Eric sends this:
Sweet-Ass Trumpet – $100
Up for sale is one sweet-ass 1932 Pan-American trumpet. It comes with a case, mouthpiece, valve-oil, some sheet music, and a couple of mutes. For one hundred bones it can be YOUR sweet-ass trumpet. Think about it. Yours.
Pinky, are you thinking what I’m thinking?
I thought so.
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I’ll have to think about it. The exchange rate of the firm obo against the bone is so sweet-ass right now.
That sounds vaguely dirty.
Vaguely?
Euphemizing “exchange rate” required a degree of filthiness I am currently not caffeinated enough to achieve. Give me another hour or so to build an extension to my corner, maybe with a nice big deck.
I said deck.
Well, we here at the Snark Lounge are perfectly aware of what you meant by the word deck Mr. Smarty Pants.
Speaking of dirty: Try Googling “sweet ass valve oil”. Who knew that KY made that. And they had a how-to video. My monitor just melted.
Uncle Google can be a very dirty old man at times.*
*All the time.
Mute ass-trumpets are probably the best variety. Just sayin’.
Don’t bet on it. The silent ones are the deadliest.
pffft…
I know what you’re thinking. Did he eat Mexican, or only burgers? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. But Mudsy, this is a Mariachi ass trumpet, the most powerful ass trumpet in the world, and can blow your hair clean off. You have to ask yourself one question: “Do I feel stuffy?” Well do ya … punk?
Mariachi Ass Trumpet is IF’s Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass cover band.
Since my name has been invoked in the same sentence as Mariachi, I feel compelled to relate one of my Favorite Stories Ever (TM, pat. pending).
The summer after finishing college in upstate NY, a bunch of us took a road trip up to Toronto for a long weekend. I don’t even recall what compelled us to create this particular plan, aside from the fact that we had already planned to visit a friend outside of Buffalo and it’s always cool to go to Soviet Canuckistan. We piled into a late model Olds Delta 88, proceeded to blow a tire on the QEW (which our car-owning friend had let bald down to the steel belts), and re-enacted a Benny Hill sequence in traffic coming into T.O.
But the truly surreal part was when we went a-barhoppin’ that evening. We’d hit a few places and stumbled upon a venue called, “The Loose Moose,” and decided we just had to go in. It seemed a routine enough place – your typical barroom adornments, plenty of neon signs, hockey swag, and…
…a mariachi band, in full regalia.
Covering Loser, by Beck.
This resulted in a series of stupefied half-sentences, tilted heads, and I’m pretty sure somebody’s brain caught on fire.
TO is my home town, and I’ve been to The Loose Moose. They have some pretty powerful suicide wings, though they don’t quite sear the skin off the roof of your mouth. They didn’t have a live band when I went though, and I’m sure I would have remembered a Mariachi band playing anything. I certainly remembered this. (Keep a brain extinguisher handy.)
Do they have a bar called The Canadian Bacontini up there too?
If so, I hope it’s decorated in lumberjack plaid and Dudley-do-Right and Snidely Whiplash murals and serves Tim Hortons’ donuts and moose wings dipped in maple syrup at happy hour (which always starts at “aboot” 9am).
Eh?
The mind… it is boggled!!
There was, but they closed down. Beaver infestation. (And not the good kind.)
Elucidate the term “not the good kind”
Good kind: Eats wood.
Bad kind: Eats wood.
Touché, Denture Dog. Touché .
Good kind: wood
Bad kind: wood
How much wood could a wood…Oh nevermind.
*TOOT*
Pee eww!!
A hundred bones? That’s nearly half my entire skeleton. Okay, look, I’m prepared to offer all my vertebrae, but he can keep that mute couple – if I’m gonna be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, I at least want someone who’ll talk to me…
P.S. did Pan-Am get into ass-trumpets before or after they entered the airline business?
Do they have to be our own bones?
I have a few extra from Henry Hudson in my collection.
Is that anything like The Franklin Mint?
Do bones from the Franklin Mint have a minty shell?
“valve oil”
heh
heh heh
for your “sweet ass” trumpet
*snort*
I think FM needs a good spot in the corner. Here’s a pillow to sit on.
Thanks, sis. My trumpet was starting to hurt.
I think funky monkey needs an avatar.
I nominate this as FM’s new avatar!
This old man, he played one
He made music on my bum
With some valve oil on my crack, give a 100 bones
This old horn came rolling home
This old man, he played two:
Ass-trumpet and ass-didgeridoo.
With your wind in the instrument, hear that music moan.
This old man came rolling home.
This old man, he played four
He played ass-trumpet at our store
With a scream and a shout everyone ran away from him
Now he’s got a rather sore rim.
I’ll be in the corner.
This old man, he played five:
Best damn ass-trumpet player alive.
‘Cause there’s no one daft enough to want his throne,
This old man gets left alone.
:sprinkles birdseed over keyboard:
Windy, can you change that last line to “This old man gets left alone.”, pretty please? My edit time ran out on me.
Done. Could you throw in a bone with the seed? I got my eye on a sweet-ass instrument.
Yes, I do know where the corner is, thank you.
I think I have some spare metatarsals floating around here somewhere.
You collection floats? I’ll pay you elebenty brazillion obos for your haunted bones!
Deal! Just let me find my butterfly net.
This old man, he played three
He played ass-trumpet for the show Glee
He pissed off Jane Lynch ’cause he was deaf of tone
This old man went limping home
Awww, I did one for three two err too…
This old man, he played three
He put his mouthpiece where I pee
With little doll and a cop, I pointed to his trombone
This old man came rolling home.
Don’t worry, yours so trumpeted, er, TRUMPED mine.
This old man, he played four
He played ass-trumpet behind the potty door
With his Ex Lax and Charmin he partied all alone
This old man came rolling home.
I prefer to call my ass-trumpets “The Donald”
Hey Mudsy, is it still an ass-trumpet if it pulls out early?
No. Then it’s just a rectum.
Pulled out early? Damn near killed’em
I rather fear for our marching-band minors once school lets out in a bit . . .
Also, afeared of as well . . .
“Bah. I do not need zees eenstrument. My anoos make eets own trumpet sound!”
– Joseph Pujol, Le Pétomane
It’s a shame that there’s more of a market for rusty trombones. Sweet ass trumpets were so last decade.
*points assertively to the corner*
*grabs can of disinfectant*
I’ll just sit over here with my saltines and bottle of chocolate Yoo-Hoo.
I don’t think I would be interested in a used ass trumpet, no matter how sweet it is. That’s really the sort of thing you’d want to buy new.
What? You’re not a lover of antique ass-patina?
Ass-Patina is IF’s Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band.
I’m more concerned about how Sparky discovered it was “sweet” and if it’s taste-sweet or affectionate-sweet.
I think I just tripped my squick circuitbreaker.
Sparky says, “Yes.”
It’s really a phat ass trumpet
Can I get a low-phat ass trumpet instead? I’m trying to watch my figure.
Watching someone else play their sweet ass-trumpet is the best diet aid ever!
“I’m more concerned about how Sparky discovered it was “sweet” and if it’s taste-sweet or affectionate-sweet.”
“Affectionate-sweet” brings to mind a trumpet that nuzzles and cuddles with you and acts like a happy puppy…awwww!
…Sorry, that wasn’t dirty enough. I’ll just go sit in the…non…dirty…corner. With my puppy trumpet.
Damn, I was looking for a bitter-bottom Euphonium. My search continues.
Maybe Asstro can point you in the right direction.
Will a tiny tart Tuba suffice?
How about a savory sphincter sax?
Or a puckery pecil piccolo?
Saccharine seated Sousaphone
toothsome derriere Oboe
Only firm OBOs accepted 😉
What about a rusty trombo…
Oh, wait.
(Note to Astro: don’t google that.)
An Asspartame accordian?
Or a flatulating fellatio flute?
I’ve never been sent to the corner. Should I be? Do I wait to be sent, or should I man up and go on my own?
You’re welcome to share my corner, monkey man and/or lady; I have strawberry-kiwi coffee slices this morning. With sprinkles!
And I have cat-nip filled eclairs. Joy!
*skips to corner*
FM, here’s your GO Directly to Corner pass. 8) Enjoy.
I have saltines and Yoo-Hoo. Does anyone have any brie?
Trying to imagine the physics involved in a flute that both sucks and blows…
Or… I mean… OK, who’s got the cinnamon coffee slices??
*heads to corner*
And, a flute is transverse, not in line
ow! Just how many vertices does the Corner have, 8^6 or 6^8? And do they all have to meet at once?
“Trying to imagine the physics involved in a flute that both sucks and blows..”
Well, the flute has two openings….
You just have to make sure that when you insert it in…
Gotta go.
Yeah, but if it has too much suction it might get stuck somewhere. And you’d have a very embarassing trip to the emergency room coming your way.
*sits in the corner with a nice book*
*hands Taco an ass Garmin*
Just plug it in there
*heads to the corner*
Just how many corners does the snark lounge have, anyway? Seems like more people are crammed into the corner today than are lounging by the red table.
Like the TARDIS, the Snark Lounge is bigger on the inside. Plenty of corners for everyone.
Or is it like the Room of Requirement that magically changes shape to add one more corner or remove a corner as needed? If so, then today it’s nearly circular.
The corner is alwasy as big as you want it to be.
…
Speaking of which, do I smell coffee slices?
Given that my orchestra (yes, I have time to play in an orchestra amidst my busy cover band schedule) just took up Liberty Bell March last evening, this is tremendously timely.
I take it your Liberty Bell March had a predominant crack in it?
No, but a foot does come down and squish us all at the end.
(I don’t get how anyone can program that particular Sousa march seriously anymore.)
The boss and I were having a discussion of all things Python one day.
We concluded that huge-foot-smashes-everything was the troupe’s go-to when they had no clue how to end a sketch…well, that or large-ogre-chases-then-eats-everyone.
Both were effective.
[monty python trivial corey]
The pythons have admitted that, when they could not figure a way out of a given absurdity, they would invoke the sixteen-ton weight.
When that would not work, they’d have Ian dressed in knight’s armor come in with a rubber chicken.
Which then became a motif of its own, having him in a camera pan or the like.
[/corey]
Don’t be so cheeky.
*pinch*
[sketch ending trivia corey]
In the earlier days of the Muppets, Jim Henson ended most of the sketches with one of the characters being eaten or something exploding for the same reason.
It was a good ending.
[/end corey]
I think we all know what Sparky means by sheet music. It’s debatable if Sparky does though.
I heard this trumpet was panned across America. *wait for it* No? Well, the good news is, thanks to our coffee slice habit, we’ll have less chance of getting prostate cancer.
Easy for you to say. You don’t have a prostate.
I– I don’t? You sure? Geez, why didn’t anyone tell me before I volunteered for the research project?
Windy thought all you had to do was prostrate and said, “Gee, how hard can that be? Just give me a good book and some bon bons and I’ll adore you forever.”
[medical news corey]
Actually, yesterday, the news was that 6 cups daily for women seemed to prevent ovarian issues. So, reading today that men, in similar consumption levels, have a similar protection, was poignant.
Although, I’m still wondering about how the you-are-not-allowed-to-enjoy-anything nutritional crowd will respond. They barely admit that 1 or 2 glasses of wine a week are healthy.
[/corey]
*hands Windrose some valve-oil*
This may help with the prostate exam. You’re welcome.
Wouldn’t a sour-ass trumpet have better pucker power?
This does, however, give a whole new meaning to the phrase “blow it out your ass”.
With this trumpet one could respond with, “Why thank you, I believe I’ll do just that.”
“And what key would you like that in?”
Hahaha. 76 Trombones from The Music Man just came on my pandora station. I had a major giggling fit while reading YSaC, just now.
Seventy-six trombones and an ass-trumpet…
I don’t remember that verse…
It’s in the dance mix version.
I’ve been running away from the mental image of just how long a set of arms a person would need to work an ass-trombone . . .
It’s actually a two person job.
So if Dan’s in the box, does that mean the landlord has come to inspect the property? I do hope someone removed the squirrel suit… I don’t want us to lose our deposit.
Sparky’s got a “cup of deposit” for you if you ask him nicely.
😉
Just hide everything under the Guatusnake.
Just make bloody sure the TacoThong is out of there, or our deposit might be the least of our worries.
Squee!! I left half a mouse in there for him.
You are welcome dan.
Hey, my submission! Who’s this Eric fellow taking my credit?
**Sulks off and waits hopefully for running Monty Python gag**
Wasn’t me. I have a few Idle thoughts, though…
Does it have anything to do with the Spanish Inquisition—because nobody expects that?
*fingers crossed*
It’s me pet halibut, Eric.
It’s only a flesh wound.
Half a bee be upon him.
Bring me a shrubbery!!!!
Ni! Ni!
It!
You said the word! Stop saying the word!
Spam, spam, Eric, and spam…
*cue viking chorus*
Damn you badly drawn Twilight characters! MTV Teen Wolf promo ads now in sidebar.
I decided to replace one letter:
You’re welcome.
Needs a shave too.
*picks up coffee slice and pillow*
Make room, someone.
*smacks side of Snark Lounge* The extra corners are stuck, for some reason. Probably needs a good lube.
Who doesn’t?
Goodnight everybody!
*slinks off to fifth-dimensional corner*
**Fifth-Dimensional Corner is the name of my barbershop-style Fifth Dimension cover band**
*again, hands Windrose the valve-oil*
Dang, gonna have to run to the drugstore before long.
Would stop and pick up dinner on the way? Thanks.
Um… no pork butt, though… I was thinking pizza.
I did as well:
“Sweet-Ass Crumpet”
…Hey, if you don’t move the hyphen over, that doesn’t sound half bad. Would go better with tea slices than coffee slices though.
Ha. My sidebar now shows an ad for musical instruments. Nothing about the sugar content of the derrieres though.
You know you’re a band geek when…
…you no longer can find humor in the term ‘valve oil’.
…you don’t even bat an eyelash at the terms ‘finger’, ‘blow’, ‘buzz’, and ‘tongue’.
…you immediately interpreted ‘bones’ as short for ‘trombones’.
So they want a hundred trombones for a trumpet? That must be a REALLY sweet ass-trumpet. And really shoddy trombones.
Maybe I can barter them down to 76. And why are these 110 cornets suddenly following me everywhere?
Sweet ass-trumpet!
See also: http://xkcd.com/37/
@ skreidle: please see link in original post, following ‘Pinky’. Thank you for playing today.
My edit senses are tingling. Must. Resist. Taunting. Lurkers.
Supreme Ruler? I thought we were governed by a protractor…
Dan, hope your day in the box was like a day without cheesecake. (who writes this stuff. I do? Oh. Sorry.)
*gently punches dan’s card*
G’Night, Pan-America!
“A Day without Cheesecake” gets my vote for album title of the day.
I know no one is likely to see this, but it popped into my head last night:
I think so, Brain, but there’s still a
bugtrumpet stuck up there from last time.Good one, AR! Glad I popped in when this was still in the Talk Among Yourselves box. 8)