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Old fighter pilot turned piano player
> 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, flying
> off carriers back in 'Nam, but when they retired the Phantom all the
> thrill
> was gone and soon they cashed me in as well. I learned to play the
> piano at Officer's Club happy-hour, so here I am."
>
> The barkeep wasn't too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but
> it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was
> falling off.
> So, why not give him a try?
>
> The seedy fighter-jocky 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 added, "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 Up." He then launched into another
> mesmerizing song and 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", then 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!"
> 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, flying
> off carriers back in 'Nam, but when they retired the Phantom all the
> thrill
> was gone and soon they cashed me in as well. I learned to play the
> piano at Officer's Club happy-hour, so here I am."
>
> The barkeep wasn't too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but
> it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was
> falling off.
> So, why not give him a try?
>
> The seedy fighter-jocky 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 added, "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 Up." He then launched into another
> mesmerizing song and 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", then 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!"