I went to an avant-garde jazz club the other day. I was listening to some god-awful free jazz piece, when the sax player put down his instrument, and picked up a machine gun of all things, firing
rounds into the crowd in time with the beat. Then, putting the gun down,he started reeling off some rheoterical treatise he'd prepared earlier, trying to convince us of some damn thing or another.
When it was finally over, I turned to my more experienced jazz fan colleague.
"What the fuck was that supposed to be?" I asked him.
"Oh that," he replied, "Was just his glock and spiel solo."
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