I wish to complain about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.
-Oh yes, the Norwegian Blue. What's wrong with it?
I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It's dead, that's what's wrong with it.
-No, no it's resting, look!
Look my lad, I know a dead parrot when I see one and I'm looking at one right now.
-No, no sir, it's not dead. It's resting.
Resting?
-Yeah, remarkable bird the Norwegian Blue, beautiful plumage, innit?
The plumage don't enter into it -- it's stone dead.
-No, no -- it's just resting.
-It's probably pining for the fjords.
It's not pining, it's passed on. This parrot is no more. It has ceased to be. It's expired and gone to meet its maker. This is a late parrot. It's a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. If you hadn't nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies. It's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.
This is an ex-parrot.
Sorry couldn't resist. Farewell and may you RIP.