Tempo Jokes

Tempo-rary.

He has a tempo tantrum.

The pilot of the fighter jet slows down, flies alongside the Airbus and greets the pilot of the passenger plane by radio: “Airbus, boring flight isn’t it? Now have a look here!”

He rolls his jet on its back, accelerates, breaks through the sound barrier, rises rapidly to a dizzying height, and then swoops down almost to sea level in a breathtaking dive. He loops back next to the Airbus and asks: “Well, how was that?”

The Airbus pilot answers: “Very impressive, but watch this!”

The jet pilot watches the Airbus, but nothing happens. It continues to fly straight, at the same speed. After 15 minutes, the Airbus pilot radios, “Well, how was that?”

Confused, the jet pilot asks, “What did you do?”

The AirBus pilot laughs and says: “I got up, stretched my legs, walked to the back of the aircraft to use the washroom, then got a cup of coffee and a chocolate fudge pastry.”

Ten months later, the fiddle started to tip the scales. Her belly was noticeably bowed and before you could say concerto, out popped a minor.

Daddy banjo went to the Hyundai dealer and traded in his old Accent for a brand new Sonata. After just a month, mama fiddle lost her key at the bar and had a break down when she couldn’t find it. Apparently it really struck a chord with daddy banjo because for the first time ever, he took a harsh tone with mama fiddle. He drove her home, lost his tempo, strung her up by the neck, and beat her.

Domestic violins

The old system seemed to be biased towards videos of old presidential candidates playing beat and tempo games, so they finally decided to retire the al-gore-rhythm

He’s hesitant at first. He’d only been to America once before, and it was a favor for a friend. The oboist in his orchestra kindly loaned him the first season of The Wire, but the Count never watched it, as he’d never gotten around to buying a DVD player.

After an uneventful flight and some trouble getting the timpani through customs, the weary orchestra checks into their hotel. The performance of Beethoven’s Ninth is the next afternoon, so they all rest and tune their instruments to the humid Baltimore atmosphere.

“SANDY!” a voice bellows in the hall of the Holiday Inn.

“SANDY, HELP ME!”

Sandy, the assistant to the count, runs into the hallway and sees Count Oblodowsky on his knees, shreds of paper in his hand. See, during the routine inspection of baggage by the TSA, some rough baghandler had torn the musical score of Beethoven’s Ninth in half. The count, nearly inconsolable, begs Sandy and some helpful trombonists to mend it. They end up having to sew the whole thing up with pieces of string. The count finds he can still flip the pages easily, and everyone goes to bed; jumpy but satisfied.

They show up at the gym.

Sweet Jesus, what a dump.

I mean, it’s big enough. But the acoustics are dreadful. And to top it off, the ventilation system is on the fritz, meaning there is this dreadful screeching of fans and vents overhead. The Count is assured that the ventilation system will be turned off for the duration of the performance. They tune up again and go out for some famous Baltimore crab.

Have you ever traveled to a foreign land, felt weary and sad, and then suddenly something makes it all worthwhile? That happened to Count Oblodowsky on the Waterfront. He’d never had crab before, and the little crustaceans were so tender and sweet that he just couldn’t stop.

“Maybe America is ok after all!” the count whispered to Sandy, holding his tenth crab in his baton hand. The bass section laughed along, not eating, but passing something back and forth between them.

Replete and nourished, our orchestra heads back to the venue. It’s all looking up. The vent is turned off, they put some baffles around the stage to stop the dreadful echoing, an excited crowd is milling around. Even the ramshackle torn score covered in string and twine was a humorous memory, and it stood proudly on Oblodowsky’s podium.

Final tuning. Bells up. This is gonna be great.

But the Count’s eye falls upon empty chairs in his orchestra. First and second bassoon. They’re not there. Ray and Sven. Suddenly, the Count realizes they weren’t at the crab restaurant. He hisses to Sandy, “where are Ray and Sven??” Sandy goes ashen. Ray and Sven, as quiet and innocuous as their bassoons, just got completely forgotten. They were still at the airport, for all we know.

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter!” the Count whispered. “We do it anyway!”

He taps his baton. Flicks a little piece of string away from the torn score and begins.

Is there nothing more satisfying than that sigh of relief from a crowd of people? People who hear a piece of classical music like The Ninth and realize, “Hey! I’ve heard this before! This is gonna be ok.”

Beethoven’s Ninth begins without incident.

.

And it all goes pear shaped.

.

With his non baton hand, Oblodowsky clutches at his abdomen. Why on earth did he eat all that crab? It feels like his stomach is going to burst, he’s never felt so full and uncomfortable in his life. And to make things worse, things seemed to be slowing down. No matter how he waved, he could not pick up the tempo. “Why?!” he yelled to himself. And then he saw it.

The entire double bass section. Weaving on their instruments. He mouthed to Sandy, *what is going on Sandy.*

Sandy makes the international “drinky drinky” gesture, and then he knows. He sees the empty 1.5 liter bottle of Jim Beam by their feet. THAT’S what they were passing back and forth during lunch! Utterly wasted.

Two of his orchestra are gone, and now this. If he could just…just make it…

Beads of sweat on his brow. They’re nearly done, Oblodowsky is nearing the bottom of the page, they just might make it…

*SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!*

Like a thousand rusty cans being played on a thousand dusty victrolas, the ventilation system kicks in. Battered tin fans squeak and squeal and belch smoke, the audience clutches their ears.

.

So close.

.

It was the bottom of The Ninth. The Count was full. The score was tied. Two men were out and the basses were loaded.

And the fans?

The fans were going *wild.*

One day Mrs. Jones went to have a talk with the minister at the

local church. “Reverend,” she said, “I have a problem, my

husband keeps falling asleep during your sermons. It’s very

embarrassing. What should I do?”

“I have an idea,” said the minister. “Take this hatpin with you.

I will be able to tell when Mr. Jones is sleeping, and I will

motion to you at specific times. When I motion, you give him a

good poke in the leg.”

In church the following Sunday, Mr. Jones dozed off. Noticing

this, the preacher put his plan to work. “And who made the

ultimate sacrifice for you?” he said, nodding to Mrs. Jones.

“Jesus!”, Jones cried as his wife jabbed him the leg with the

hatpin.

“Yes, you are right, Mr. Jones,” said the minister. Soon, Mr.

Jones nodded off again. Again, the minister noticed. “Who is

your redeemer?” he asked the congregation, motioning towards

Mrs. Jones.

“God!” Mr. Jones cried out as he was stuck again with the hatpin.

“Right again,” said the minister, smiling. Before long, Mr.

Jones again winked off. However, this time the minister did not

notice. As he picked up the tempo of his sermon, he made a few

motions that Mrs. Jones mistook as signals to bayonet her

husband with the hatpin again.

The minister asked, “And what did Eve say to Adam after she bore

him his 99th son?”

Mrs. Jones poked her husband, who yelled, “You stick that

goddamned thing in me one more time and I’ll break it in half

and shove it up your ass!”

“Amen,” replied the congregation.

Mr. Smith and the pastor discuss the problem that Mrs. Smith always falls asleep during the sermon. The pastor gives Mr. Smith a hatpin and recommends that he prick her as soon as he receives a sign from the pastor.

The following Sunday, Mrs. Smith has fallen asleep peacefully, the pastor asks his congregation, “Who has sacrificed himself for you?” and gives Smith a hand signal, whereupon Smith jams the hatpin hard into Mrs. Smith’s thigh. “JESUS!” she cries out in torment: “That’s right, Mrs. Smith, it was Jesus,” the priest replies with a grin.

A short time later, Mrs. Smith falls asleep again. The sermon continues and the pastor asks his congregation: “… Who is your Creator?” and points to Mr. Smith, who gives his wife the hatpin again. “GOD ALMIGHTY!” howls the poor woman loudly, whereupon the priest praises her again, “Quite right, Mrs. Smith!”.

Mrs. Smith falls asleep once again. The pastor increases the tempo of the sermon. Completely engrossed in his holy remarks and gesticulating wildly, he shouts, “… and what did Eve say when she bore Adam his 99th son?” Smith misinterprets a hand movement of the priest and again takes full aim at the thigh of his wife. She roars in her pain: “IF YOU STICK YOUR DAMN THING IN ME ONE MORE TIME, I’LL BREAK IT OFF AND STICK IT UP YOUR ASS!””

AMEN!” shout all the women in the congregation.

There was a woman named Betty Lou, whose life had recently fallen into a downward spiral of horrible luck. She had been laid off after working for the same company for several years. She began binge eating to cope, and as a result become terribly overweight. This made it more difficult for her to actively seek employment, so she mostly just stayed at home. Even her husband ended up leaving her, unable to deal with the changes. Betty Lou was ready to give up, but she decided to try speaking with a professional to help her get her life back on track. She decided that she should see a doctor first to address the weight issues.

She mopes into the local doctor’s office and says “Doctor, I’m fat. I’m depressed. My husband left me. I have no job. Please, I’ll do anything to be like I was before.”

The doctor says “Alright Ms.Lou, I’m going to put you on an experimental diet. That should help get your weight under control. After that, we can address your other issues. Now… This may sound odd, but from now on, you’ll do all of your eating by inserting your food.. rectally.”

“RECTALLY?” Betty Lou repeats. She is stunned, but eventually she nods and agrees. The doctor tells her to return after one month. Betty Lou leaves the office and follows the doctors orders exactly.

One month later, a much thinner Betty Lou strides through the doors of the doctors office. The receptionist almost didn’t recognize her. But as Betty approached the front desk, the receptionist noticed something else different. Betty Lou had not stopped wagging her hips since she walked in. She was doing a sort of bounce-step when she walked, and when she stood still, she rested a hand on her side and shook her hips widely, but in perfect tempo.

The receptionist sends Betty Lou back, and when she sees the doctor she blurts out “Look, Doc, look! I’m thin again, I got a job as a model making more than I was at my other job, and I even got a new boyfriend who is much younger than my ex-husband! I’m doing much better all because I’m taking my food rectally!”, all the while continuing to bounce her hips.

The doctor replies “That’s wonderful, Ms.Lou! I can see that it has had results. But.. uh.. Ms.Lou, you seem to have developed a minor tick.. You haven’t been taking any drugs, have you?”

Betty Lou chuckled. “No Doc, of course not! I’m just chewing a piece of gum!”

… and it was really embarrassing for her to be seen with him constantly nodding off. So Mrs. Smith asks the preacher before Sunday service if he has any ideas for her. He thinks about it, then hands her a pin and says, “Every time I signal you with this gesture, poke your husband with this pin.” Mrs. Smith acknowledged his instructions and sat down with her husband for the service.

Shortly into the sermon, Mr. Smith had fallen asleep. The preacher sees this, and gestures towards Mrs. Smith to poke her husband while asking the audience, “Who is the Father of all of us here?”

Mr. Smith yelled, “OH GOD!”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith!” and the preacher continued his speech.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Smith was nodding away again. The preacher sees this, and motions to Mrs. Smith while asking the audience, “Who is the son, our Lord and savior?”

“JESUS CHRIST!”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith!” and the preacher carries on.

As the sermon continues, people begin to lose interest, and the preacher tries to be more up-tempo to get the crowd excited again. In his attempts, he accidentally gestured towards Mrs. Smith as he asked, “What did Eve say to Adam as she bore them their 99th son?”

“IF YOU STICK THAT GODDAMN THING INTO ME ONE MORE TIME, I’M GOING TO BREAK IT IN HALF AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!”

“Amen.”

An old one, but a good one…

1. If they want to loan you money, tell them you just filed for Bankruptcy and you could sure use some money.

2. If they start out with, “How are you today?” say, “Why do you want to know?” Or you can say, “I’m so glad you asked, because no one seems to care these days and I have all these problems, my sciatica is acting up, my eyelashes are sore, my dog just died…” When they get try to get back to the sell, just continue your problems.

3. If they say they’re Joe Doe from the XYZ Company, ask them to spell their name, then ask them to spell the company name, then ask them where it located. Continue asking them personal questions or questions about their company for as long as necessary.

4. This one works better if you are male: Telemarketer: “Hi, my name is Judy and I’m with Canter and Siegel services…. You: “Hang on a second.” (few seconds pause) “Okay, (in a really husky voice) what are you wearing?”

5. Crying out, in well-simulated tones of pleasure and surprise, “Judy!! Is this really you? Oh, my gosh! Judy, how have you BEEN?” Hopefully, this will give Judy a few brief moments of terror as she tries to figure out where the hell she could know you from.

6. Say, “No”, over and over. Be sure to vary the sound of each no, and keep an even tempo even as they’re trying to speak. This is the most fun if you can keep going until they hang up.

7. If MCI calls trying to get you to sign up with their Family and Friends plan, reply, in a sinister a voice as you can muster, “I don’t have any friends…would you be my friend?”

8. If they clean rugs: “Can you get blood out, you can? Well, how about goat blood or HUMAN blood.

9. Let the person go through their spiel, providing minimal but necessary feedback in the form of an occasional “Uh- huh, really, or “That’s fascinating.” Finally, when they ask you to buy, ask them to marry you. They get all flustered, but just tell them you couldn’t give your credit card number to someone that’s a complete stranger.

10. Tell them you work for the same company they work for. Example: Telemarketer: “This is Bill from Watertronics.” You: “Watertronics!! Hey I work for them too. Where are you calling from?” Telemarketer: “Uh, Dallas, Texas.” You: “Great, they have a group there too? How’s business/the weather? Too bad the company has a policy against selling to employees! Oh well, see ya.”

11. Answer the phone. As soon as you realize it is a telemarketer, set the receiver down, shout or scream, “Oh, my goodness!!!” and then hang up.

12. Tell the Telemarketer you are busy and if they will give you their phone number you will call them back. If they say they are not allow to give out their number, then ask them for their home number and tell them you will call them at home. (This is usually the most effective method of getting rid of Telemarketers)