DESCRIPTION
This is a funny, perhaps silly, outrageous story. I'm not sure of its exact origin, but I must forewarn you. I don't generally make use of extreme vulgarity or profanity in my writing, but in this case, it's an integral part of the story. [663 words]
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Know It? - I Wrote It Richard Koss
Howard was a strange man, indeed. Well along in middle age and somewhat dissipated looking, he was not very attractive; almost ugly. He didn’t like to wear underwear because it made him feel inhibited, less creative. You see, although Howard was a little weird in many ways, he could really play the piano.
You name it, Chopin, Debussy, Rachmaninoff, he loved the classics, but he made his living playing at a piano bar in Manhattan. There he played mostly Broadway show tunes and jazz, including some of his own unpublished compositions. Howard was satisfied to work there on week nights from six to ten. He reserved his week-ends for special engagements.
He rarely smiled and despite his shell-like personality, the patrons at the hotel restaurant and lounge bar enjoyed his music.
One Wednesday evening, he was in exceptionally fine form, playing medley after medley, showing off with flowing arpeggios, modulating into different keys with unique and imaginative chord changes. Then he went into two of his original compositions. The music was beautiful, yet some regular patrons began laughing among themselves as he played these songs. Howard was oblivious to them and finished playing his music.
A yuppie music publisher, seated at the main bar, was very impressed with Howard’s playing and became intrigued by his last two selections. He sent a drink over to Howard and then walked up to him at the piano bar.
“Excuse me, I can’t tell you how much I enjoy your playing but I have to ask you about the last two pieces you played. They sound like something Gershin or Kern would write, beautiful melodies and chord changes, but I don’t recognize them at all.”
Howard had already started playing something else, but he looked up at the younger man. “They’re mine. I wrote ‘em years ago.”
“My name’s Leonard Schwartz, I work for a music publishing company. You should let me publish them for you.”
Howard continued playing and shook his head no, with a faint smile on his lips.
“Why on earth not?” Schwartz was confused.
“It’s their titles,” Howard offered nonchalantly.
“What do you call them?” Schwartz persisted.
“The first one was I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH I COULD SHIT and the second one’s called I SEE MY FACE IN THE CRACK OF YOUR ASS.”
Almost laughing in disbelief, the publisher couldn’t help himself. “Why the hell would you pick titles like those for such beautiful music?”
Howard became angry. “Everybody says the same thing. It’s my goddamn music and I’ll name it anything I want.!”
The publisher backed off. “Okay, Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. But tell me, do you ever play on Saturday nights? I’m having a party at my house and you would really dazzle this group with your playing. I’ll make it well worth your while.”
Schwartz made Howard an offer he couldn’t refuse and he agreed to play at the publisher’s party the following Saturday. Howard promised not to disclose the original titles of his songs, should anyone want to know.
Saturday night came and Howard was a tremendous hit with everyone. He played all their requests, show tunes, jazz, and even some classical pieces.
After playing for about two hours straight, he finally took a break. Leaving the men’s room, Howard went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and have a cigarette, not realizing he had left his fly unzipped. As usual, he was wearing no underwear.
As he stood in the kitchen drinking his coffee and smoking a cigarette, an older woman came in with misty eyes and confronted him.
“Sir, I must tell you I can’t ever remember enjoying piano music as much as I have this evening. You brought back so many memories for me.” As she wiped a tear from her eyes, she noticed Howard’s fly was wide open.
“Do you know your fly’s open and your dick and your balls are hanging out?”
Howard took the cigarette from his mouth, and spreading his arms wide apart shouted, “DO I KNOW IT? - I WROTE IT.”
READER'S REVIEWS (6) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"You're right about it being vulger. You might add crude and disgusting. Really not that funny either. I'm surprised you would waste your time on such trash. Some of your other work is not bad. " -- anonymous.
"Ouch!" -- DK.
"It's also completely ripped off from an old joke." -- D., Dublin, Ireland.
"D. is right, I heard that joke years ago, but what can you expect from this fucker, the human Xerox machine. " -- Phil, London.
"I regret posting this piece, not because it's based upon an old, old, joke,which I allude to in my introduction, but because it's crude and in bad taste. There's enough of that stuff on this site, and I don't need to add to it. However, I subconsciously thought it might get some reaction from morons like Phil. - I was right." -- D K.
" not enough humor any more keep up the good work i love a good joke" -- B.J. Wolfe, Qualicum Beach, Canada, British Columbia.
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