The Tromboom…

(Please don’t try this at home)August, 1998, Montevideo, UruguayPaolo Esperanza, bass-trombonist with the Simphonica Mayor de Uruguay, in a misplaced moment of inspiration decided to make his own contribution to the cannon shots fired as part of the orchestra’s performance of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture at an outdoor children’s concert. In complete seriousness he placed a large, ignited firecracker, which was equivalent in strength to a quarter stick of dynamite, into his aluminum straight mute and then stuck the mute into the bell of his quite new Yamaha in-line double-valve bass trombone.Later, from his hospital bed he explained to a reporter through bandages on his mouth, ”I thought that the bell of my trombone would shield me from the explosion and instead, would focus the energy of the blast outward’s and away from me, propelling the mute high above the orchestra, like a rocket.”However, Paolo was not up on his propulsion physics nor qualified to use high-powered artillery and in his haste to get the horn up before the firecracker went off, he failed to raise the bell of the horn high enough so as to give the mute enough arc to clear the orchestra.What actually happened should serve as a lesson to us all during those delirious moments of divine inspiration. First, because he failed to sufficiently elevate the bell of his horn, the blast propelled the mute between rows of players in the woodwind and viola sections of the orchestra, missing the players and straight into the stomach of the conductor, driving him off the podium and directly into the front row of the audience.Fortunately, the audience were sitting in folding chairs and thus they were protected from serious injury, for the chairs collapsed under them passing the energy of the impact of the flying conductor backwards into row of people sitting behind them, who in turn were driven back into the people in the row behind and so on, like a row of dominos. The sound of collapsing wooden chairs and grunts of people falling on their behinds increased logarithmically, adding to the overall sound of brass cannons and brass playing as constitutes the closing measures of the Overture.Meanwhile, all of this unplanned choreography not withstanding, back on stage Paolo’s Waterloo was still unfolding. According to Paolo, ”Just as the I heard the sound of the blast, time seemed to stand still. Everything moved in slow motion. Just before I felt searing pain to my mouth, I could swear I heard a voice with a Austrian accent say ”Fur every akshon zer iz un eekvul un opposeet reakshon!”Well, this should come as no surprise, for Paolo had set himself up for a textbook demonstration of this fundamental law of physics. Having failed to plug the lead pipe of his trombone, he allowed the energy of the blast to send a super-heated jet of gas backwards through the mouth pipe of the trombone which exited the mouthpiece burning his lips and face.The pyrotechnic ballet wasn’t over yet. The force of the blast was so great it split the bell of his shiny Yamaha right down the middle, turning it inside out while at the same time propelling Paolo backwards off the riser. And for the grand finale, as Paolo fell backwards he lost his grip on the slide of the trombone allowing the pressure of the hot gases coursing through the horn to propel the trombone’s slide like a double golden spear into the head of the 3rd clarinetist, knocking him unconscious.The moral of the story? Beware the next time you hear someone in the trombone section yell out: ”Hey, everyone, watch this!”

The Prescription

The patient went to his doctor for a checkup, and the doctor wrote out a prescription for him in his usual illegible writing.

The patient put it in his pocket, but he forgot to have it filled.
Every morning for two years, he showed it to the conductor as a railroad pass. Twice, it got him into the movies, once into the baseball park, and once into the symphony.

He got a raise at work by showing it as a note from the boss.
One day, he mislaid it. His daughter picked it up, played it on the piano, and won a scholarship to a conservatory of music.

Women To Fight

Take all American women who are within five years of menopause.
Train us for a few weeks, outfit us with automatic weapons,
grenades, gas masks, moisturizer with SPF15, Prozac, hormones,
chocolate, and canned tuna – drop us (parachuted, preferably)
across the landscape of Afghanistan, and let us do what comes
naturally.

Think about it. Our anger quotient alone, even when doing
standard stuff like grocery shopping and paying bills, is
formidable enough to make even armed men in turbans tremble.

We’ve had our children, we would gladly suffer or die to protect
them and their future.

We’d like to get away from our husbands, if they haven’t left
already. And for those of us who are single, the prospect of
finding a good man with whom to share life is about as likely as
being struck by lightning. We have nothing to lose.

We’ve survived the water diet, the protein diet, the
carbohydrate diet, and the grapefruit diet in gyms and saunas
across America and never lost a pound We can easily survive
months in the hostile terrain of Afghanistan with no food at
all!

We’ve spent years tracking down our husbands or lovers in bars,
hardware stores, or sporting events…finding bin Laden in some
cave will be no problem.

Uniting all the warring tribes of Afghanistan in a new
government? Oh, please … we’ve planned the seating
arrangements for in-laws and extended families at Thanksgiving
dinners for years … we understand tribal warfare.

Between us, we’ve divorced enough husbands to know every trick
there is for how they hide, launder, or cover up bank accounts
and money sources. We know how to find that money and we know
how to seize it … with or without the government’s help!

Let us go and fight. The Taliban hates women. Imagine their
terror as we crawl like ants with hot-flashes over their
godforsaken terrain.

I’m going to write my Congresswoman. You should, too!

Fruity Punishment

One day three salesmen went to a farmer. They asked him if he wanted to buy some of their products. He said, “All right. Wait here until I come back with the money…-but don’t touch my daughter while I’m gone!”

When he came back, he found them all on top of his daughter. He pointed his shotgun at them and said ,”Go out to my garden, pick 10 things, and come back in here.”

The first salesman came in there with 10 cherries. The farmer goes, “Ok, shove them up your butt and you can go.” So, not wanting to be shot, the salesman shoved the cherries up his butt and he was free to go

The second salesman came in with 10 oranges. Again, the farmer told him to shove them up his butt. After he had done that, the salesman started laughing. The farmer asked, “what’s so funny?”

The salesman replies, “The other guy’s out there picking watermelons.”

Variation on the Hiemlich

One day, at a local buffet, a man suddenly called out, “My son’s choking! He swallowed a quarter! Help! Please, anyone! Help!”A man from a nearby table stood up and announced that he was quite experienced at this sort of thing. He stepped over with almost no look of concern at all, wrapped his hands around the boy’s gonads, and squeezed. Out popped the quarter. The man then went back to his table as though nothing had happened.”Thank you! Thank you!” the father cried. “Are you a paramedic?””No,” replied the man. “I work for the IRS.”

NEW UNIVERSITY PROMOS

BROWN: Hey kids! Is half of your head shaved? Do you have a nose ring? Are you
terribly progressive and do you have a lot of empathy? Are you sick and tired of
silly things like grades and majors? COME TO BROWN!!!
COLUMBIA: Hey kids! Do you like Harlem? Do you like commuters? Are you
planning on transferring to another Ivy school after your freshman year? COME TO
COLUMBIA!!!
HARVARD: Hey kids! Do you hate teachers? I mean really hate them? Do you never
want to have another teacher again? And what about a social life? Do you hate
that too? COME TO HARVARD!!!
PRINCETON: Hey kids! Do you have any idea what an eating club is? Are you
pompous? Can you learn to be? Are you the smartest person you know? How many
clubs were you in high school? Have you always dreamed of living in the great
state of New Jersey? COME TO PRINCETON!!!
PENN: Hey kids! Did you like high school a lot? How about four more years of
the same? Are you dying to visit scenic West Philadelphia? Does the concept of
rigorous academics scare you? COME TO PENN!!!
CORNELL: Hey kids! Do you hate intimacy? Are you interested in jumping off
high places? Have you ever wanted to converse with future hotel managers? Do you
like bureaucracy? Do you like archaic forms and the chance to stand in lines
with the best and brightest? COME TO CORNELL — The Big Red Tape!!!
DARTMOUTH: Hey kids! Do you hate civilization? Looking to get away from stuff
like culture and people? Do you like to drink? Do you like to drink some more?
Do you like to continue to drink? And what’s your feeling on drinking? COME TO
DARTMOUTH!!!
M.I.T.: Hey kids! Are you a freakish nerd? Do you want to be? Do you hate
doing anything that doesn’t involve math? That’s right, math! Math math math
math and more math! COME TO M.I.T.!!! PLEASE!!!
BOSTON COLLEGE: If you haven’t figured out how to invent the wheel (but have
discovered fire and fire-sticks), don’t know your ass from your elbows (but do
know genetic plant structures and genetic recombination enough to produce 24
variants of ‘da weed’ with a garden weasel and a piece of Egyptian chewing gum
preserved for 2000 years, enjoy the advantages of indecision (hence being in
Boston, but not really), and enjoyed Student Council so much that you NEED TO
LIVE IT AGAIN, COME TO BC!!!
SYRACUSE: Hey kids, do you like it when your Chancellor takes all your money
and gives it to a private firm to design a new logo and mascot because yours
isn’t selling well? Are athletics the only thing that matters to you? Do you
believe in money first, students last? Is your idea of a good time learning
about the History of the salt trade and the Erie canal? THEN COME TO SYRACUSE!!!

Cloning

A scientist was successful in cloning himself. He was asked to speak at a national convention of cloning scientists. The meeting room was located on the 45th floor of a New York skyscraper. The scientist arrived with his clone and proceeded to the podium. The clone sat at the end of the head table. The scientist began the speech intending a tribute to the advances in the field of modern biology.

“My fellow scientists,” he began. But before he could utter another word, the clone sprang to his feet and shouted out, “he’s an @SSHOLE!”.

The crowd began to murmur as the scientist commanded the clone to “sit down and shut-up!”. Apologizing for the interruption, the scientist began again, “My fellow scientists,”.

Again the clone sprang to his feet and yelled, “this dumb @SS couldn’t produce a copy on a Xerox. He’s a fraudulent I D I O T!”.

Incensed, the scientist rushed to the clone, grabbed him, and threw him out of the window. The crowd gasped and security rushed into the room. A short while later New York’s finest arrived and were explained the events that had transpired.

The police chief said to the scientist, “We are going to have to arrest you.”

The scientist replied, “For what? I have committed no crime. What fell from the window was a clone, not a person.”.

The attending scientists nodded in agreement.

“Well,” retorted the police chief, “we can not let this heinous act go unchallenged”.

The police chief thought for a moment and ordered the scientist held for “Making an obscene clone fall…”