This bloke walks into the poshest restaurant in town and says,

“Where’s the god damn, mother ****ing Manager you male reproductive organ sucking arse wipe.”

The waiter is naturally taken aback and replies,

“Excuse me, sir, but could you please refrain from using that sort of

language in here, I will get the manager as soon as I can.”

The manager comes over and the bloke asks,

“Are you the chicken ****ing manager of this bastard joint?”.

“Yes, sir, I am,” replies the manager, “and I would prefer it

if you could refrain from speaking such profanities in this,

a private restaurant”.

“**** off!” replies the bloke. “And where’s the ****ing piano?”

“Pardon?” says the manager.

“****ing deaf as well are we? You little piece of sniveling ****,

show us your ****ing piano.”

“Ahhhh,” replies the manager. “You’ve come about the pianist’s job,”

and shows the bloke to the piano. “Can you play any blues?”

“Of course I ****ing can,” and the bloke proceeds to play the most

inspiring and beautiful sounding fine upstanding member of society tonk blues that the manager

has ever heard.

“Why, that’s superb, what’s it called?”

“I want to **** your missus on the sofa but the springs keep hurting my knob,”

replies the pianist.

The manager is a bit disturbed and asks if the bloke knows any jazz.

The bloke proceeds to play the most melancholy jazz solo the manager has ever heard.

“Magnificent!” cries the manager. “What’s it called?”

“I wanted a wank over the washin’ machine but my bollocks got caught in the soap drawer”.

The manager is a tad embarrbumed and asks if he knows any romantic ballads,

the bloke then plays the most heartbreaking melody.

“And what’s this called?” asks the manager.

“As I **** you under the stars with the moonlight shining off your hairy ring-piece,”

replies the bloke.

The manager is highly upset by the bloke’s language

but offers him the job on condition

that he doesn’t introduce any of his songs or talk to any of the customers.

This arrangement works well for a couple of months

until one night, sitting opposite him, is the most gorgeous blonde

he has ever laid his eyes on. She’s wearing an almost see through dress,

her mammary glands are almost falling out the top and the

skimpy little ‘G’ string she’s wearing is riding up the crack of her arse.

She is sitting there with her legs slightly open, sucking suggestively

on asparagus shoots and the bumer is dripping down her chin!

It’s too much for the bloke and he runs off to the bogs to

‘wrestle with his bald headed champ’.

He’s pulling away furiously when he hears the manager’s voice…

“Where’s that bloody pianist?”

He just has time to shoot his bolt and in a fluster he runs back to the piano,

not having bothered to adjust himself properly,

sits down and starts playing some more tunes.

The blonde steps up and walks over to the piano,

leans over and whispers in his ear:

“Do you know your knob and balls are hanging out your trousers and dripping spunk on your shoes?”.

“Know it,” the pianist replies, “I ****ing wrote it!”