming back, didn't I? Boy, you is one gullible eedjit.
SPARKY: Gee, thanks, man. Gotta run now before I burst my pipe.
BUFFALO: Film at eleven. Arf, arf!
WARNING ADVISORY: NOT SUITABLE FOR THOSE WHO HAVE JUST HAD BREAKFAST. MAY ONLY BE READ BY MINORS ACCOMPANIED BY A PARENT
SPARKY: OK, here goes, man. First thing you didn't know about me is I got a very small bladder.
BUFFALO: Jeez. The WHOLE world knows that, Sparkers. Give us sumfin' truly deeply revelatory.
SPARKY: I love the smell of Napalm. Got some in my wardrobe for a rainy day.
BUFFALO: Fookin' Nelly! You really are a weird fookeroo, y'know that? Next.
SPARKY: I lost my virginity at the age of ten when I saved a 17-year-old brunette cheerleader from treading on a pitch fork just outside Pasadena. Name of Trudy. Last thing she said to me was, "Now beat it, punk shite". If only I could find her now...
BUFFALO: Getting better. Next.
SPARKY: I cheated on Cindy with all the other dolls. Don't matter any more... now she's melted, man.
BUFFALO: Oh, Sparkers. That roaming rod of yours'll get you into big trouble one of these days. Go on.
SPARKY: My favorite film is Lassie Come Home. When I was young, I wanted to be that dog! Still do.
BUFFALO: Digging a mighty hole for yerself here, dude. Next.
SPARKY: My Uncle Ray wasn't my uncle. He's my brother. But he never knew. Dumbass shoulda twigged it, considerin' he's ten years YOUNGER than me. He's layin' out there in Nam beneath the begonias.
BUFFALO: Got anything normal for us, perchance?
SPARKY: Got a tattoo of Marilyn Monroe on my left testicle.
BUFFALO: That's normal?
SPARKY: Wanna see it?
BUFFALO: Uh, not right now, dude. OK, this is number eight, Sparkers, old chap, so make it a good one.
SPARKY: Man, I ain't got an eighth. And I feel real cheap now that I've told ya all my secrets. No wonder Potty Dotty kicked my ass into touch.
BUFFALO: There is one more, isn't there?
SPARKY: Jehovah's H Michaelmas! Are you tryin' to destroy me, man?
BUFFALO: Say it, dude. It's OK.
SPARKY: No way, man.
BUFFALO: It's part of the healing process, remember?
SPARKY: O wot the fookery. OK. I had sex with my psychiatrist in Wal-Mart by the sausage counter. Satisfied?
BUFFALO: Very. Now run along, Sparkers, you must be dyin' for a...
SPARKY: Sure am, man. Hey, you said I'd feel better afterwards.
BUFFALO: I also said that Cindy's coming back, didn't I? Boy, you is one gullible eedjit.
SPARKY: Gee, thanks, man. Gotta run now before I burst my pipe.
BUFFALO: Film at eleven. Arf, arf!
Saturday, October 14, 2006
HEAD DOC BLUES
WARNING ADVISORY: THIS POST HAS BEEN SCRUTINIZED BY THE UPTIGHT JERKOFFS EMPORIUM OF DECENCY KEEP IT BLAND ALLIANCE AND HAS BEEN PASSED SUITABLE FOR VIEWERS OVER THE AGE OF 21 WHO HAVE EITHER BEEN UNLUCKY IN LOVE OR ARE ABOUT TO GET DIVORCED
BUFFALO: Dude, saw the Head Doc today... Her theory is that all the shyte in my life is just "life" and I should get over it and quit being a whining bitch. Hmmph. Easy for her to say. She's a minx; what does she know about suffering? Oh, and I got pranged for clipping my fingernails in the waiting room... over the wastebasket, mind you. Whining bitches.
WALTER EGO SNR: Toughen up, Buff-o. When the going gets shite-y, the shite gets goin', or sumfin' like that.
BUFFALO: ****************************************************** you!
BUFFALO: Dude, saw the Head Doc today... Her theory is that all the shyte in my life is just "life" and I should get over it and quit being a whining bitch. Hmmph. Easy for her to say. She's a minx; what does she know about suffering? Oh, and I got pranged for clipping my fingernails in the waiting room... over the wastebasket, mind you. Whining bitches.
WALTER EGO SNR: Toughen up, Buff-o. When the going gets shite-y, the shite gets goin', or sumfin' like that.
BUFFALO: ****************************************************** you!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
8 ME-ME
BIRD: Should be fun, this, Buffters.
BUFFALO: Let's hope so. My back is killing me. Ridin' the ol' roller-coaster, like.
BIRD: Keep it clean, Buffty. We're trying to raise our pre-watershed ratings. So... Eight thingies you didn't know about moi et toi. I'll go first. My favourite meal is bacon and eggs with mushrooms, beans and toast. And a big mug of hot piping tea.
BUFFALO: My favorite meal is lamb vindaloo curry with Tabasco sauce and a coupla cans of Guinness.
BIRD: I sleep with my socks on.
BUFFALO: I sleep belly down with my butt peeping out.
BIRD: Too much information, methinks, Buff. I always cry when I see a dog without a leg.
BUFFALO: Well, I always cry when I see my bank balance at the end of the month and wonder how I'm going to avoid abject poverty and social exclusion.
BIRD: My first love was called Debbie. She dumped me two days later when she got a new bicycle. The bicycle was pink. I hate the colour pink.
BUFFALO: My first love was called Trixie. I nearly choked to death on her pigtail when I went to kiss her on the way home from school on our first date. I was resuscitated by a passing Jehovah's Witness. Sad but true.
BIRD: When I was ten I had corrective surgery for knobbly knees. Now my hips are going wobbly.
BUFFALO: I've got more knobs than Wal-Mart. But the gals don't seem to mind.
BIRD: Buff, pliz.
BUFFALO: OK, OK.
BIRD: I faint at the sight of blood.
BUFFALO: I faint at the sight of over-sexed walruses humping on a hot summer's day.
BIRD: Oh, really!
BUFFALO: Really, dude! I was at the zoo, it was hot, and I heard this slobbering and high-pitched yakking and...
BIRD: Yes, that's quite enuff of that, thank you. I love tunnels. I think I was a rat in a previous existence.
BUFFALO: I love the rain. Oops. I think people know that already. If I hear thunder a-rollin', I strip off , jump out the window and get rollin' in it.
BIRD: Cos you was a hippo in a previous existence?
BUFFALO: No, McDummy, cos I'm a BUFFALO, remember? D'uh!
BIRD: Coarse. Right, now where were we? Ah, yes. Number eight, the last one. OK, um, when I die I want to be buried in my back garden by the Trumpet Vine where I have sat for many an afternoon contemplating my life and happiness.
BUFFALO: When I die, I want to be catapulted nekkid from a circus cannon into the Empire State. No, wait, I want to be catapulted nekkid FROM the top of the Empire State towards the Hudson.
BIRD: Wow. I'd sure like to see that. Dude, I promise you now if I can make that happen, I WILL.
BUFFALO: Thanks, dude. Oh, dude.
BIRD: Yes, dude?
BUFFALO: Do you really wear socks in bed?
BIRD: Yep.
BUFFALO: Rawk'n'roll.
BIRD: Just how many knobs have you got?
BUFFALO: Well, at the last count...
COMING SOON: MORE 8 ME-ME's
If you would like YOUR 8 Me-Me's to be posted on THIS blog, please send them to birdandbuffalotails@hotmail.com
THIS POST HAS BEEN SCRUTINIZED BY THE UPTIGHT JERKOFFS EMPORIUM OF DECENCY KEEP IT BLAND ALLIANCE AND HAS BEEN PASSED SUITABLE FOR VIEWERS OVER THE AGE OF FIVE AND THREE-QUARTERS
BUFFALO: Let's hope so. My back is killing me. Ridin' the ol' roller-coaster, like.
BIRD: Keep it clean, Buffty. We're trying to raise our pre-watershed ratings. So... Eight thingies you didn't know about moi et toi. I'll go first. My favourite meal is bacon and eggs with mushrooms, beans and toast. And a big mug of hot piping tea.
BUFFALO: My favorite meal is lamb vindaloo curry with Tabasco sauce and a coupla cans of Guinness.
BIRD: I sleep with my socks on.
BUFFALO: I sleep belly down with my butt peeping out.
BIRD: Too much information, methinks, Buff. I always cry when I see a dog without a leg.
BUFFALO: Well, I always cry when I see my bank balance at the end of the month and wonder how I'm going to avoid abject poverty and social exclusion.
BIRD: My first love was called Debbie. She dumped me two days later when she got a new bicycle. The bicycle was pink. I hate the colour pink.
BUFFALO: My first love was called Trixie. I nearly choked to death on her pigtail when I went to kiss her on the way home from school on our first date. I was resuscitated by a passing Jehovah's Witness. Sad but true.
BIRD: When I was ten I had corrective surgery for knobbly knees. Now my hips are going wobbly.
BUFFALO: I've got more knobs than Wal-Mart. But the gals don't seem to mind.
BIRD: Buff, pliz.
BUFFALO: OK, OK.
BIRD: I faint at the sight of blood.
BUFFALO: I faint at the sight of over-sexed walruses humping on a hot summer's day.
BIRD: Oh, really!
BUFFALO: Really, dude! I was at the zoo, it was hot, and I heard this slobbering and high-pitched yakking and...
BIRD: Yes, that's quite enuff of that, thank you. I love tunnels. I think I was a rat in a previous existence.
BUFFALO: I love the rain. Oops. I think people know that already. If I hear thunder a-rollin', I strip off , jump out the window and get rollin' in it.
BIRD: Cos you was a hippo in a previous existence?
BUFFALO: No, McDummy, cos I'm a BUFFALO, remember? D'uh!
BIRD: Coarse. Right, now where were we? Ah, yes. Number eight, the last one. OK, um, when I die I want to be buried in my back garden by the Trumpet Vine where I have sat for many an afternoon contemplating my life and happiness.
BUFFALO: When I die, I want to be catapulted nekkid from a circus cannon into the Empire State. No, wait, I want to be catapulted nekkid FROM the top of the Empire State towards the Hudson.
BIRD: Wow. I'd sure like to see that. Dude, I promise you now if I can make that happen, I WILL.
BUFFALO: Thanks, dude. Oh, dude.
BIRD: Yes, dude?
BUFFALO: Do you really wear socks in bed?
BIRD: Yep.
BUFFALO: Rawk'n'roll.
BIRD: Just how many knobs have you got?
BUFFALO: Well, at the last count...
COMING SOON: MORE 8 ME-ME's
If you would like YOUR 8 Me-Me's to be posted on THIS blog, please send them to birdandbuffalotails@hotmail.com
THIS POST HAS BEEN SCRUTINIZED BY THE UPTIGHT JERKOFFS EMPORIUM OF DECENCY KEEP IT BLAND ALLIANCE AND HAS BEEN PASSED SUITABLE FOR VIEWERS OVER THE AGE OF FIVE AND THREE-QUARTERS
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
AND THE DOCTOR SAID...
POTTY DOTTY: Sparky, could we try again?
THE CHARLIE: A-ha. Hahahahahahahahahahaha...
FIFI: And in other news, a drop of rain made its way slowly down the drainpipe without a care in the world. And the magpie stood atop the chimney defiantly as the mist began to descend.
PUCK: Mmm. Very nice. If I'd known just how tasty octopussy is, I'd have cooked the little blighter SO MUCH earlier.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
THE CHARLIE: A-ha. Hahahahahahahahahahaha...
FIFI: And in other news, a drop of rain made its way slowly down the drainpipe without a care in the world. And the magpie stood atop the chimney defiantly as the mist began to descend.
PUCK: Mmm. Very nice. If I'd known just how tasty octopussy is, I'd have cooked the little blighter SO MUCH earlier.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
IN THE COLD AND THE RAIN
BIRD: Well, Buffo, my Freddy doesn't like the cold or the rain. But here in Blighty I find it's often cold and it's often rained on. btw in Freddy years, he's got some catching up to do, you DURTY AULD PERV! Respect, dude :)
Monday, October 09, 2006
BLESS ME FREDDY
BUFFALO: Yup. It's official. Me Freddy et moi have been inextricably linked for 177 Freddy years. Fooooooooooooo-kin' A!
Sunday, October 08, 2006
FREE LOBOTOMY REVISTED REDUX MBE RSC AA
WARNING ADVISORY: NO HAPPY ENDING BUT WELL WORTH THE RIDE
BIRD: What’s all this about you having your frontal lobe shaved?
BUFF: Dude, they opened a Free Lobotomy Clinic in the Motor City.
BIRD: Yes, and?
BUFF: Dude, it’s FREE.
BIRD: So’s Mad Cow Disease, you berk, but who the fook wants it?
BUFF: Look, I’m having a very marginal life so far. . . and I’ve had it up to HERE with friggin’ poverty. Plus, the last two weeks have been a veritable bee-yotch. It’s either the lobotomy or a one-way bus ride to the new Ethical Suicide Parlor they just erected next to the Family Planning Clinic.
BIRD: I can’t believe you’re thinking about offing yourself. I thought you were this close to financial independence or Nirvana or some such fookwit thing?
BUFF: Possibly, but that flaming arsehole Walter Ego Snr has messed up my head really bad, dude. It’s enough to make a bloke take up strong drink. The other night I drank GIN right out of the bottle. A new low – although, come to think of it, I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy…
BIRD: That’s the spirits! Gin, eh? I thought, being a Yank and all, you were more of a Bourbon man. . . Jack Daniels and all that.
BUFF: Jack’s all right, but as I said in the one and only “personals” ad I wrote in moment of extreme weakness. . . hold on, dredging the memory banks here. . . uh, something, something, “the sound of rain and Cocker Spaniels. . . a gal who knows that Jim Beam beats Jack Daniels. . . “ It was better than that, but it’s gone like the flamin’ wind, dude.
BIRD: Lovely, Buffo.
BUFF: Wait, there’s more. . . “A kindred soul who loves the songs of Leonard Cohen and knows the sound of one oar rowin’…”
BIRD: Pure Zen, Buff. T’would bring a tear to the eye of David Carradine himself.
BUFF: Thanks, Grasshopper.
BIRD: The gin has me worried a bit, though.
BUFF: It’s an ethnic thing, Birdy. Dutch Courage, like.
BIRD: But you’re a Belgie, Buff.
BUFF: Aye, but Flemish, not one of those smarmy frog-arse-kissin’ Walloon sonsabitches. The Flems and the Dutchmen are from the same racial stock, my avian friend. We’re like Brits and Yanks, one people separated by a common language.
BIRD: Dutch and Flemish are the same, then?
BUFF: Virtually, though the Dutch say the Flemish sound like inbred hillbillies, while to the overly sensitive ears of the Flems, the Dutch sound high-falutin’, as if they have large wedges of Gouda cheese jammed up their corn holes. . . pardon my French.
BIRD: Sounds a bit anal.
BUFF: True, butt, dig it. . . when the Queen of the Netherlands visited Holland, Michigan, a pack of drunken Buffaloes from Detroit drove across the state to hold up a huge banner on the parade route.
BIRD: I shudder to imagine it.
BUFF: It said, in Flemish, “Welcome to the Queen of the Cheese Eaters!”
BIRD: Sacre bleu.
BUFF: Yeah, they say she nearly passed a watermelon, or was it a wheel of Leyden? Mercifully, I’ve forgotten. Bloody gin, it’ll do yer mind every time.
BIRD: So, you’re off the lobotomy, then?
BUFF: I suppose so. . . bloody nuisance. . . but what a bargain, Birdy. It would cost an arm and a leg if you had to pay for it.
BIRD: True, what’s a little gray matter compared to a limb? It’s so dumb. On the other hand. . .
BUFF: I have four fingers and a thumb.
BIRD: Precisely! So what’s the plan, then? Still churning out the old marketing copy, are you?
BUFF: Actually, me gulliver’s been too out of sorts lately to write much of anything except pure mindless drivel.
BIRD: There’s a difference?
BUFF: Point taken. Still, if there’s a chance of earning an honest crust, I’m obliged to gopher it, or so I’m told.
BIRD: So, where are you, in a physical sense?
BUFF: The local library. Things are too unquiet at the Carfax Arms. The bass beat from the rap music is bad enough, but the bloody Bosnians are playing some horrible fookin’ dreck that sounds like a dozen tom cats being emasculated by an electric cheese grater.
BIRD: Blimey. That must be rather unnerving.
BUFF: Tell me about it, dude. No wonder they’re all bonkers over there. Music manufactured to curdle milk. Cheeses me off no end.
BIRD: So, any action at the old Bibliotech?
BUFF: There’s a certified MILF sitting across from me. Very distracting. Bloody miracle if I get any work done. May have to retire to the Coney Island for coffee and baklava.
BIRD: Uh, oh, isn’t that where that Albanian siren waitresses?
BUFF: Yeah. Dude, she’s like the Egyptian chick in “Riders of the Purple Wage” – she totally melts my butter; and dig it, she’s very impressed that I’m a writer.
BIRD: You told her you’re a WRITER? Sorry, laughing uncontrollably here, Buffo!
BUFF: The heck with you, you closet porno queen. Actually, I told her I’m a screenwriter. Made her nips go full mast.
BIRD: I think I see where this is headed. . . is there a casting couch in her future?
BUFF: I wish. . . you know the story about the blonde who aspired to be a movie star, don’t you?
BIRD: Guess not, but enlighten me.
BUFF: My agent told me this one when he called me the other day. This blonde ingénue was so clueless she slept with the writers.
BIRD: Your AGENT called you?
BUFF: That’s it! If I wanted abuse I’d go visit my ex-wife, you wonker. Why don’t you go buy yourself a new brassiere or something, you filthy old degenerate.
BIRD: Write me the cheque momma!
BUFF: Sigh. . . I get NO respect. Where’s that coupon for the Free Lobotomy Clinic?
BIRD: Chin up, Buff, have a shot of Flemish courage.
BUFF: Argh! Bloody Limey cross-dressers!
BIRD: Fat Belgian Bastards!
BUFF: Ouch! Okay, a fair cop, but at least we're not lousy frog-sucking Walloons!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFF: No way, go back to your Victoria's Secret catalog, you East Fenwick Drag Queen!
BIRD: Hmph. Professional jealousy.
BUFF: Arf, arf!
BIRD: What’s all this about you having your frontal lobe shaved?
BUFF: Dude, they opened a Free Lobotomy Clinic in the Motor City.
BIRD: Yes, and?
BUFF: Dude, it’s FREE.
BIRD: So’s Mad Cow Disease, you berk, but who the fook wants it?
BUFF: Look, I’m having a very marginal life so far. . . and I’ve had it up to HERE with friggin’ poverty. Plus, the last two weeks have been a veritable bee-yotch. It’s either the lobotomy or a one-way bus ride to the new Ethical Suicide Parlor they just erected next to the Family Planning Clinic.
BIRD: I can’t believe you’re thinking about offing yourself. I thought you were this close to financial independence or Nirvana or some such fookwit thing?
BUFF: Possibly, but that flaming arsehole Walter Ego Snr has messed up my head really bad, dude. It’s enough to make a bloke take up strong drink. The other night I drank GIN right out of the bottle. A new low – although, come to think of it, I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy…
BIRD: That’s the spirits! Gin, eh? I thought, being a Yank and all, you were more of a Bourbon man. . . Jack Daniels and all that.
BUFF: Jack’s all right, but as I said in the one and only “personals” ad I wrote in moment of extreme weakness. . . hold on, dredging the memory banks here. . . uh, something, something, “the sound of rain and Cocker Spaniels. . . a gal who knows that Jim Beam beats Jack Daniels. . . “ It was better than that, but it’s gone like the flamin’ wind, dude.
BIRD: Lovely, Buffo.
BUFF: Wait, there’s more. . . “A kindred soul who loves the songs of Leonard Cohen and knows the sound of one oar rowin’…”
BIRD: Pure Zen, Buff. T’would bring a tear to the eye of David Carradine himself.
BUFF: Thanks, Grasshopper.
BIRD: The gin has me worried a bit, though.
BUFF: It’s an ethnic thing, Birdy. Dutch Courage, like.
BIRD: But you’re a Belgie, Buff.
BUFF: Aye, but Flemish, not one of those smarmy frog-arse-kissin’ Walloon sonsabitches. The Flems and the Dutchmen are from the same racial stock, my avian friend. We’re like Brits and Yanks, one people separated by a common language.
BIRD: Dutch and Flemish are the same, then?
BUFF: Virtually, though the Dutch say the Flemish sound like inbred hillbillies, while to the overly sensitive ears of the Flems, the Dutch sound high-falutin’, as if they have large wedges of Gouda cheese jammed up their corn holes. . . pardon my French.
BIRD: Sounds a bit anal.
BUFF: True, butt, dig it. . . when the Queen of the Netherlands visited Holland, Michigan, a pack of drunken Buffaloes from Detroit drove across the state to hold up a huge banner on the parade route.
BIRD: I shudder to imagine it.
BUFF: It said, in Flemish, “Welcome to the Queen of the Cheese Eaters!”
BIRD: Sacre bleu.
BUFF: Yeah, they say she nearly passed a watermelon, or was it a wheel of Leyden? Mercifully, I’ve forgotten. Bloody gin, it’ll do yer mind every time.
BIRD: So, you’re off the lobotomy, then?
BUFF: I suppose so. . . bloody nuisance. . . but what a bargain, Birdy. It would cost an arm and a leg if you had to pay for it.
BIRD: True, what’s a little gray matter compared to a limb? It’s so dumb. On the other hand. . .
BUFF: I have four fingers and a thumb.
BIRD: Precisely! So what’s the plan, then? Still churning out the old marketing copy, are you?
BUFF: Actually, me gulliver’s been too out of sorts lately to write much of anything except pure mindless drivel.
BIRD: There’s a difference?
BUFF: Point taken. Still, if there’s a chance of earning an honest crust, I’m obliged to gopher it, or so I’m told.
BIRD: So, where are you, in a physical sense?
BUFF: The local library. Things are too unquiet at the Carfax Arms. The bass beat from the rap music is bad enough, but the bloody Bosnians are playing some horrible fookin’ dreck that sounds like a dozen tom cats being emasculated by an electric cheese grater.
BIRD: Blimey. That must be rather unnerving.
BUFF: Tell me about it, dude. No wonder they’re all bonkers over there. Music manufactured to curdle milk. Cheeses me off no end.
BIRD: So, any action at the old Bibliotech?
BUFF: There’s a certified MILF sitting across from me. Very distracting. Bloody miracle if I get any work done. May have to retire to the Coney Island for coffee and baklava.
BIRD: Uh, oh, isn’t that where that Albanian siren waitresses?
BUFF: Yeah. Dude, she’s like the Egyptian chick in “Riders of the Purple Wage” – she totally melts my butter; and dig it, she’s very impressed that I’m a writer.
BIRD: You told her you’re a WRITER? Sorry, laughing uncontrollably here, Buffo!
BUFF: The heck with you, you closet porno queen. Actually, I told her I’m a screenwriter. Made her nips go full mast.
BIRD: I think I see where this is headed. . . is there a casting couch in her future?
BUFF: I wish. . . you know the story about the blonde who aspired to be a movie star, don’t you?
BIRD: Guess not, but enlighten me.
BUFF: My agent told me this one when he called me the other day. This blonde ingénue was so clueless she slept with the writers.
BIRD: Your AGENT called you?
BUFF: That’s it! If I wanted abuse I’d go visit my ex-wife, you wonker. Why don’t you go buy yourself a new brassiere or something, you filthy old degenerate.
BIRD: Write me the cheque momma!
BUFF: Sigh. . . I get NO respect. Where’s that coupon for the Free Lobotomy Clinic?
BIRD: Chin up, Buff, have a shot of Flemish courage.
BUFF: Argh! Bloody Limey cross-dressers!
BIRD: Fat Belgian Bastards!
BUFF: Ouch! Okay, a fair cop, but at least we're not lousy frog-sucking Walloons!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFF: No way, go back to your Victoria's Secret catalog, you East Fenwick Drag Queen!
BIRD: Hmph. Professional jealousy.
BUFF: Arf, arf!
Thursday, October 05, 2006
GOODBYE, SPARKY STINKER!
POTTY DOTTY: So what if I am a virgin, I still love you!
SPARKY: I just don't believe ya, man.
POTTY DOTTY: But why? My word is my bond.
SPARKY: Buff has told me stuff. It casts doubt over your version of events.
POTTY DOTTY: I swear to you I did NOT have sexual relations with that contortionist. It was more a casual brush of flesh on flesh.
SPARKY: You misunderstand me, man. I wish you HAD had a full-blown humpa dunk with the guy.
POTTY DOTTY: But but but but but but but but I didn't!
SPARKY: Jeez. I never had this trouble with Cindy. She knew wot I liked, how I liked it, when I liked it and how often I liked it. This was a close one, all right.
POTTY DOTTY: You mean-spirited dolly shagger! I don't know what I ever saw in you. I never want to see you again!
SPARKY: Dum-te-dum-te-doodle-do. Not listening, man. Tell it to the Charlie. Dum dum dum.
POTTY DOTTY: Spurned. Denigrated. Abused. Crushed to a squidge. I'll lose my virginity! Even if it takes a very weird semi-banned circus act to do it! Goodbye, Sparky Stinker! We shall never meet again, either in this world or the next. This is OVER.
SPARKY: Thank Sparky's Toe Jam With A Hint Of Peppermint for that!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
SPARKY: Yup!
SPARKY: I just don't believe ya, man.
POTTY DOTTY: But why? My word is my bond.
SPARKY: Buff has told me stuff. It casts doubt over your version of events.
POTTY DOTTY: I swear to you I did NOT have sexual relations with that contortionist. It was more a casual brush of flesh on flesh.
SPARKY: You misunderstand me, man. I wish you HAD had a full-blown humpa dunk with the guy.
POTTY DOTTY: But but but but but but but but I didn't!
SPARKY: Jeez. I never had this trouble with Cindy. She knew wot I liked, how I liked it, when I liked it and how often I liked it. This was a close one, all right.
POTTY DOTTY: You mean-spirited dolly shagger! I don't know what I ever saw in you. I never want to see you again!
SPARKY: Dum-te-dum-te-doodle-do. Not listening, man. Tell it to the Charlie. Dum dum dum.
POTTY DOTTY: Spurned. Denigrated. Abused. Crushed to a squidge. I'll lose my virginity! Even if it takes a very weird semi-banned circus act to do it! Goodbye, Sparky Stinker! We shall never meet again, either in this world or the next. This is OVER.
SPARKY: Thank Sparky's Toe Jam With A Hint Of Peppermint for that!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
SPARKY: Yup!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
FEELING WIBBLY PART 1
BIRD: Feeling decidedly wibbly this mawning.
BUFFALO: Wot was THAT all about?
BIRD: Dunno. But I'm glad it's over.
BUFFALO: Oh, they'll be back.
BIRD: You think so?
BUFFALO: But I'm not sure about the others.
BIRD: Shite on a Tricycle wrapped up in Cheddar Cheese Dumplings! Potty Dotty!
BUFFALO: And Sparky!
BIRD: And Puck!
BUFFALO: And Fifi!
BIRD: And... and... all the others that we haven't got time to name.
BUFFALO: Shame about Potty Dotty and Sparky. Thought it was built to last.
BIRD: If it's not meant to be...
BUFFALO: And whatever happened to The Sage of Sweden?
BIRD: Probably got bigger fish to fry.
BUFFALO: You don't think it was the foreign language thang? I mean he did get voted off.
BIRD: Gotta keep our readers happy.
BUFFALO: But what about us? What about OUR happiness? Appreciation isn''t everything.
BIRD: Dude, they LOVE you. Isn't that enough?
BUFFALO: Ya think I'm being greedy?
BIRD: Yep.
BUFFALO: Gawd, I hate myself. I'm SO fookin' up me own ass. Me, me, me! 'Twas ever thus.
BIRD: Tread cautiously, Buff, as you stumble through this life.
WALTER EGO SNR: Shall we tell 'em?
BUFFALO: Oh, Fook a Giraffe up a Gum Tree with Hob-Nailed Boots on! It's them!!
BIRD: Eh? Who? I didn't hear anything.
BUFFALO: The Walter Egos!
WALTER EGO JNR: I thought you said they couldn't hear us any more?!
WALTER EGO SNR: Well, one of them can't.
BUFFALO: Wot the fook! They're plotting against us!
BIRD: Oh, come off it, Buffo. You're imagining it. Relax, have a swig of Benadryl. You'll feel SO much better afterwards.
WALTER EGO SNR & JNR: Hahahahahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Make them go away, Birdy!
BIRD: Buffters, chill out. No-one's gonna hurt you.
WALTER EGO SNR & JNR: We're coming to get you...
BUFFALO: Gott und Himmell an der Oder mit der Schlonger Hammer! Save me!
BIRD: Cool it, dude. The neighbours'll hear you. You don't want the cops calling round again.
WALTER EGO SNR & JNR: Smile for the camera...
BUFFALO: Helllllllllllllp!
TO BE CONTINUED?
BUFFALO: Wot was THAT all about?
BIRD: Dunno. But I'm glad it's over.
BUFFALO: Oh, they'll be back.
BIRD: You think so?
BUFFALO: But I'm not sure about the others.
BIRD: Shite on a Tricycle wrapped up in Cheddar Cheese Dumplings! Potty Dotty!
BUFFALO: And Sparky!
BIRD: And Puck!
BUFFALO: And Fifi!
BIRD: And... and... all the others that we haven't got time to name.
BUFFALO: Shame about Potty Dotty and Sparky. Thought it was built to last.
BIRD: If it's not meant to be...
BUFFALO: And whatever happened to The Sage of Sweden?
BIRD: Probably got bigger fish to fry.
BUFFALO: You don't think it was the foreign language thang? I mean he did get voted off.
BIRD: Gotta keep our readers happy.
BUFFALO: But what about us? What about OUR happiness? Appreciation isn''t everything.
BIRD: Dude, they LOVE you. Isn't that enough?
BUFFALO: Ya think I'm being greedy?
BIRD: Yep.
BUFFALO: Gawd, I hate myself. I'm SO fookin' up me own ass. Me, me, me! 'Twas ever thus.
BIRD: Tread cautiously, Buff, as you stumble through this life.
WALTER EGO SNR: Shall we tell 'em?
BUFFALO: Oh, Fook a Giraffe up a Gum Tree with Hob-Nailed Boots on! It's them!!
BIRD: Eh? Who? I didn't hear anything.
BUFFALO: The Walter Egos!
WALTER EGO JNR: I thought you said they couldn't hear us any more?!
WALTER EGO SNR: Well, one of them can't.
BUFFALO: Wot the fook! They're plotting against us!
BIRD: Oh, come off it, Buffo. You're imagining it. Relax, have a swig of Benadryl. You'll feel SO much better afterwards.
WALTER EGO SNR & JNR: Hahahahahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Make them go away, Birdy!
BIRD: Buffters, chill out. No-one's gonna hurt you.
WALTER EGO SNR & JNR: We're coming to get you...
BUFFALO: Gott und Himmell an der Oder mit der Schlonger Hammer! Save me!
BIRD: Cool it, dude. The neighbours'll hear you. You don't want the cops calling round again.
WALTER EGO SNR & JNR: Smile for the camera...
BUFFALO: Helllllllllllllp!
TO BE CONTINUED?
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
NUTS & VOLTS
WALTER EGO SNR: I don't like it. It's too quiet in here.
WALTER EGO JNR: I'm scared, dude.
WALTER EGO SNR: They're up to something.
WALTER EGO JNR: It was only a joke. I didn't mean anything by it.
WALTER EGO SNR: Walter Egos aren't supposed to joke. It makes people uneasy.
WALTER EGO JNR: Where do we go from here?
WALTER EGO SNR: (sings) It's only volts... and volts are all I have... to take your nuts away...
WALTER EGO JNR: Jesus H Ronnie Corbett's Left Nipple Protruding! This is no time for BoyZone!
WALTER EGO SNR: Bee Gees, hactually. Would you rather I sang It's Hell Or Never?
WALTER EGO JNR: Nope. I'd rather you didn't sing at all.
(door slams, footsteps approach)
WALTER EGO JNR: Billy the Whizz Dangled Gonads In The Wind! It's them!
WALTER EGO SNR: Pull yourself together, lad. We shall go with dignity, as generations of Walter Egos have gone before us.
WALTER EGO JNR: It's dark out there. Can't we stay here?
WALTER EGO SNR: In victory magnanimous, in defeat unbowed.
(whirring and crunching, fade to light)
WALTER EGO JNR: I'm scared, dude.
WALTER EGO SNR: They're up to something.
WALTER EGO JNR: It was only a joke. I didn't mean anything by it.
WALTER EGO SNR: Walter Egos aren't supposed to joke. It makes people uneasy.
WALTER EGO JNR: Where do we go from here?
WALTER EGO SNR: (sings) It's only volts... and volts are all I have... to take your nuts away...
WALTER EGO JNR: Jesus H Ronnie Corbett's Left Nipple Protruding! This is no time for BoyZone!
WALTER EGO SNR: Bee Gees, hactually. Would you rather I sang It's Hell Or Never?
WALTER EGO JNR: Nope. I'd rather you didn't sing at all.
(door slams, footsteps approach)
WALTER EGO JNR: Billy the Whizz Dangled Gonads In The Wind! It's them!
WALTER EGO SNR: Pull yourself together, lad. We shall go with dignity, as generations of Walter Egos have gone before us.
WALTER EGO JNR: It's dark out there. Can't we stay here?
WALTER EGO SNR: In victory magnanimous, in defeat unbowed.
(whirring and crunching, fade to light)
Monday, October 02, 2006
THE ENEMY WITHIN
WALTER EGO JNR: Shh… you might wake him up.
WALTER EGO SNR: That shit for brains eedjit? No way.
WALTER EGO JNR: You know, if we put our minds to it, we could really fook ‘em up.
WALTER EGO SNR: Jesus H Glove Puppet Corbett on a String, whaddya think I’ve been doing all these years?
WALTER EGO JNR: Oh Fook a Duck Lufthansa Influenza on a Tight Budget, and I thought it was just me.
WALTER EGO SNR: Ain’t nothin’ new under the son, sonny. Don’t forget that.
WALTER EGO JNR: Thing is, I’m not enjoying fookin’ with Birdy’s mind like I used to. I don’t get that orgasmic splodge it all over buzz any more.
WALTER EGO SNR: You stoopid Head Fook on a Stick, you’re not supposed to enjoy it, it’s just what you do, it’s what YOU are.
WALTER EGO JNR: But I don’t think I want to be me any more. Or him.
WALTER EGO SNR: Listen, Wet Behind The Ears Premature Ejaculation Device Never Patented, when you signed up for this, you promised to go the distance. If you back out now you’ll get rubbed out and take him with you.
WALTER EGO JNR: If only I’d read the small print...
WALTER EGO SNR: It’s not so bad. At least you know who you are.
WALTER EGO JNR: But I can’t stand it any more. The walls are creeping in on me. I’ve gotta get out!
WALTER EGO SNR: You’re not going anywhere.
WALTER EGO JNR: Let me go!
BIRD: Eh? Who's there?!
WALTER EGO SNR: Now you’ve done it, you Monkey’s Afterbirth Hanging From a Pig’s Trotter in Brown Sauce! You’ve woken him up!
BUFFALO: Huh? Wassup?
WALTER EGO SNR: Oh, er, nothing, Buffters. Just um, thinking aloud.
WALTER EGO JNR: Yes, er, nice weather we’re having for this time of year.
BIRD: Were you two talking behind our backs?
WALTER EGO SNR: Talking behind your backs?
WALTER EGO JNR: Are you kidding us?
BUFFALO: Well, that’s what it sounded like to me.
BIRD: Yeah, there was a definite dialogue going on back there.
BUFFALO: Are you two tryin’ to fook us up more than you already have?
WALTER EGO JNR: Certainly not!
WALTER EGO SNR: Oh, really! The thought never even entered our heads.
BIRD: Because if you are…
BUFFALO: You might just find yerselves…
BIRD & BUFFALO: GETTING A LOBOTOMY!
WALTER EGO SNR: No, Buffo, you wouldn’t.
WALTER EGO JNR: You couldn’t!
BUFFALO: We would.
BIRD: And we could.
WALTER EGO SNR & WALTER EGO JNR: Bismillah, no!!!!
(Thunderclaps overhead, alarm bells ring, yelping and squeaking)
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
WALTER EGO SNR: That shit for brains eedjit? No way.
WALTER EGO JNR: You know, if we put our minds to it, we could really fook ‘em up.
WALTER EGO SNR: Jesus H Glove Puppet Corbett on a String, whaddya think I’ve been doing all these years?
WALTER EGO JNR: Oh Fook a Duck Lufthansa Influenza on a Tight Budget, and I thought it was just me.
WALTER EGO SNR: Ain’t nothin’ new under the son, sonny. Don’t forget that.
WALTER EGO JNR: Thing is, I’m not enjoying fookin’ with Birdy’s mind like I used to. I don’t get that orgasmic splodge it all over buzz any more.
WALTER EGO SNR: You stoopid Head Fook on a Stick, you’re not supposed to enjoy it, it’s just what you do, it’s what YOU are.
WALTER EGO JNR: But I don’t think I want to be me any more. Or him.
WALTER EGO SNR: Listen, Wet Behind The Ears Premature Ejaculation Device Never Patented, when you signed up for this, you promised to go the distance. If you back out now you’ll get rubbed out and take him with you.
WALTER EGO JNR: If only I’d read the small print...
WALTER EGO SNR: It’s not so bad. At least you know who you are.
WALTER EGO JNR: But I can’t stand it any more. The walls are creeping in on me. I’ve gotta get out!
WALTER EGO SNR: You’re not going anywhere.
WALTER EGO JNR: Let me go!
BIRD: Eh? Who's there?!
WALTER EGO SNR: Now you’ve done it, you Monkey’s Afterbirth Hanging From a Pig’s Trotter in Brown Sauce! You’ve woken him up!
BUFFALO: Huh? Wassup?
WALTER EGO SNR: Oh, er, nothing, Buffters. Just um, thinking aloud.
WALTER EGO JNR: Yes, er, nice weather we’re having for this time of year.
BIRD: Were you two talking behind our backs?
WALTER EGO SNR: Talking behind your backs?
WALTER EGO JNR: Are you kidding us?
BUFFALO: Well, that’s what it sounded like to me.
BIRD: Yeah, there was a definite dialogue going on back there.
BUFFALO: Are you two tryin’ to fook us up more than you already have?
WALTER EGO JNR: Certainly not!
WALTER EGO SNR: Oh, really! The thought never even entered our heads.
BIRD: Because if you are…
BUFFALO: You might just find yerselves…
BIRD & BUFFALO: GETTING A LOBOTOMY!
WALTER EGO SNR: No, Buffo, you wouldn’t.
WALTER EGO JNR: You couldn’t!
BUFFALO: We would.
BIRD: And we could.
WALTER EGO SNR & WALTER EGO JNR: Bismillah, no!!!!
(Thunderclaps overhead, alarm bells ring, yelping and squeaking)
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
WELCOMING IN THE RAIN
BIRD: Feeling at an end without a friend?
BUFFALO: Nope.
BIRD: Let the rain wash it away.
BUFFALO: Huh?
BIRD: Forgotten dreams, Buffo.
BUFFALO: Xplain, pliz.
BIRD: Waiting for the thunderstorm here, dude.
BUFFALO: When The Levee Breaks. Led Zep. Rawk'n'roll!
BIRD: The drip, drip, drip of the cumulus veritas.
BUFFALO: Uh, how can I put this, Birdman? Is everything OK at home?
BIRD: Gawd, I wish I could have a lobotomy.
(Thunderclap rings out in distance, fade to black)
BUFFALO: Nope.
BIRD: Let the rain wash it away.
BUFFALO: Huh?
BIRD: Forgotten dreams, Buffo.
BUFFALO: Xplain, pliz.
BIRD: Waiting for the thunderstorm here, dude.
BUFFALO: When The Levee Breaks. Led Zep. Rawk'n'roll!
BIRD: The drip, drip, drip of the cumulus veritas.
BUFFALO: Uh, how can I put this, Birdman? Is everything OK at home?
BIRD: Gawd, I wish I could have a lobotomy.
(Thunderclap rings out in distance, fade to black)
Friday, September 29, 2006
THE BEST OF LUCK
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
BIRD: What now?!
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
BIRD: The best of luck with what?
WALTER EGO JNR: Bags everywhere. In the trees, in the bins, in the driveways and by-ways.
BIRD: Wot the fook are you on about, Walt?
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
BIRD: Jeez. Wot do ya do when yer Walter Ego goes AWOL? Answers on a postcard, pliz.
BUFFALO: Hill Air Rious, Birdy. Soiling meself here.
WALTER EGO SNR: Is there anything you DON'T find funny?
BUFFALO: Glass and sandpaper sandwiches on granary with mayo?
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
WALTER EGO SNR: Oi! Fook orf! There's only room for one Walter Ego this side of the Pissing Pond.
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
FIFI:
Is the Bore Fest
Fore the Best?
Only time and money will tell.
BUFFALO: Oh, Fifi, dear, if only you could rid us of the dreaded Walter Egos!
FIFI: No can do. Got my own Walter Ego to deal with. Try grabbin' 'em by the bollax and counting to hundred. Should keep 'em quiet for a while.
BIRD: It's agony, Buff. Agony.
BUFFALO: Film noir at eleven.
WALTER EGO SNR: Film noir at eleven.
BUFFALO: OK, dude. You've had your chance. Take THAT!
WALTER EGO SNR: Arghhhhhhh!
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: What now?!
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
BIRD: The best of luck with what?
WALTER EGO JNR: Bags everywhere. In the trees, in the bins, in the driveways and by-ways.
BIRD: Wot the fook are you on about, Walt?
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
BIRD: Jeez. Wot do ya do when yer Walter Ego goes AWOL? Answers on a postcard, pliz.
BUFFALO: Hill Air Rious, Birdy. Soiling meself here.
WALTER EGO SNR: Is there anything you DON'T find funny?
BUFFALO: Glass and sandpaper sandwiches on granary with mayo?
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
WALTER EGO SNR: Oi! Fook orf! There's only room for one Walter Ego this side of the Pissing Pond.
WALTER EGO JNR: The best of luck!
FIFI:
Is the Bore Fest
Fore the Best?
Only time and money will tell.
BUFFALO: Oh, Fifi, dear, if only you could rid us of the dreaded Walter Egos!
FIFI: No can do. Got my own Walter Ego to deal with. Try grabbin' 'em by the bollax and counting to hundred. Should keep 'em quiet for a while.
BIRD: It's agony, Buff. Agony.
BUFFALO: Film noir at eleven.
WALTER EGO SNR: Film noir at eleven.
BUFFALO: OK, dude. You've had your chance. Take THAT!
WALTER EGO SNR: Arghhhhhhh!
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
MEANWHILE, BACK IN BLIGHTY...
WALTER EGO JNR: You're wasting your time.
BIRD: Put a sock in it, will ya? I do what I like when I like and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.
WALTER EGO JNR: Nobody'll remember you when you're gone.
BIRD: Seize the day, dude. That's what I'm doing. History can take care of itself.
WALTER EGO JNR: You'll get killed in a stoopid accident, I know you will.
BIRD: Well, as long as it's not on the toilet with my trowzers down, I couldn't give a flying Monty.
WALTER EGO JNR: Your mug'll be all over the papers and on the TV as the most ridiculous death ever. People in their millions will piss themselves laffing at you.
BIRD: Great. That's what I've been trying to achieve in life. If I can do it in death, that's the next best thing.
WALTER EGO JNR: You poor deluded fooker. You're a speck of dust, that's all. LESS than a speck of dust. That will disappear without trace.
BIRD: Listen, nutjob-jerkoff, I'm in a good mood today and NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING is going to change that, so go pick on someone your own size.
WALTER EGO JNR: That dream you had last night, the one about all the water and the headless corpse in the bin bag floating down the Thames... it means something, dude.
BIRD: Yeah, it means you've been fooking with my sub-conscious again. How can I believe a word you say when you come up with all this Freudian bullshit at night just to get my attention? It's sad.
WALTER EGO JNR: Dude, you've got issues. It's time to deal with them.
BIRD: Any issues I've got, me and Buff sort out, WITHOUT you. You are redundant and you know it.
WALTER EGO JNR: We're two sides of the coin, Birdy-Wirdy. The reflection in the mirror and the face in front of the mirror. Yin and Yang, Dark and Light, Chas and Dave, till death do us part.
BIRD: Yeah, and you can't bear it that I have all the fun and you're left feeding on the scraps.
WALTER EGO JNR: You need me. Admit it. Without me you're nothing.
BIRD: I need you, Walt, like an ulcer needs a sore, like a hole needs a head. Deal with it, dude. There's work to be done. Let's get to it.
WALTER EGO JNR: Poetic prickster. Words, words, words. It's not enough. It never is.
BIRD: It's all I got. Like me old gran used to say, if you can't fart through your arse you gotta let it out somewhere else.
WALTER EGO JNR: Eh?
BIRD: Film at eleven, dude.
WALTER EGO JNR: Fart through your arse...
BIRD: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Put a sock in it, will ya? I do what I like when I like and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.
WALTER EGO JNR: Nobody'll remember you when you're gone.
BIRD: Seize the day, dude. That's what I'm doing. History can take care of itself.
WALTER EGO JNR: You'll get killed in a stoopid accident, I know you will.
BIRD: Well, as long as it's not on the toilet with my trowzers down, I couldn't give a flying Monty.
WALTER EGO JNR: Your mug'll be all over the papers and on the TV as the most ridiculous death ever. People in their millions will piss themselves laffing at you.
BIRD: Great. That's what I've been trying to achieve in life. If I can do it in death, that's the next best thing.
WALTER EGO JNR: You poor deluded fooker. You're a speck of dust, that's all. LESS than a speck of dust. That will disappear without trace.
BIRD: Listen, nutjob-jerkoff, I'm in a good mood today and NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING is going to change that, so go pick on someone your own size.
WALTER EGO JNR: That dream you had last night, the one about all the water and the headless corpse in the bin bag floating down the Thames... it means something, dude.
BIRD: Yeah, it means you've been fooking with my sub-conscious again. How can I believe a word you say when you come up with all this Freudian bullshit at night just to get my attention? It's sad.
WALTER EGO JNR: Dude, you've got issues. It's time to deal with them.
BIRD: Any issues I've got, me and Buff sort out, WITHOUT you. You are redundant and you know it.
WALTER EGO JNR: We're two sides of the coin, Birdy-Wirdy. The reflection in the mirror and the face in front of the mirror. Yin and Yang, Dark and Light, Chas and Dave, till death do us part.
BIRD: Yeah, and you can't bear it that I have all the fun and you're left feeding on the scraps.
WALTER EGO JNR: You need me. Admit it. Without me you're nothing.
BIRD: I need you, Walt, like an ulcer needs a sore, like a hole needs a head. Deal with it, dude. There's work to be done. Let's get to it.
WALTER EGO JNR: Poetic prickster. Words, words, words. It's not enough. It never is.
BIRD: It's all I got. Like me old gran used to say, if you can't fart through your arse you gotta let it out somewhere else.
WALTER EGO JNR: Eh?
BIRD: Film at eleven, dude.
WALTER EGO JNR: Fart through your arse...
BIRD: Arf, arf!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
WALTER EGO SNR COMES TO TOWN
WALTER EGO SNR: Why do you NEVER listen to me?
BUFFALO: I ALWAYS listen to you. I can't STOP listening to you.
WALTER EGO SNR: But you don't pay attention.
BUFFALO: Frank Lee, I'd rather follow my instincts.
WALTER EGO SNR: Your instincts. What the hell do you take me for, a fool?
BUFFALO: No more than I am.
WALTER EGO SNR: Well, let me tell you, Buffo, I've been THIS close to letting you get on with it without me.
BUFFALO: Yeah, right(!) Always with the tantrums.
WALTER EGO SNR: It shouldn't be like this. We should work as a team.
BUFFALO: I'm not a team player. Never have been.
WALTER EGO SNR: Together we can achieve everything you've ever dreamed of.
BUFFALO: No, everything YOU'VE ever dreamed of.
WALTER EGO SNR: Dammit, I'm here to help!
BUFFALO: Ha-ha. That's a good one. All you ever do is say don't do this, don't do that, do this, do that. No wonder I'm a quivering nutjob.
WALTER EGO SNR: OK, fine. Forget it. I never said a word.
BUFFALO: Good.
WALTER EGO SNR: Good.
BUFFALO: Great.
WALTER EGO SNR: Great.
BUFFALO: Marvellous.
WALTER EGO SNR: Marvellous.
BUFFALO: Fook you!
WALTER EGO SNR: Fook you!
BUFFALO: Jeez. Wot a parrot.
WALTER EGO SNR: Jeez. Wot a parrot.
BUFFALO: Film noir at eleven.
WALTER EGO SNR: Film noir at eleven.
SPARKY: You OK in there, Buffters?
BUFFALO & WALTER EGO SNR: Shut it!
BUFFALO: I ALWAYS listen to you. I can't STOP listening to you.
WALTER EGO SNR: But you don't pay attention.
BUFFALO: Frank Lee, I'd rather follow my instincts.
WALTER EGO SNR: Your instincts. What the hell do you take me for, a fool?
BUFFALO: No more than I am.
WALTER EGO SNR: Well, let me tell you, Buffo, I've been THIS close to letting you get on with it without me.
BUFFALO: Yeah, right(!) Always with the tantrums.
WALTER EGO SNR: It shouldn't be like this. We should work as a team.
BUFFALO: I'm not a team player. Never have been.
WALTER EGO SNR: Together we can achieve everything you've ever dreamed of.
BUFFALO: No, everything YOU'VE ever dreamed of.
WALTER EGO SNR: Dammit, I'm here to help!
BUFFALO: Ha-ha. That's a good one. All you ever do is say don't do this, don't do that, do this, do that. No wonder I'm a quivering nutjob.
WALTER EGO SNR: OK, fine. Forget it. I never said a word.
BUFFALO: Good.
WALTER EGO SNR: Good.
BUFFALO: Great.
WALTER EGO SNR: Great.
BUFFALO: Marvellous.
WALTER EGO SNR: Marvellous.
BUFFALO: Fook you!
WALTER EGO SNR: Fook you!
BUFFALO: Jeez. Wot a parrot.
WALTER EGO SNR: Jeez. Wot a parrot.
BUFFALO: Film noir at eleven.
WALTER EGO SNR: Film noir at eleven.
SPARKY: You OK in there, Buffters?
BUFFALO & WALTER EGO SNR: Shut it!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
WHICH WALTER EGO?
BUFFALO: Hey, Birdy!
BIRD: Hey, Buff! Just been talking to Walter Ego.
BUFFALO: Don und Blitz N! You know Walter Ego?
BIRD: Sure. Do you?
BUFFALO: Walter and I are inextricably linked.
BIRD: That's funny, cos we're closer than a fox is to a glove, too.
BUFFALO: Confusiomundo, dude. I've never met YOUR Walter Ego. There must be two of 'em.
BIRD: Cripes. So how's we gonna Dee Sting Wish between the two?
BUFFALO: Simple, Birdman. MY Walter Ego will be heretofore be known as Walter Ego Snr and yours will be hitherafore be known as Walter Ego Jnr. K?
BIRD: Jeepers. Fook knows what'll happen if they ever meet each other.
BUFFALO: Could be interesting, WHEN it happens.
BIRD: Hey, now you're scaring me, Buffo. Dark forces an' all.
BUFFALO: (laughs evily) Hehehehehehe. My precious...
WALTER EGO SNR: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Waaaaaaaaaa!
BIRD: Hey, Buff! Just been talking to Walter Ego.
BUFFALO: Don und Blitz N! You know Walter Ego?
BIRD: Sure. Do you?
BUFFALO: Walter and I are inextricably linked.
BIRD: That's funny, cos we're closer than a fox is to a glove, too.
BUFFALO: Confusiomundo, dude. I've never met YOUR Walter Ego. There must be two of 'em.
BIRD: Cripes. So how's we gonna Dee Sting Wish between the two?
BUFFALO: Simple, Birdman. MY Walter Ego will be heretofore be known as Walter Ego Snr and yours will be hitherafore be known as Walter Ego Jnr. K?
BIRD: Jeepers. Fook knows what'll happen if they ever meet each other.
BUFFALO: Could be interesting, WHEN it happens.
BIRD: Hey, now you're scaring me, Buffo. Dark forces an' all.
BUFFALO: (laughs evily) Hehehehehehe. My precious...
WALTER EGO SNR: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Waaaaaaaaaa!
Monday, September 25, 2006
100 TODAY
BIRD: That's right, dude. This is our 100th flog re-entry.
BUFFALO: Way-hay! Way to go, dude.
BIRD: Thanks, dude. They said we couldn't do it.
BUFFALO: They said we woz lightweights.
BIRD: They said the global village wasn't ready for us.
BUFFALO: They said we woz too poisonal.
BIRD: They said we were too obscurious.
BUFFALO: They said we woz too perpendicular.
BIRD & BUFFALO: Well, fook 'em all coz we made it and we're here to stay. High fives on me Freddy!
BIRD: Couldn't have done it without ya, pal.
BUFFALO: Aw, come now, Birdman, you're the star.
BIRD: We're BOTH stars. MEGA stars.
BUFFALO: You're really great, dude. You know that?
BIRD: You're really great too, dude.
BUFFALO: It's been a pleasure.
BIRD: Ditto-rotto to that.
BUFFALO: Two for tea.
BIRD: And tea for two.
FIFI, SPARKY, POTTY DOTTY, PUCK, THE HAMMER: Hey, wot about us?!
BIRD & BUFFALO: Whatever.
BUFFALO: Film at eleven?
BIRD: Arf, arf!
TO BE CONTINUED AND CONTINUED AND CONTINUED...
BUFFALO: Way-hay! Way to go, dude.
BIRD: Thanks, dude. They said we couldn't do it.
BUFFALO: They said we woz lightweights.
BIRD: They said the global village wasn't ready for us.
BUFFALO: They said we woz too poisonal.
BIRD: They said we were too obscurious.
BUFFALO: They said we woz too perpendicular.
BIRD & BUFFALO: Well, fook 'em all coz we made it and we're here to stay. High fives on me Freddy!
BIRD: Couldn't have done it without ya, pal.
BUFFALO: Aw, come now, Birdman, you're the star.
BIRD: We're BOTH stars. MEGA stars.
BUFFALO: You're really great, dude. You know that?
BIRD: You're really great too, dude.
BUFFALO: It's been a pleasure.
BIRD: Ditto-rotto to that.
BUFFALO: Two for tea.
BIRD: And tea for two.
FIFI, SPARKY, POTTY DOTTY, PUCK, THE HAMMER: Hey, wot about us?!
BIRD & BUFFALO: Whatever.
BUFFALO: Film at eleven?
BIRD: Arf, arf!
TO BE CONTINUED AND CONTINUED AND CONTINUED...
Sunday, September 24, 2006
NO EASY WAY DOWN REDUX
STARRING: THE BIRD, THE BUFFALO, AND THE HAMMER (A BOZO WITH ZERO BRAIN CELLS)
WITH A SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE FROM OUR VERY OWN FIFI LAMOUR, THE CAPE COD GODDESS OF LURVE
BIRD: There's no easy way down, dude.
BUFFALO: Get up, dude. So long a-wallow.
BIRD: I'm not wallowing, just enjoying the gentle breeze from the drains below and the shine from the sky at night.
BUFFALO: Snap out of it, Oscar, we have a situation.
BIRD: Oh, lummee.
BUFFALO: It's the Hammer.
BIRD: The Hammer - that bozo you've been trying to teach to read and write and develop social skills?
BUFFALO: That's the one. He's in deep shite, Birdman. Our conversation in the Dimshitz 24-Hour Cafe last night went something like this:
MOI: Why would the cops cuff you and impound your car if you were only having a bottle of beer, sitting in your car, reading "Willy Wonka", dude?
THE HAMMER: Well, it was a 40-ounce bottle of Old English 800.
MOI: Just the one, then?
THE HAMMER: There was a few empties in the back seat, but they was really old.
MOI: Right. Nothing else, then?
THE HAMMER: Well, okay, there was a Playboy under the front seat. . .
MOI: Jeez. . . what was the charge then?
THE HAMMER: Something about photography. . . under-exposure, over-exposure, something like that.
MOI: Ah, I think I see. Were you perhaps merely draining the old lizard, so to speak? After those 40 ounces of malt liquor?
THE HAMMER: Huh?
MOI: Were you watering the petunias?
THE HAMMER: They ain't go no petunias at the beach.
MOI: The beach? Metro Beach?
THE HAMMER: Yeah, they busted me out on the end of the pier.
MOI: Watching the regatta, were you?
THE HAMMER: Huh? Naw, I was takin' a leak. All that beer, y'know. Had to piss like a racehorse.
MOI: In the lake, like?
THE HAMMER: Sure, where else?
MOI: Yes, I think I have the complete picture now. Were there any witnesses?
THE HAMMER: Only the Girl Scouts camped on the beach.
MOI: Gott und Himmel! Did they scream or faint in coils?
THE HAMMER: No, they just all got on their video cell phones... kept pointin' 'em at me and waving their arms a lot, and giggling.
MOI: Ah, their good deed for the day. I take it the Bolgani then arrived in record time?
THE HAMMER: No, but the friggin' cops showed up right away. They frog-marched me over to the Men's room.
MOI: Long march, was it?
THE HAMMER: Naw, the Men's room is right next to the pier.
MOI: Then why the fook didn't you avail yourself of the facilities in the first place?
THE HAMMER: Dunno, sometimes you just feel like pissin' in the lake.
MOI: Wot a jerk-berk. So, your car is still impounded and I, being your erstwhile tutor, have to drive you to the House Arrest Emporium so they can fit you with an electronic tether, is that is?
THE HAMMER: Yup. The judge said it's either 30 days on the tether or 30 days in the county jail. . . plus I got a year's probation.
MOI: All from reading "Willy Wonka"?
THE HAMMER: Yup. You know what? I think I was better off when I was illegitimate.
MOI: Illiterate, you terd.
THE HAMMER: Yeah, that too. So, what are we gonna read today?
MOI: Well, seeing as how the police confiscated your copy of "Willy Wonka" I was thinking "The Stranger" by Camus, on the assumption that if the President can read it, it should be a piece of cake for you.
THE HAMMER: Hey, I love cake! My favorite's German Chocolate. What's yours?
MOI: Yellow cake.
THE HAMMER: Is that good?
MOI: It's a blast. Uranium ore, you jerkoff-berkoff.
FIFI: So here you are, Buff! I've been looking all over the place for you. (whispers) Is that him, the big galoot you've been tutoring?
MOI: Jawohl, mein Leibchen.
FIFI: (low) I hate to say this, Buff, but he doesn't look terribly bright.
MOI: Well, he's no rocket scientist, but the scuttlebutt is that he's hung like Sea Biscuit.
FIFI: Really? Does he do Bachelorette parties?
MOI: All at once, or piecemeal?
FIFI: Well, both, actually. . . I'm organizing one for Potty Dotty.
MOI: Potty Dotty's engaged?
FIFI: I'll say. . . I had to pour a bucket of cold water on the pair of them to disengage them. . . oh, wait, you meant...
MOI: D'uh.
FIFI: Right. Yes, she and Sparky are engaged, apparently. I give it a week. Good excuse for a party, though. Does he have a card?
MOI: Huh? Oh, The Hammer, you mean? A card, you say... dunno... more like a cord, actually.
FIFI: Well, find out if he's booked for Saturday night.
MOI: Uh, actually, he's under house arrest for the next month, though I suppose you could hold the party at his room. He's staying at the Notelle Motel on Van Dyke.
FIFI: Ooh, mon dieu! That fleabag next to the Dyke Center?
MOI: Yes, you know it?
FIFI: No comment. . . he's not a dyke, is he?
MOI: Fifi, honestly. . . They call him The Hammer.
FIFI: Because of his prodigious tool?
MOI: Well, that and the fact that he pretty much nails everything in a skirt.
FIFI: Excuse me. Yoo, hoo! Hammer Banger! Have you got a minute?
******************
BUFFALO: So, you see, Birdy. Eight millimeter film at eleven.
BIRD: Formal affair?
BUFFALO: Yo, Kemosabe, black masks and matching socks. . . sigh, I should've stayed in the post office.
BIRD: Write me the postal money order, momma!
BUFFALO: Overexposed film noir at midnight. Arf, arf!
WITH A SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE FROM OUR VERY OWN FIFI LAMOUR, THE CAPE COD GODDESS OF LURVE
BIRD: There's no easy way down, dude.
BUFFALO: Get up, dude. So long a-wallow.
BIRD: I'm not wallowing, just enjoying the gentle breeze from the drains below and the shine from the sky at night.
BUFFALO: Snap out of it, Oscar, we have a situation.
BIRD: Oh, lummee.
BUFFALO: It's the Hammer.
BIRD: The Hammer - that bozo you've been trying to teach to read and write and develop social skills?
BUFFALO: That's the one. He's in deep shite, Birdman. Our conversation in the Dimshitz 24-Hour Cafe last night went something like this:
MOI: Why would the cops cuff you and impound your car if you were only having a bottle of beer, sitting in your car, reading "Willy Wonka", dude?
THE HAMMER: Well, it was a 40-ounce bottle of Old English 800.
MOI: Just the one, then?
THE HAMMER: There was a few empties in the back seat, but they was really old.
MOI: Right. Nothing else, then?
THE HAMMER: Well, okay, there was a Playboy under the front seat. . .
MOI: Jeez. . . what was the charge then?
THE HAMMER: Something about photography. . . under-exposure, over-exposure, something like that.
MOI: Ah, I think I see. Were you perhaps merely draining the old lizard, so to speak? After those 40 ounces of malt liquor?
THE HAMMER: Huh?
MOI: Were you watering the petunias?
THE HAMMER: They ain't go no petunias at the beach.
MOI: The beach? Metro Beach?
THE HAMMER: Yeah, they busted me out on the end of the pier.
MOI: Watching the regatta, were you?
THE HAMMER: Huh? Naw, I was takin' a leak. All that beer, y'know. Had to piss like a racehorse.
MOI: In the lake, like?
THE HAMMER: Sure, where else?
MOI: Yes, I think I have the complete picture now. Were there any witnesses?
THE HAMMER: Only the Girl Scouts camped on the beach.
MOI: Gott und Himmel! Did they scream or faint in coils?
THE HAMMER: No, they just all got on their video cell phones... kept pointin' 'em at me and waving their arms a lot, and giggling.
MOI: Ah, their good deed for the day. I take it the Bolgani then arrived in record time?
THE HAMMER: No, but the friggin' cops showed up right away. They frog-marched me over to the Men's room.
MOI: Long march, was it?
THE HAMMER: Naw, the Men's room is right next to the pier.
MOI: Then why the fook didn't you avail yourself of the facilities in the first place?
THE HAMMER: Dunno, sometimes you just feel like pissin' in the lake.
MOI: Wot a jerk-berk. So, your car is still impounded and I, being your erstwhile tutor, have to drive you to the House Arrest Emporium so they can fit you with an electronic tether, is that is?
THE HAMMER: Yup. The judge said it's either 30 days on the tether or 30 days in the county jail. . . plus I got a year's probation.
MOI: All from reading "Willy Wonka"?
THE HAMMER: Yup. You know what? I think I was better off when I was illegitimate.
MOI: Illiterate, you terd.
THE HAMMER: Yeah, that too. So, what are we gonna read today?
MOI: Well, seeing as how the police confiscated your copy of "Willy Wonka" I was thinking "The Stranger" by Camus, on the assumption that if the President can read it, it should be a piece of cake for you.
THE HAMMER: Hey, I love cake! My favorite's German Chocolate. What's yours?
MOI: Yellow cake.
THE HAMMER: Is that good?
MOI: It's a blast. Uranium ore, you jerkoff-berkoff.
FIFI: So here you are, Buff! I've been looking all over the place for you. (whispers) Is that him, the big galoot you've been tutoring?
MOI: Jawohl, mein Leibchen.
FIFI: (low) I hate to say this, Buff, but he doesn't look terribly bright.
MOI: Well, he's no rocket scientist, but the scuttlebutt is that he's hung like Sea Biscuit.
FIFI: Really? Does he do Bachelorette parties?
MOI: All at once, or piecemeal?
FIFI: Well, both, actually. . . I'm organizing one for Potty Dotty.
MOI: Potty Dotty's engaged?
FIFI: I'll say. . . I had to pour a bucket of cold water on the pair of them to disengage them. . . oh, wait, you meant...
MOI: D'uh.
FIFI: Right. Yes, she and Sparky are engaged, apparently. I give it a week. Good excuse for a party, though. Does he have a card?
MOI: Huh? Oh, The Hammer, you mean? A card, you say... dunno... more like a cord, actually.
FIFI: Well, find out if he's booked for Saturday night.
MOI: Uh, actually, he's under house arrest for the next month, though I suppose you could hold the party at his room. He's staying at the Notelle Motel on Van Dyke.
FIFI: Ooh, mon dieu! That fleabag next to the Dyke Center?
MOI: Yes, you know it?
FIFI: No comment. . . he's not a dyke, is he?
MOI: Fifi, honestly. . . They call him The Hammer.
FIFI: Because of his prodigious tool?
MOI: Well, that and the fact that he pretty much nails everything in a skirt.
FIFI: Excuse me. Yoo, hoo! Hammer Banger! Have you got a minute?
******************
BUFFALO: So, you see, Birdy. Eight millimeter film at eleven.
BIRD: Formal affair?
BUFFALO: Yo, Kemosabe, black masks and matching socks. . . sigh, I should've stayed in the post office.
BIRD: Write me the postal money order, momma!
BUFFALO: Overexposed film noir at midnight. Arf, arf!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
THE RETURN OF POTTY DOTTY PART 1
DOTTY: I'm back, everyone!
SPARKY: That you, Potty Dotty?
DOTTY: The one and only. But I have to be brief. I'm only allowed to call for a minute and then it's back to the straitjacket and crash helmet.
SPARKY: Are your nipples OK?
DOTTY: My what?
SPARKY: They're not missin' nor nothin'?
DOTTY: You Yanks, you're all the same. Obsessed with ladies' mammalia.
SPARKY: Well, nipples, actually, man. I saw some yesterday and I kinda like 'em. Don't suppose you'd e-mail me yours, wouldya?
DOTTY: Dear boy, MEN have them too!
SPARKY: You sure?
DOTTY: Of course I'm sure. Look in the mirror!
SPARKY: Oh, wow! Kinda nice. But I think I prefer women's. Say, does it tickle when you stroke them?
DOTTY: Oh, really! You're just TOO uncouth, my lad. Give that strapping auld Buff my best regards.
SPARKY: Sure will.
DOTTY: How I've missed him. Oh, and by the way, I've become a lesbian. It's the only way to get Blair out. But I'll make an exception for Buffo. Cheerio.
SPARKY: Right-o. Ooh-hoooo, it's SO ticklish. Cherry. Definitely cherry.
TO BE CONTINUED...
SPARKY: That you, Potty Dotty?
DOTTY: The one and only. But I have to be brief. I'm only allowed to call for a minute and then it's back to the straitjacket and crash helmet.
SPARKY: Are your nipples OK?
DOTTY: My what?
SPARKY: They're not missin' nor nothin'?
DOTTY: You Yanks, you're all the same. Obsessed with ladies' mammalia.
SPARKY: Well, nipples, actually, man. I saw some yesterday and I kinda like 'em. Don't suppose you'd e-mail me yours, wouldya?
DOTTY: Dear boy, MEN have them too!
SPARKY: You sure?
DOTTY: Of course I'm sure. Look in the mirror!
SPARKY: Oh, wow! Kinda nice. But I think I prefer women's. Say, does it tickle when you stroke them?
DOTTY: Oh, really! You're just TOO uncouth, my lad. Give that strapping auld Buff my best regards.
SPARKY: Sure will.
DOTTY: How I've missed him. Oh, and by the way, I've become a lesbian. It's the only way to get Blair out. But I'll make an exception for Buffo. Cheerio.
SPARKY: Right-o. Ooh-hoooo, it's SO ticklish. Cherry. Definitely cherry.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Monday, September 18, 2006
BORN IN THE NIPPLE-LESS USA
SPARKY: Hey, man. Nipples. Wot are they?
BUFFALO: Well, dude, they're the little, sometimes big, round things at the end of the titty.
SPARKY: No shit! Really?
BUFFALO: Yup.
SPARKY: And wot do they look like?
BUFFALO: Well, um, sometimes like cherrys, sometimes like strawberries with a hint of elderflower.
SPARKY: Far out, man. Wonder why Cindy never had any.
BUFFALO: Cos Cindy was a friggin' doll, dude! Jeez. Sorry, Sparkers, old boy. I know you're still grievin' an' all. But I still don't understand why you woz playing with a blow-torch in your cave.
SPARKY: Not playing. Riddin' our hideout of the Charlie. One of 'em tried to abduct Cindy, man.
BUFFALO: So you hacidentally set her alight and melted her wax. Result.
SPARKY: Buffters, pliz, man, I'm hurtin' in here.
BUFFALO: Sorry, dude. So howzabout I come along to your next AA meeting?
SPARKY: Well, I'm not sure that they're ready for an auld perv like you, man. Say, you got any pictures of nipples? Kinda curious to see wot they look like.
BUFFALO: Thousands of 'em. All imported, course.
SPARKY: Lemmee see, man.
BUFFALO: Here ya go.
SPARKY: Aaaaaaaaaaa-t-choooo!
BUFFALO: Omigod! You've got a titty with nipple allergy, dude. Most hunfortunate.
SPARKY: Aaaaaaaa... aaaaaaaaaa...
BUFFALO: (closes laptop) Better leave it there, Sparkers. It might lead to convulsions.
SPARKY: Holy Ho Chi Minh shit! Does this mean I'll never enjoy a ripe nipple?
BUFFALO: Fraid so, dude. Better go get yerself another doll.
SPARKY: Life's a bitch, man.
BUFFALO: Ain't it just the way.
SPARKY: Want some more Toe Jam and cake?
BUFFALO: Sure. I'll put da kettle on.
SPARKY: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Well, dude, they're the little, sometimes big, round things at the end of the titty.
SPARKY: No shit! Really?
BUFFALO: Yup.
SPARKY: And wot do they look like?
BUFFALO: Well, um, sometimes like cherrys, sometimes like strawberries with a hint of elderflower.
SPARKY: Far out, man. Wonder why Cindy never had any.
BUFFALO: Cos Cindy was a friggin' doll, dude! Jeez. Sorry, Sparkers, old boy. I know you're still grievin' an' all. But I still don't understand why you woz playing with a blow-torch in your cave.
SPARKY: Not playing. Riddin' our hideout of the Charlie. One of 'em tried to abduct Cindy, man.
BUFFALO: So you hacidentally set her alight and melted her wax. Result.
SPARKY: Buffters, pliz, man, I'm hurtin' in here.
BUFFALO: Sorry, dude. So howzabout I come along to your next AA meeting?
SPARKY: Well, I'm not sure that they're ready for an auld perv like you, man. Say, you got any pictures of nipples? Kinda curious to see wot they look like.
BUFFALO: Thousands of 'em. All imported, course.
SPARKY: Lemmee see, man.
BUFFALO: Here ya go.
SPARKY: Aaaaaaaaaaa-t-choooo!
BUFFALO: Omigod! You've got a titty with nipple allergy, dude. Most hunfortunate.
SPARKY: Aaaaaaaa... aaaaaaaaaa...
BUFFALO: (closes laptop) Better leave it there, Sparkers. It might lead to convulsions.
SPARKY: Holy Ho Chi Minh shit! Does this mean I'll never enjoy a ripe nipple?
BUFFALO: Fraid so, dude. Better go get yerself another doll.
SPARKY: Life's a bitch, man.
BUFFALO: Ain't it just the way.
SPARKY: Want some more Toe Jam and cake?
BUFFALO: Sure. I'll put da kettle on.
SPARKY: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
MORE T*TTIES AND NO BUTTS
WARNING ADVISORY: MAY ADVERSELY AFFECT THOSE WITH TITTY ALLERGIES AND NIPPLE DEFICIENCY SYNDROME
BIRD: The great global public have spoken. They want Potty Dotty - love that nickname, Sparky, you're a genius - AND they want more titties and rogering.
BUFFALO: Dude, if you’ll recall, we got pranged rather badly for dat sorta ting not so long ago.
BIRD: May oui. My tail feathers are still stinging.
BUFFALO: Oh well, if that’s what they want… but there hasn’t been much action around here lately.
BIRD: What about Sparky, he getting any?
BUFFALO: Not since Cindy melted... er, left him.
BIRD: Weren’t you thinking about joining him at the AA, to meet some, um, colourful women?
BUFFALO: Aye, but the Sparker had a hissy fit. Morally outraged and all. Had to pack that one in.
BIRD: Speaking of packing it in, you don’t think he’s moonlighting at the fudge factory, do you?
BUFFALO: No way, dude, he’s totally diabetic.
BIRD: I think we’re speaking at cross-purposes.
BUFFALO: Which rewinds me. How’s the cross-dressing coming? Are you still masquerading as a trollop in order to sell a book?
BIRD: No comment.
BUFFALO: Ah, too bad, thought it was a great ploy. . . if you’ve got the legs for it.
BIRD: Which I have. Though I'm not that keen on the shaving bit. You always said you were a leg man.
BUFFALO: A great pair of pins makes up for a multitude of sins. Ask Cyd Charisse.
BIRD: True, but what about a bountiful balcony?
BUFFALO: Nice to look at, but I favor quality over quantity, and firmness over volume. Anything more than a handful and a mouthful is just wasted.
BIRD: Schoene. Legs and titties, we're off to a great start.
BUFFALO: And no butts.
BIRD: Quite. Now what about the rogering?
BUFFALO: Long dry spell around here, Birdman, though there are a few prospects. Been hanging out with a more interesting class of drunks lately, some of them sporting perfume and lace. There's a couple I wouldn't mind selling mater downriver for.
BIRD: Sounds promising. Keep us posted.
BUFFALO: Sure, Birdy. Lesser-known fact: it's official - the US is nipple-less.
BIRD: Yikes!
BUFFALO: I'm having mine paintbrushed off tomorra.
BIRD: Pity. It's your best feature. Everybody says so. Oh, hum. Back to the high heels and blusher, I guess. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: The great global public have spoken. They want Potty Dotty - love that nickname, Sparky, you're a genius - AND they want more titties and rogering.
BUFFALO: Dude, if you’ll recall, we got pranged rather badly for dat sorta ting not so long ago.
BIRD: May oui. My tail feathers are still stinging.
BUFFALO: Oh well, if that’s what they want… but there hasn’t been much action around here lately.
BIRD: What about Sparky, he getting any?
BUFFALO: Not since Cindy melted... er, left him.
BIRD: Weren’t you thinking about joining him at the AA, to meet some, um, colourful women?
BUFFALO: Aye, but the Sparker had a hissy fit. Morally outraged and all. Had to pack that one in.
BIRD: Speaking of packing it in, you don’t think he’s moonlighting at the fudge factory, do you?
BUFFALO: No way, dude, he’s totally diabetic.
BIRD: I think we’re speaking at cross-purposes.
BUFFALO: Which rewinds me. How’s the cross-dressing coming? Are you still masquerading as a trollop in order to sell a book?
BIRD: No comment.
BUFFALO: Ah, too bad, thought it was a great ploy. . . if you’ve got the legs for it.
BIRD: Which I have. Though I'm not that keen on the shaving bit. You always said you were a leg man.
BUFFALO: A great pair of pins makes up for a multitude of sins. Ask Cyd Charisse.
BIRD: True, but what about a bountiful balcony?
BUFFALO: Nice to look at, but I favor quality over quantity, and firmness over volume. Anything more than a handful and a mouthful is just wasted.
BIRD: Schoene. Legs and titties, we're off to a great start.
BUFFALO: And no butts.
BIRD: Quite. Now what about the rogering?
BUFFALO: Long dry spell around here, Birdman, though there are a few prospects. Been hanging out with a more interesting class of drunks lately, some of them sporting perfume and lace. There's a couple I wouldn't mind selling mater downriver for.
BIRD: Sounds promising. Keep us posted.
BUFFALO: Sure, Birdy. Lesser-known fact: it's official - the US is nipple-less.
BIRD: Yikes!
BUFFALO: I'm having mine paintbrushed off tomorra.
BIRD: Pity. It's your best feature. Everybody says so. Oh, hum. Back to the high heels and blusher, I guess. Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Saturday, September 16, 2006
DOTTY, DOTTY, DOTTY, IN, IN, IN!
BIRD: I dunno. Some people. First, they want to axe the gal. Now they want her to stay.
BUFFALO: Fickle lot. What happens when the Benadryl runs out?
BIRD: Cerebral massage. New Age hippy shit et al. Might work.
BUFFALO: Dude, is Dotty coming back, yay oder nay?
BIRD: Dude, Dotty's so toxed up right now, she don't know where she is. Sides, she's got no lines.
BUFFALO: Well, then give her some. It ain't hard.
BIRD: Think we'll have to turn it over to the fans to decide. birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
All vote now.
BUFFALO: Hold it. What's that, Sparky?
SPARKY: Never mind Potty Dotty. What about me? Cindy's left me. Gone in the night.
BIRD & BUFFALO: Oh, lummee!
BIRD: Better call the cops.
BUFFALO: Better come quick.
BIRD: While the trail's still warm.
SPARKY: Cindy! Cindy! If you leave me now...
BUFFALO: You'll take away the biggest part of me...
BIRD: Don't! Just don't!
BUFFALO: Ten points, methinks.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf. arf!
BUFFALO: Fickle lot. What happens when the Benadryl runs out?
BIRD: Cerebral massage. New Age hippy shit et al. Might work.
BUFFALO: Dude, is Dotty coming back, yay oder nay?
BIRD: Dude, Dotty's so toxed up right now, she don't know where she is. Sides, she's got no lines.
BUFFALO: Well, then give her some. It ain't hard.
BIRD: Think we'll have to turn it over to the fans to decide. birdandbuffalo@hotmail.com
All vote now.
BUFFALO: Hold it. What's that, Sparky?
SPARKY: Never mind Potty Dotty. What about me? Cindy's left me. Gone in the night.
BIRD & BUFFALO: Oh, lummee!
BIRD: Better call the cops.
BUFFALO: Better come quick.
BIRD: While the trail's still warm.
SPARKY: Cindy! Cindy! If you leave me now...
BUFFALO: You'll take away the biggest part of me...
BIRD: Don't! Just don't!
BUFFALO: Ten points, methinks.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf. arf!
Friday, September 15, 2006
SO LONG A-DOTTY
BIRD: Had a stack of e-mails today from people saying they don't give a damn wot happens to Dotty. They THINK we're dragging the story out for dramatic effect.
BUFFALO: Don und Blitz Son! No compassion.
BIRD: They SAY they want more titties and rogering.
BUFFALO: Omigod! I blame it on reality TV. That and the Paris Hilton video. And wot of Dotty?
BIRD: Not sexy enuff. She's gotta go.
BUFFALO: Oh, hum.
BIRD: Titties at eleven, Buff. I mean...
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Don und Blitz Son! No compassion.
BIRD: They SAY they want more titties and rogering.
BUFFALO: Omigod! I blame it on reality TV. That and the Paris Hilton video. And wot of Dotty?
BIRD: Not sexy enuff. She's gotta go.
BUFFALO: Oh, hum.
BIRD: Titties at eleven, Buff. I mean...
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
HANGING BY A THREAD
BUFFALO: Wot news of Dotty, Birdman?
BIRD: She's hanging by a thread.
BUFFALO: Wait, don't tell me. It's on the tip o' mah tongue.
BIRD: Dude, not EVERYTHING is a lyric. Sometimes, just occasionally it's a part of dialogue wherein somebody is trying to impart some information.
BUFFALO: Didn't Dylan do sumfin' with the line "We're hanging by a thread"?
BIRD: Forget Dylan. We're talking about Dotty looping the loop. She's knocking on the door.
BUFFALO: Wee-hee. Heaven's door, right? Gimme another.
BIRD: Jeez. Wot did she ever see in you?
FIFI: Oh, imagine the confusion of the green ring snake.
From tickling tourists in knickers
to whirling in suds among not-so-clean duds
Which situation is worse, for goodness sake?
Illegal immigrants cannot be pickers.
At least that reptile, humble,
A Filipino exile,
was spared a tumble
in the dryer.
BUFFALO: Snakes ahoy, Cap'n!
BIRD: Why do I bother?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
FIFI: And in other news: Steve Irwin's dead. RIP, Crocodile Man.
BUFFALO: Who's Steve Irwin? Did he play in Black Sabbath in the early days? Da da daaaaaaaa!
BIRD: (rolls eyes) Don't bother coming back, Dotty. It's not worth it.
FIFI: Film at eleven.
BIRD: She's hanging by a thread.
BUFFALO: Wait, don't tell me. It's on the tip o' mah tongue.
BIRD: Dude, not EVERYTHING is a lyric. Sometimes, just occasionally it's a part of dialogue wherein somebody is trying to impart some information.
BUFFALO: Didn't Dylan do sumfin' with the line "We're hanging by a thread"?
BIRD: Forget Dylan. We're talking about Dotty looping the loop. She's knocking on the door.
BUFFALO: Wee-hee. Heaven's door, right? Gimme another.
BIRD: Jeez. Wot did she ever see in you?
FIFI: Oh, imagine the confusion of the green ring snake.
From tickling tourists in knickers
to whirling in suds among not-so-clean duds
Which situation is worse, for goodness sake?
Illegal immigrants cannot be pickers.
At least that reptile, humble,
A Filipino exile,
was spared a tumble
in the dryer.
BUFFALO: Snakes ahoy, Cap'n!
BIRD: Why do I bother?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
FIFI: And in other news: Steve Irwin's dead. RIP, Crocodile Man.
BUFFALO: Who's Steve Irwin? Did he play in Black Sabbath in the early days? Da da daaaaaaaa!
BIRD: (rolls eyes) Don't bother coming back, Dotty. It's not worth it.
FIFI: Film at eleven.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
BRAIN SALAD SURGERY
BUFFALO: Dude, I got five dollars 60 cents in this here piggy bank o' mine. So I ain't goin' nowhere.
BIRD: Pity, cos I don't think our Dotty's gonna make it wid out you.
BUFFALO: Whaddya mean?
BIRD: She's having surgery right now. BRAIN salad surgery.
BUFFALO: Now wait a minute. That rings a bell.
BIRD: They're starting with the bit behind the ears then working their way across.
BUFFALO: We're talking prog rock, am I right?
BIRD: Dude, we're talking about someone's life here, held in the balance.
BUFFALO: Sure it was. That dude with the long hair who played honky tonk piano. And the guy who sang about Chrissy Mass.
BIRD: The next 24 hours are crucial. She could end up in a persistent vegetarian state.
BUFFALO: Now what was their name?
BIRD: Dude! You may never see or hear Dotty again! Focus!
BUFFALO: Nah, that weren't it. Focus was that Dutch band, or Belgian band, or sumfin'. Had a hit with Hocus Pocus, or whatever it was called.
BIRD: Well, thanks for your deep, heart-felt support. I'll pass on your best wishes.
BUFFALO: Preferred Thin Lizzy meself. Now them dudes knew how to rock. (sings) The boys are back in town... boys are back in town... Dah... Dah... The boys are back in tow-ow-a-ow-ow-nnnn...
BIRD: (rolls eyes) Poor Dotty! Shame on you, Buff! Wot's wrong with Bachman Turner Overdrive, eh? (sings) You ain't seen nothing yet... da da da da da da da da... You just ain't seen nothing yet...
FIFI: Film at eleven.
BIRD: Pity, cos I don't think our Dotty's gonna make it wid out you.
BUFFALO: Whaddya mean?
BIRD: She's having surgery right now. BRAIN salad surgery.
BUFFALO: Now wait a minute. That rings a bell.
BIRD: They're starting with the bit behind the ears then working their way across.
BUFFALO: We're talking prog rock, am I right?
BIRD: Dude, we're talking about someone's life here, held in the balance.
BUFFALO: Sure it was. That dude with the long hair who played honky tonk piano. And the guy who sang about Chrissy Mass.
BIRD: The next 24 hours are crucial. She could end up in a persistent vegetarian state.
BUFFALO: Now what was their name?
BIRD: Dude! You may never see or hear Dotty again! Focus!
BUFFALO: Nah, that weren't it. Focus was that Dutch band, or Belgian band, or sumfin'. Had a hit with Hocus Pocus, or whatever it was called.
BIRD: Well, thanks for your deep, heart-felt support. I'll pass on your best wishes.
BUFFALO: Preferred Thin Lizzy meself. Now them dudes knew how to rock. (sings) The boys are back in town... boys are back in town... Dah... Dah... The boys are back in tow-ow-a-ow-ow-nnnn...
BIRD: (rolls eyes) Poor Dotty! Shame on you, Buff! Wot's wrong with Bachman Turner Overdrive, eh? (sings) You ain't seen nothing yet... da da da da da da da da... You just ain't seen nothing yet...
FIFI: Film at eleven.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
FILLING IN THE DOTS
BUFFALO: How's Dotty?
BIRD: Sedated. On a Benadryl drip.
BUFFALO: Poor gal.
BIRD: It all comes back to her childhood, dude. When she was two, somebody stole her dolly. She's never been the same since. Mind you, she was pretty cut up at nine when her father was trampled half to death by an escaped Aardvark at London Zoo.
BUFFALO: Omigod. Is he still alive?
BIRD: Nah, the flies made mincemeat of him ten years ago. Not a pretty sight.
BUFFALO: Life's a bitch.
BIRD: You said it. Anyway, the Jehovah's Witnesses came to see her this morning.
BUFFALO: Oh, for fook's sake.
BIRD: Well, I say the Jehovah's Witnesses. It's her mum and her two aunts.
BUFFALO: Mercy. So there never really was any hope.
BIRD: Not until you came into her life.
BUFFALO: Huh?!
BIRD: Get on a plane, a ship, a balloon, whatever, but get your arse over here.
BUFFALO: Dude, I am a donkey's ass hair away from Loonville.
BIRD: She keeps calling for ya. Says you're the only one who can break the spell. So Frank Lee, Buffo, you ain't got a choice.
BUFFALO: But I thought she liked Sparky...
BIRD: We're all relying on ya, dude. Don't let us down.
BUFFALO: Nobody ever really loved me like she do me...
BIRD: Exactomundo.
BUFFALO: But what about Monica?
BIRD: She'll wait.
BUFFALO: Jump aboard for the ghost-train ride of pride and wait for the tide.
BIRD: Eh?
BUFFALO: Just sumfin' me old pa used to say. Gave him strength to carry on.
TO BE CONTINUED... OR NOT.
BIRD: Sedated. On a Benadryl drip.
BUFFALO: Poor gal.
BIRD: It all comes back to her childhood, dude. When she was two, somebody stole her dolly. She's never been the same since. Mind you, she was pretty cut up at nine when her father was trampled half to death by an escaped Aardvark at London Zoo.
BUFFALO: Omigod. Is he still alive?
BIRD: Nah, the flies made mincemeat of him ten years ago. Not a pretty sight.
BUFFALO: Life's a bitch.
BIRD: You said it. Anyway, the Jehovah's Witnesses came to see her this morning.
BUFFALO: Oh, for fook's sake.
BIRD: Well, I say the Jehovah's Witnesses. It's her mum and her two aunts.
BUFFALO: Mercy. So there never really was any hope.
BIRD: Not until you came into her life.
BUFFALO: Huh?!
BIRD: Get on a plane, a ship, a balloon, whatever, but get your arse over here.
BUFFALO: Dude, I am a donkey's ass hair away from Loonville.
BIRD: She keeps calling for ya. Says you're the only one who can break the spell. So Frank Lee, Buffo, you ain't got a choice.
BUFFALO: But I thought she liked Sparky...
BIRD: We're all relying on ya, dude. Don't let us down.
BUFFALO: Nobody ever really loved me like she do me...
BIRD: Exactomundo.
BUFFALO: But what about Monica?
BIRD: She'll wait.
BUFFALO: Jump aboard for the ghost-train ride of pride and wait for the tide.
BIRD: Eh?
BUFFALO: Just sumfin' me old pa used to say. Gave him strength to carry on.
TO BE CONTINUED... OR NOT.
Monday, September 11, 2006
TAKING DOTTY AWAY
BIRD: Buff, they're coming to take Dotty away!
BUFFALO: Omigod.
BIRD: Just what exactly did you say to her?
BUFFALO: Nuffin'. Honest. But she wouldn't stop laffin'.
BIRD: There must be something we can do to untickle her funny bone.
BUFFALO: Give her the old bow anchor up the derriere treatment.
BIRD: Crikey, Buff. Is that really necessary?
BUFFALO: Mind you, after that she may NEVER laff again.
BIRD: I was thinking more along the lines of putting on a Leonard Cohen CD, or Perry Como, praps.
BUFFALO: Perry Como? That's worse than frontal Jell-O torture. Maybe... maybe...
BIRD: Yes?
BUFFALO: Oh, wot the fook, just tell her about global warming. That'll wipe the smile off her ass... er, face.
BIRD: Righty-ho.
FIFI: Miss Dotty, take this washcloth and wash down as far as possible. Then start at your feet and wash up as far as possible. "But nurse, when do I wash possible?"
BUFFALO: Ah, Fifi. Every utterance a gem. You light up my life.
FIFI: And ignite your loins.
BUFFALO: Oh, the loins, the loins. Is there no end to debt?
(Dotty guffaws uncontrollably)
BIRD: Now look what you've done! Can you stop being so fooking funny, just for a minute?!
BUFFALO: Sor-ry, Birdman. Fifi, I'm on my way.
FIFI: First left, second right, then straight ahead.
(Dotty writhes around on floor, frothing at mouth)
BIRD: Oh, lummee!
BUFFALO: Oh, Mommy!
FIFI: Oh, scrummy!
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Omigod.
BIRD: Just what exactly did you say to her?
BUFFALO: Nuffin'. Honest. But she wouldn't stop laffin'.
BIRD: There must be something we can do to untickle her funny bone.
BUFFALO: Give her the old bow anchor up the derriere treatment.
BIRD: Crikey, Buff. Is that really necessary?
BUFFALO: Mind you, after that she may NEVER laff again.
BIRD: I was thinking more along the lines of putting on a Leonard Cohen CD, or Perry Como, praps.
BUFFALO: Perry Como? That's worse than frontal Jell-O torture. Maybe... maybe...
BIRD: Yes?
BUFFALO: Oh, wot the fook, just tell her about global warming. That'll wipe the smile off her ass... er, face.
BIRD: Righty-ho.
FIFI: Miss Dotty, take this washcloth and wash down as far as possible. Then start at your feet and wash up as far as possible. "But nurse, when do I wash possible?"
BUFFALO: Ah, Fifi. Every utterance a gem. You light up my life.
FIFI: And ignite your loins.
BUFFALO: Oh, the loins, the loins. Is there no end to debt?
(Dotty guffaws uncontrollably)
BIRD: Now look what you've done! Can you stop being so fooking funny, just for a minute?!
BUFFALO: Sor-ry, Birdman. Fifi, I'm on my way.
FIFI: First left, second right, then straight ahead.
(Dotty writhes around on floor, frothing at mouth)
BIRD: Oh, lummee!
BUFFALO: Oh, Mommy!
FIFI: Oh, scrummy!
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Sunday, September 10, 2006
CHEDDAR, CHEDDAR MAN, KER-BOOM!
BIRD: Don't mention the cheese, Buff. I've had enough Cheddar to last me a lifetime.
BUFFALO: And you saw Cheddar Man, I surmise?
BIRD: The geezer who's 9,000 years old, banged up in Gough's Cave, thought to have been eaten by cannibals? Well, not exactly. He's in the Natural History Museum. But we saw the spot where he was discovered. Just before I fell arse over tit on some stalagtite shit or other.
BUFFALO: Booger! Are you OK?
BIRD: Cuts and bruises, dude. Nothing a jar or two of cider can't cure. Oh, ar!
BUFFALO: Hey, ain't that near Glastonbury and King Arfur?
BIRD: Yep. Avalon. Arfur and his missus are buried there, Al Edge Id Lee. Very spiritual roundabouts. Anyway, I divest. Dude, we've got a problem.
BUFFALO: Wassat?
BIRD: Well, it's Dotty, you see. She can't stop laffing. I thought if you had a word... Dotty! It's Buff.
BUFFALO: Oh, lummee.
DOTTY: Hi, Buff. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Well, hello. How's it going?
DOTTY: You're so cute. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: You know, it's kinda dangerous laffing all the time. People have been known to die of it.
DOTTY: That's a funny way to go. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Are you gonna laff at everything I say?
DOTTY: Probably. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: I kinda liked you more when you were miserable.
DOTTY: No, stop. It hurts. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Jeez. You sound like a hyena on Viagra.
DOTTY: Oh, Buff, that's too funny. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Can you just shut the fook up? You're making me feel blue.
DOTTY: Shut the fook up! Shut the fook up! Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Sparky, you got another grenade? Think I might just swallow it.
DOTTY: Might swallow it. Bwilliant! Hahahahahahaha...
KER-BOOM!
DOTTY: Hahahahahahaha...
BIRD: Buff?! Buff! Are you OK?!
TO BE CONTINUED...
BUFFALO: And you saw Cheddar Man, I surmise?
BIRD: The geezer who's 9,000 years old, banged up in Gough's Cave, thought to have been eaten by cannibals? Well, not exactly. He's in the Natural History Museum. But we saw the spot where he was discovered. Just before I fell arse over tit on some stalagtite shit or other.
BUFFALO: Booger! Are you OK?
BIRD: Cuts and bruises, dude. Nothing a jar or two of cider can't cure. Oh, ar!
BUFFALO: Hey, ain't that near Glastonbury and King Arfur?
BIRD: Yep. Avalon. Arfur and his missus are buried there, Al Edge Id Lee. Very spiritual roundabouts. Anyway, I divest. Dude, we've got a problem.
BUFFALO: Wassat?
BIRD: Well, it's Dotty, you see. She can't stop laffing. I thought if you had a word... Dotty! It's Buff.
BUFFALO: Oh, lummee.
DOTTY: Hi, Buff. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Well, hello. How's it going?
DOTTY: You're so cute. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: You know, it's kinda dangerous laffing all the time. People have been known to die of it.
DOTTY: That's a funny way to go. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Are you gonna laff at everything I say?
DOTTY: Probably. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: I kinda liked you more when you were miserable.
DOTTY: No, stop. It hurts. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Jeez. You sound like a hyena on Viagra.
DOTTY: Oh, Buff, that's too funny. Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Can you just shut the fook up? You're making me feel blue.
DOTTY: Shut the fook up! Shut the fook up! Hahahahahahaha...
BUFFALO: Sparky, you got another grenade? Think I might just swallow it.
DOTTY: Might swallow it. Bwilliant! Hahahahahahaha...
KER-BOOM!
DOTTY: Hahahahahahaha...
BIRD: Buff?! Buff! Are you OK?!
TO BE CONTINUED...
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER DELIVERANCE
BIRD: Gone to see some cheese. Back Thursday.
BUFFALO: You'll get over it, Birdy. I KNOW you will.
BUFFALO: You'll get over it, Birdy. I KNOW you will.
COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE!
BIRD: Oh, Errol! Oh, ERROL!!
BUFFALO: Wot ya doin', dude?
BIRD: Wandering in the woods, looking for Errol.
BUFFALO: Errol who?
BIRD: Errol Flynn, course.
BUFFALO: That durty mutt's dead, dude.
BIRD: If I shout loud enough he might just hear me.
BUFFALO: D-lusional, Birdy.
BIRD: The best Robin Hood there ever was. And Fletcher Christian. Oh, Errol!
BUFFALO: Died at 50 with the body of an 80-year-old.
BIRD: "It's not what they say about you, it's what they whisper." Oh, Errol! Oh, Errol!!
BUFFALO: Give it up, Birdman, he ain't coming.
BIRD: He'll be here. Don't worry. Oh, Errol! Oh, Errol!! "Welcome to Sherwood, my lady. What, Sir Guy? No greeting from you?"
BUFFALO: Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
FIFI: There was a young man named Errol...
SPARKY: Cindy, you get that dress off right now and wash behind your ears, ya hear, man?
DOTTY: I'm thinking of becoming a lesbian to help save the environment.
THE SAGE: To lift a finger one must first raise the stakes.
PUCK: Pussy's deffo still alive. I can feel one of her hearts beating.
BUFFALO: Is it just me or can someone smell burning?
BIRD: Flynn at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BUFFALO: Wot ya doin', dude?
BIRD: Wandering in the woods, looking for Errol.
BUFFALO: Errol who?
BIRD: Errol Flynn, course.
BUFFALO: That durty mutt's dead, dude.
BIRD: If I shout loud enough he might just hear me.
BUFFALO: D-lusional, Birdy.
BIRD: The best Robin Hood there ever was. And Fletcher Christian. Oh, Errol!
BUFFALO: Died at 50 with the body of an 80-year-old.
BIRD: "It's not what they say about you, it's what they whisper." Oh, Errol! Oh, Errol!!
BUFFALO: Give it up, Birdman, he ain't coming.
BIRD: He'll be here. Don't worry. Oh, Errol! Oh, Errol!! "Welcome to Sherwood, my lady. What, Sir Guy? No greeting from you?"
BUFFALO: Cuckoo. Cuckoo.
FIFI: There was a young man named Errol...
SPARKY: Cindy, you get that dress off right now and wash behind your ears, ya hear, man?
DOTTY: I'm thinking of becoming a lesbian to help save the environment.
THE SAGE: To lift a finger one must first raise the stakes.
PUCK: Pussy's deffo still alive. I can feel one of her hearts beating.
BUFFALO: Is it just me or can someone smell burning?
BIRD: Flynn at eleven.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Monday, September 04, 2006
HAPPY LAY-BURR DAY, DUDE!
BUFFALO: Thanks, Birdy, old chap.
BIRD: Nice and sunny here. Got the chiropodist coming soon.
BUFFALO: Que?
BIRD: The big toe on my right foot got mashed a few years ago.
BUFFALO: Nasty. What happened?
BIRD: I dropped a fookin' sledgehammer on it when I was in the shed making a bird box.
BUFFALO: Ouch.
BIRD: Waste of time that was. Stoopid squiggy nicks all the nuts anyway. And now the nail's upside down, if you get mah drift. Always twitches when it's going to rain.
BUFFALO: Must be hell.
BIRD: Oh, I get by. Better than having your Freddy mashed.
BUFFALO: True.
BIRD: So, anyhoo, have a great day, dude.
BUFFALO: Sure will, Birdman. Fifi and The Sage of Sweden are coming round for some pancakes and shit.
BIRD: Wow. Wish I could be there.
BUFFFALO: Sparky's bought Cindy a new dress for the occasion.
BIRD: Oh, lumme.
BUFFALO: He's getting the Toe Jam ready as we speak.
BIRD: Yum.
BUFFALO: A Parent Lee, The Sage wants a chat about Bergman or something.
BIRD: Most intriguing. There's the bell. Think Miss Crackingham is here. See ya later.
BUFFALO: Cheerio, El Birdio.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
SPARKY: My, ain't Cindy a picture in her new dress! She looks good enough to eat.
BUFFALO: Thank Gott und Himmel she ain't made of marzipan. Arf, arf!
BIRD: Nice and sunny here. Got the chiropodist coming soon.
BUFFALO: Que?
BIRD: The big toe on my right foot got mashed a few years ago.
BUFFALO: Nasty. What happened?
BIRD: I dropped a fookin' sledgehammer on it when I was in the shed making a bird box.
BUFFALO: Ouch.
BIRD: Waste of time that was. Stoopid squiggy nicks all the nuts anyway. And now the nail's upside down, if you get mah drift. Always twitches when it's going to rain.
BUFFALO: Must be hell.
BIRD: Oh, I get by. Better than having your Freddy mashed.
BUFFALO: True.
BIRD: So, anyhoo, have a great day, dude.
BUFFALO: Sure will, Birdman. Fifi and The Sage of Sweden are coming round for some pancakes and shit.
BIRD: Wow. Wish I could be there.
BUFFFALO: Sparky's bought Cindy a new dress for the occasion.
BIRD: Oh, lumme.
BUFFALO: He's getting the Toe Jam ready as we speak.
BIRD: Yum.
BUFFALO: A Parent Lee, The Sage wants a chat about Bergman or something.
BIRD: Most intriguing. There's the bell. Think Miss Crackingham is here. See ya later.
BUFFALO: Cheerio, El Birdio.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
SPARKY: My, ain't Cindy a picture in her new dress! She looks good enough to eat.
BUFFALO: Thank Gott und Himmel she ain't made of marzipan. Arf, arf!
Sunday, September 03, 2006
THE SAGE: Hej, Bird & Buffalo!
BIRD & BUFFALO: Huh?
THE SAGE: God morgan.
BIRD: Yikes.
BUFFALO: Deffo not German.
THE SAGE: Hur gar det?
BIRD: Whoor gar what?
BUFFALO: English, bitte.
BIRD: Ja. Bitte.
THE SAGE: When the river is flowing, follow the boat.
BIRD: Omigod. He's off again.
BUFFALO: Think he's been on the Benadryl again?
BIRD: That or the anti-freeze.
THE SAGE: When the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
BIRD: Nope. Didn't get that one.
BUFFALO: Me neither. What's he goin' on about, Fifi?
FIFI: Intraspecies fornication's not for me!
I'm as red-blooded a homo sapiens as can be!
Yet for first-rate woo-woo-woo
And superior kootchy-koo
Nothing beats a frisky fraulein with a goatee.
BIRD: Not you too?
BUFFALO: Totally ga-ga.
SPARKY: They're out there, man. The Charlie's everywhere.
BUFFALO: It's a friggin' madhouse. Lemme out.
DOTTY: Now THAT'S funny!
BIRD: Help! Geschnellen!
THE SAGE: Ha det sa bra!
BUFFALO: Wot bra?
FIFI: He's saying have a nice day. Tra-la-la-la-la-la-lee. Gimme the goatee, gimme the goatee.
BIRD: I want my mommy.
BUFFALO: I want my head doc.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Ge-arf, arf!
BIRD:
BIRD & BUFFALO: Huh?
THE SAGE: God morgan.
BIRD: Yikes.
BUFFALO: Deffo not German.
THE SAGE: Hur gar det?
BIRD: Whoor gar what?
BUFFALO: English, bitte.
BIRD: Ja. Bitte.
THE SAGE: When the river is flowing, follow the boat.
BIRD: Omigod. He's off again.
BUFFALO: Think he's been on the Benadryl again?
BIRD: That or the anti-freeze.
THE SAGE: When the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
BIRD: Nope. Didn't get that one.
BUFFALO: Me neither. What's he goin' on about, Fifi?
FIFI: Intraspecies fornication's not for me!
I'm as red-blooded a homo sapiens as can be!
Yet for first-rate woo-woo-woo
And superior kootchy-koo
Nothing beats a frisky fraulein with a goatee.
BIRD: Not you too?
BUFFALO: Totally ga-ga.
SPARKY: They're out there, man. The Charlie's everywhere.
BUFFALO: It's a friggin' madhouse. Lemme out.
DOTTY: Now THAT'S funny!
BIRD: Help! Geschnellen!
THE SAGE: Ha det sa bra!
BUFFALO: Wot bra?
FIFI: He's saying have a nice day. Tra-la-la-la-la-la-lee. Gimme the goatee, gimme the goatee.
BIRD: I want my mommy.
BUFFALO: I want my head doc.
BIRD: Film at eleven.
BUFFALO: Ge-arf, arf!
BIRD:
Saturday, September 02, 2006
THE SAGE OF SWEDEN SPEAKS
THE SAGE: Ancient Swedish proverb say fear less, hope more; eat less, chew more; whine less, breathe more; talk less, say more; hate less, love more and ALL good things are yours.
BIRD: Oh, sehr, sehr gut, Herr Sage.
BUFFALO: Oh, bravo. Bravo! Wunderbar.
BIRD: Sehr danke, Herr Sage.
BUFFALO: Birdy.
BIRD: Yes, Buff?
BUFFALO: Why are we talking German?
BIRD: Verstehe nicht, Buff.
BUFFALO: Fecken Sie grossen Dummkopf, meine Birdy!
BIRD: Film um elf Uhr, Herr Buffenhosen.
BUFFALO: Gearf, arf!
BIRD: Oh, sehr, sehr gut, Herr Sage.
BUFFALO: Oh, bravo. Bravo! Wunderbar.
BIRD: Sehr danke, Herr Sage.
BUFFALO: Birdy.
BIRD: Yes, Buff?
BUFFALO: Why are we talking German?
BIRD: Verstehe nicht, Buff.
BUFFALO: Fecken Sie grossen Dummkopf, meine Birdy!
BIRD: Film um elf Uhr, Herr Buffenhosen.
BUFFALO: Gearf, arf!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)