Thursday, February 5, 2015


Snakes sizzle on the frypan. They hiss at each other trying to formulate a plan on how to get out, but their hissings get all mixed up with the sizzling. It is quite a conundrum. All of a sudden the cook slips over, pranging the fraypan handle with his arm and sending the snakes, these very oily snakes, flying out of the kitchen and onto the stage. The jazz musicians, wrapped up in the deep concentration needed to perform their art, do not see the snakes coming and are horribly burned as these snakes covered in boiling oil slap against their faces. The musicians scream and run off stage, abandoning their instruments. The snakes, not wanting to see a riot occur, attempt to play some jazz despite the obvious limitations of their legless, armless stature. They don't sound half bad.

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