Where the Buffalo Roam

Stop it!

Go away!

Get a grip, Thompson.

Come on. It's just a deadline.

You got two hours till the presses roll.

Shut up! You'll get words

when I want to give them to you.

No need to panic, huh?

Just another deadline.

I'll just lash together a few raw facts,

little bit of old negro wisdom,

and this nightmare is over.

Nixon.

Come on, easy boy. You never liked this.

Bronco, come on. Bronco, come on.

Fun is fun.

Lie on your side. Down!

Lie on your side.

Fun is fun.

Good boy, Bronco.

Savage bastards.

There, chew on that gibberish for a while,

you heartless scum.

You've pushed me too far.

Down, Bronco, he's mine!

I was deciding to write off this weird town,

makes you sleep forever.

This wouldn't be the first time I got sucked

into writing about Lazlo, Karl Lazlo esquire,

attorney at law, my attorney.

This was the man I counted on

to keep me out of jail in those years.

Those weird years between

the '60s and the '70s,

the age of Nixon.

It was a time to keep your head down.

I was a working journalist, a hired geek

of sorts, and Lazlo was great company

and sometimes a good lawyer.

It was a fast, strange time,

and we worked in fast, strange ways.

He claimed he was being chased

by Mr Nixon

when his car was attacked

by a swarm of bats.

Bats?

It's obvious he was having

a paranoid drug reaction.

Every 20 minutes, he calls down to the desk,

demands to see his lawyer and hangs up.

He claims he's being held a prisoner.

I'm rambling.

I think I'd better tell my readers that I'm

no longer responsible for anything I write.

I've been without sleep for 80 hours

so I'm beyond simple fatigue.

The hallucinations have stopped,

finally, thank God,

but my adrenaline reserves are burning out

and I'm staring into the face

of a psychotic freak-out.

- What are you doing?

- I'm writing.

Writing?

Yeah. And my deadline page, too.

I'm pouring it on now. Right on the edge.

But I made a smart move

checking into this place

because, you know, in case I lose it totally,

I know I'll be safe in the arms

of the sisters of mercy.

What are you writing?

My Attorney Versus American Justice.

Cute title, and...

hopefully I'll be able to finish it.

Morning.

Let me recommend... Try a blue one.

A blue one? Really?

Little bugger gets right on top of you.

Sh*t. Sh*t!

Dr Roberts, call Dr Bretherton

in administration.

Dr Roberts, call Dr Bretherton.

- No! No more, please!

- Sorry.

Just relax.

Everything's gonna be just fine.

I'll be gone in a second.

Nice day.

Take it easy.

Five more minutes then we're out of here.

We could just make it away with you along,

you know.

Student nurse, you know.

Clear-headed.

Used to thinking in terms of crisis.

Bat!

Lazlo. What took you so long?

It's been a nightmare here.

- Bat.

- Ooh. What have you done?

Jeez, she was just fine a minute ago.

Oh, I'm eating her cookie.

Cook, the bat here is Karl Lazlo.

As your attorney,

I advise you to leave this room at once.

Right.

Oh, sh*t. Good thinking, we may need this.

- Come on, get your things, let's go, Cook.

- No, she should stay.

We can't leave her in this snake pit,

they'll pick her bones clean.

- Thompson, trust my judgment.

- Not in this instance. She's harmless.

She's good with her hands too,

she made these for me.

Come on!

Oh, jeez.

You'll probably be safer here.

Mr Thompson!

- Yeah!

- Mr Thompson, open the door.

Mr Thompson.

- Watch out for this f***er.

- You have one of our nurses in there.

All right... Vaya con dios.

Sh*t. Sh*t!

Ah, sh*t.

You gotta get this because it's important.

- Can you drive and...?

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