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In New York City, an out of work jazz drummer named Ed was thinking of throwing himself off a bridge. But then he ran into a former booking agent who told him about the fantastic opportunities for drummers in Iraq. The agent said “If you can find your way over there, just take my card and look up the bandleader named Faisal–he’s the large guy with the beard wearing gold pajamas and shoes that curl up at the toes.” Ed hit up everyone he knew and borrowed enough to buy transport to Iraq. It took several days to arrange for passport, visas, transportation into Iraq and the shipping of his equipment, but he was finally on his way.

Ed arrived in Baghdad and immediately started searching for Faisal. He found guys in pajamas of every color but gold. Finally, in a small coffeehouse, he saw a huge man with a beard–wearing gold pajamas and shoes that curled up at the toes! Ed approached him and asked if he was Faisal. He was. Ed gave him the agent’s card and Faisal’s face brightened into a huge smile. “You’re just in time–I need you for a gig tonight. Meet me at the market near the mosque at 7:30 with your equipment.” “But,” gasped Ed, “what about a rehearsal?” “No time–don’t worry.” And with that, Faisal disappeared.

Ed arrived in the market at 7:00 to set up his gear. He introduced himself to the other musicians, who were all playing instruments he had never seen in his life. At 7:30 sharp, Faisal appeared and hopped on the bandstand, his gold pajamas glittering in the twilight. Without a word to the musicians, he lifted his arm for the downbeat. “Wait.” shouted Ed. “What are we playing?” Faisal shot him a look of frustration and shouted back, “Fake it! Just give me heavy after beats on 7 and 13.”

A drummer goes to the doctor complaining of tiredness and headaches and reports, “I feel tired all the time, my head hurts, and I’m not sleeping. What is it, Doc?”
The doctor examines him thoroughly and says, “I can’t find anything wrong. It must be the drinking.”
“Fair enough,” replied the drummer, “I’ll come back when your sober.”

A double bass player arrived a few minutes late for the first rehearsal of the local choral society’s annual performance of Handel’s Messiah. He picked up his instrument and bow, and turned his attention to the conductor. The conductor asked, “Would you like a moment to tune?” The bass player replied with some surprise, “Why? Isn’t it the same as last year?”

When Mozart passed away, he was buried in a churchyard. A couple days later, the town drunk was walking through the cemetery and heard some strange noise coming from the area where Mozart was buried.
Terrified, the drunk ran and got the priest to come and listen to it. The priest bent close to the grave and heard some faint, unrecognizable music coming from the grave. Frightened, the priest ran and got the town magistrate.
When the magistrate arrived, he bent his ear to the grave, listened for a moment, and said, “Ah, yes, that’s Mozart’s Ninth Symphony, being played backwards.”
He listened a while longer, and said, “There’s the Eighth Symphony, and it’s backwards, too. Most puzzling.”
So the magistrate kept listening; “There’s the Seventh… the Sixth… the Fifth…”
Suddenly the realization of what was happening dawned on the magistrate; he stood up and announced to the crowd that had gathered in the cemetery, “My fellow citizens, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just Mozart decomposing.”

How many altos does it take to change a lightbulb?

None; they can’t get up that high.



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