The Pianist

A bloke walks into an extremely posh restaurant, sits down and waives the waiter
over. I want to see the cock-sucking, mother-fucking boss now, he says. The
waiter is naturally a bit taken aback and replies Excuse me, sir, would you
refrain from using that kind of language in here, I will get the manager as soon
as I can.

The manager comes over and the bloke says Are you the chicken fucking manager
of this bastarding joint? Yes sir, I am, replies the manager but I would
prefer you not to use that kind of vernacular in this restaurant, there are
private parties and clients entertaining in here.

The bloke replies Fuck you anus features, wheres the fucking piano?

The manager is a bit puzzled and asks the bloke to clarify the situation.

Wheres the fucking piano, are you fucking deaf or what, you smelly stupid

Ah, says the manager, Youve come about the pianist job out of the paper.

Too fucking right, the bloke replies.

The manager tentatively takes the bloke over to the piano and begs him not to
speak into the microphone.

Can you play any blues? the manager asks.

The bloke starts to play the most beautiful blues ever heard. Thats superb,
gasps the manager, What is it called?

I want to shag your missus on the sofa but the springs keep hurting my cock
end, replies the bloke.

The manager is a bit disturbed. Oh, do you know any jazz? asks the manager a
bit perplexed.

The bloke plays the most melancholy jazz solo the manager has ever heard.
Absolutely magnificent, cries the manager, What is that called?

I wanked over the washing machine but my bollocks got caught in the powder
drawer, replies the bloke.

The manager is a tad embarrassed at this one. Oh I say, do you know any
romantic ballads? asks the manager getting flustered. The bloke plays the most
heartbreaking melody ever. That was fantastic, crooned the manager, What is
that one called?

Shagging sheep under the stars with the moonlight shining on my hairy ring
piece, replies the bloke.

The manager is highly upset at the blokes language but is so moved by his music
that he offers the bloke a job on the condition that he does not introduce any
of the songs. The bloke accepts.

The arrangement goes swimmingly for a couple of weeks when one night the bloke
gets desperate for a wank. He leaves the restaurant and goes to the staff
toilets. Strangely there is a magazine stuffed behind the bowl. The bloke
retrieves the mag and discovers a good old wank mag. He naturally has a swift
one off the wrist. As he is coming he hears the manager shouting Where the fuck
is that fucking pianist?

The bloke whips up his trousers, returns to the restaurant and begins playing
some more tunes. After a couple of minutes a woman approaches him and whispers
Do you know your bollocks and knob are hanging out of your trousers dribbling
jissum all over your shoes?

The bloke replies Know it? I fucking wrote it!

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