Thursday, April 28, 2005
Mr. Praline: I wish to complain about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
Owner: Oh yes, the—ah—ah, the Norwegian Blue. What's—ah—what's wrong with it?
Mr. Praline: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. He’s dead, that's what's wrong with it!
Owner: No, no, he's uh—he's resting.
Mr. Praline: Look, matey, I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Owner: No no he's not dead, he's, he's resting! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, isn’t it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
Mr. Praline: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
Owner: No, no, no, no, no, no! He’s resting!
Mr. Praline: All right then, if he's resting, I'll wake him up! [Shouting at the cage.] HELLO, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh cuttle fish for you if you show—
[Owner hits the cage.]
Owner: There! He moved!
Mr. Praline: No, he didn't. That was you hitting the cage!
Owner: I never!
Mr. Praline: Yes, you did!
Owner: I never, never did anything—
Mr. Praline: [Yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly] HELLO, POLLY! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call! [Takes parrot out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.] Now that's what I call a dead parrot.
Owner: No, no . . . No, he's stunned!
Mr. Praline: STUNNED?
Owner: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was waking up! Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.
Mr. Praline: Um—now look—now look, mate, I've definitely had enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not half an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.
Owner: Well, he's—ah—he’s—ah—probably pining for the fjords.
Mr. Praline: Pining for the FJORDS? What kind of talk is that? Look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got him home?
Owner: The Norwegian Blue prefers keeping on it's back! Remarkable bird, isn’t it, squire? Lovely plumage!
Mr. Praline: Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.
Owner: Well, of course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
Mr. Praline: "VOOM"? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! He’s bleeding demised!
Owner: No no! He’s pining!
Mr. Praline: He’s not pining! He’s passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! He’s expired and gone to meet his maker! He’s a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the perch he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He’s kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisibile! THIS—IS—AN—EX-PARROT!
Owner: Well, I'd better replace it, then. [Takes a quick peek behind the counter.] Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and ah, we're right out of parrots.
Mr. Praline: I see. I see, I get the picture.
Owner: [Helpfully] I got a slug.
Mr. Praline: Pray, does it talk?
Owner: Nnnnnnnot really.
Mr. Praline: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?