[thechat] The Pianist

[Heironymous Bosch]

This bloke with Tourette's Syndrome walks into the most exclusive
restaurant in town.

"Where's the p*ssing, mother fu*kin manager, you c*cksucking *rsewipe?"
he inquires of one of the waiters.

The waiter is taken aback and replies, "Excuse me sir, but could you please
refrain from using that sort of language in here. I will get the manager
as soon as I can."

The manager comes over and the bloke asks, "Are you the chicken-fu*kin
manager of this b*stard place?"

"Yes sir I am," replies the manager, "but I would prefer it if you could
refrain from speaking such profanities in this, a private restaurant."

"Fu*k off" replies the bloke "and where's the fu*kin piano?"

"Pardon?" says the manager.

"Fu*kin deaf as well, are we? You sniveling little piece of sh*t, show me 
your
b*stard piano!"

"Ah," replies the manager, "you've come about the pianist's job" and shows 
the
bloke to the piano.  "Can you play any blues?"

"Of course I can," says the bloke, and proceeds to play the most inspiring 
and
beautiful sounding honky-tonk blues that the manager has ever heard.

"That's superb. What's it called?"

"I tried to shag your missus on the sofa but the springs kept hurting my 
d*ck,"
replies the bloke. The manager is a bit disturbed and asks if the bloke 
knows any
jazz. The bloke proceeds to play the most melancholy jazz solo the manager 
has
ever heard.

"Magnificent," cries the manager. "What's it called?"

"I wanted a w*nk over the washing machine but I got my balls caught in the
soap drawer."

The manager is a tad embarrassed and asks if he knows any romantic ballads.
The bloke then plays the most heartbreaking melody the manager has ever 
heard,

"And what's this called?" asks the manager.

"As I fu*k you under the stars with the moonlight shining off your hairy
ring-piece," replies the bloke.

The manager is highly upset by the bloke's language but offers him the job 
on
condition that he does not introduce any of his songs or talks to any of the
customers. This arrangement works well for a couple of months until one 
night,
sitting opposite him, is the most gorgeous blonde he has ever laid eyes on. 
She
is wearing an almost see-through dress, her breasts are almost falling out 
of
the top of her black lace bra, and the skimpy little G string she's wearing 
is
doing very little to conceal her ample charms. She's sitting there with her 
legs
slightly open, sucking suggestively on asparagus shoots as the butter is 
dripping
down her chin.

The image is too much for the bloke and he scurries off to the Gents to 
furiously
masturbate.  He's tugging away furiously when he hears the manager's voice. 
"Where's
that b*stard pianist?" He just has time to relieve himself, and in a fluster 
he
runs back to the piano having not bothered to adjust himself properly, sits 
down
and starts some more tunes.

The blonde steps up and walks over to the piano, leans over and whispers in 
his ear,
"Do you know your knob and bollocks are hanging out of your trousers and 
dripping
semen on your shoes?"

The bloke replies "Know it? I fu*kin wrote it!"

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