This bloke walks into the poshest restaurant
in town and says, "Where's the god damn, mother fucking Manager
you cock sucking arse wipe." The waiter is naturally taken
aback and replies, "Excuse me, sir, but could you please
refrain from using that sort of language in here, I will get the
manager as soon as I can."
The manager comes over and the bloke asks, "Are you the chicken
fucking manager of this bastard joint?". "Yes, sir, I
am," replies the manager, "and I would prefer it if you
could refrain from speaking such profanities in this, a private
restaurant".
"Fuck off!" replies the bloke. "And where's the
fucking piano?"
"Pardon?" says the manager.
"Fucking deaf as well are we? You little piece of sniveling
shit, show us your pissing piano."
"Ahhhh," replies the manager. "You've come about the
pianist's job," and shows the bloke to the piano. "Can you
play any blues?"
"Of course I fucking can," and the bloke proceeds to play
the most inspiring and beautiful sounding honky tonk blues that the
manager has ever heard.
"Why, that's superb, what's it called?"
"I want to fuck your missus on the sofa but the springs keep
hurting my knob," replies the pianist.
The manager is a bit disturbed and asks if the bloke knows any jazz.
The bloke proceeds to play the most melancholy jazz solo the manager
has ever heard.
"Magnificent!" cries the manager. "What's it
called?"
"I wanted a wank over the washin' machine but my bollocks got
caught in the soap drawer".
The manager is a tad embarrassed and asks if he knows any romantic
ballads, the bloke then plays the most heartbreaking melody.
"And what's this called?" asks the manager.
"As I fuck you under the stars with the moonlight shining off
your hairy ring-piece," replies the bloke.
The manager is highly upset by the bloke's language but offers him
the job on condition that he doesn't introduce any of his songs or
talk to any of the customers.
This arrangement works well for a couple of months until one night,
sitting opposite him, is the most gorgeous blonde he has ever laid
his eyes on. She's wearing an almost see through dress, her tits are
almost falling out the top and the skimpy little 'G' string she's
wearing is riding up the crack of her arse. She is sitting there
with her legs slightly open, sucking suggestively on asparagus
shoots and the butter is dripping down her chin! It's too much for
the bloke and he runs off to the bogs to 'wrestle with his bald
headed champ'. He's pulling away furiously when he hears the
manager's voice...
"Where's that bloody pianist?"
He just has time to shoot his bolt and in a fluster he runs back to
the piano, not having bothered to adjust himself properly, sits down
and starts playing some more tunes. The blonde steps up and walks
over to the piano, leans over and whispers in his ear:
"Do you know your knob and balls are hanging out your trousers
and dripping spunk on your shoes?".
"Know it," the pianist replies, "I fucking wrote
it!"
 
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