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 have nailed him to the perch he'd be pushing up the daisies. He's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot
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Ah, Mr Anchovy Do sit down. Thank you. Take the weight off the feet, eh Lovely weather for the time of year I must say Enough of this gay banter. Now, Mr Anchovy
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