A ragged, old, derelict shuffled into a down and dirty bar; stinking of whiskey, cigarettes and stale beer, his hands shook as he took the "Piano Player Wanted" sign from the window and handed it to the bartender.
"I'd like to apply for the job," he said. To the bartender's doubtful look, he went on. "I was an F-4 driver, flying off the Attack Carrier Oriskany back in 'Nam . . ."
". . . but when they retired the Phantom all the thrill was gone, and soon they cashed me in as well. So I learned how to play the piano at the Officer's Club for Happy Hour, and here I am."
The barkeep wasn't too sure about this down-and-out-looking old guy, but it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was falling off. So, why not give him a try.
The seedy pilot staggered his way over to the piano while several patrons snickered at the old man. By the time he was into his third bar of music, every voice was silenced.What followed was a rhapsody of soaring music unlike anything heard in the bar before. When he finished there wasn't a dry eye in the place.
The bartender took the old fighter pilot a beer and asked him the name of the song he had just played.
It's called "Drop your Skivvies, Baby, I'm Going Balls To The Walls For You." he said. After a long pull from the beer, leaving it empty, he said, "I wrote it myself."
The bartender and the crowd winced at the title, but the piano player just went on into a knee-slapping, hand-clapping bit of ragtime that had the place jumping. After he finished, the fighter pilot acknowledged the applause, downed a second proffered mug, and told the crowd the song was called, "Big Boobs Make My Afterburner Light."
He then launched into another mesmerizing song and everyone in the room was enthralled. He announced that it was the latest rendition of his song, "Spread 'em Wide Baby, It's Foggy Out Tonight and I Need To See The Centerline."
Then he excused himself and headed for the john.
When he came out the bartender went over to him and said, "Hey, fly boy, the job is yours; but, do you know your fly is open and your pecker is hanging out?"
"Know it?," the old fighter pilot replied, "Hell yeah I know it . . .
. . . I WROTE IT!"