A ragged, old, derelict

shuffled into a down and dirty bar.  Stinking of  whiskey and cigarettes, his hands shook as he took the “Piano Player Wanted”  sign from the window and handed it to the bartender.

“I’d  like to apply for the job,” he said.  “I was an F-4 driver, in ‘  Nam.  I  later learned to play the piano at happy hours, so here I  am.”

The  barkeep needed a piano player and business was falling off..  So, why not  give him a try.  The seedy pilot staggered his way over to the piano  while several patrons snickered.  By the time he was into his third bar  of music, every voice was silenced.  What followed was a rhapsody of  soaring music unlike anything heard in the bar before.  When he finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

The  bartender took the old fighter pilot a beer and asked him the name of the song  he had just played.

It’s  called “Drop your Skivvies, Baby, I’m Going Balls To The Wall For You” he  said.  After a long pull from the beer, leaving it empty, he said “I  wrote it myself.” 

The bartender and the crowd winced at the title, but  the piano player just went on into a knee-slapping, hand-clapping bit of  ragtime that had the place jumping.  After he finished, the fighter pilot  acknowledged the applause, downed a second proffered mug, and told the crowd  the song was called, “Big Boobs Make My Afterburner Light.”

After  another mesmerizing song,  everyone in the room was enthralled.  He  announced that it was the latest rendition of his song, “Spread ’em Baby, It’s  Foggy Out Tonight and I Need To See The Centerline”.  He excused himself  and headed for the john.  When he came out, the bartender went over to  him and said, “Hey fly boy, the job is yours, but do you know your fly is open  and your pecker is hanging out?

“Know  it?”  the old fighter pilot replied, “Hell, I wrote  it!”


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