"Clair de Lune, Rhapsody in Blue, Ravel's Scarbo, and Chopin's Étude Op. 10 No. 4. I can only remember a handful."
5 comments:
KitKat
said...
“It’s a joy to see you play anything on my piano! Too bad it’s not a joy to hear you play as well. Never mind, here’s my version of the ‘Doctor Doolittle’ classic, ‘Talk to the Animals,’ with Libby and Pierre on backup vocals!”
Ah.. whine, cheese, and Debussy. What an evening this has turned out to be.
I for one can never forgive you for your limited reportoire, Ed. You need to get your priorities straight and spend more time tickling the ivories and less time euthanizing elderly pets and whining about it.
Meanwhile, the animals are seeking out their own fun, having escaped through Libby’s pet flap.
Odin spots Prof Cameron napping in a hammock; incorrectly (but logically) identifying Ian’s beard as his mother, he has snuggled right up to Ian’s capacious chest and is enjoying the faintly alcohol-scented snores Ian is emitting. They doze together.
Libby, unused to being unleashed, walks in circles, hunting for the mice which live in Mary’s rose garden.
Pierre- I’m a dog, da**it, not a pathetic cat!- happily relieves himself in Mary’s daffodils, over and over again, thinking, Ah,this is the life.
5 comments:
“It’s a joy to see you play anything on my piano! Too bad it’s not a joy to hear you play as well. Never mind, here’s my version of the ‘Doctor Doolittle’ classic, ‘Talk to the Animals,’ with Libby and Pierre on backup vocals!”
Ah.. whine, cheese, and Debussy. What an evening this has turned out to be.
I for one can never forgive you for your limited reportoire, Ed. You need to get your priorities straight and spend more time tickling the ivories and less time euthanizing elderly pets and whining about it.
Question: So, what's Claude Debussy doing nowadays?
Answer: Decomposing.
Sorry, I had nothing to add today but a very old, very bad joke.
HelenClark
Meanwhile, the animals are seeking out their own fun, having escaped through Libby’s pet flap.
Odin spots Prof Cameron napping in a hammock; incorrectly (but logically) identifying Ian’s beard as his mother, he has snuggled right up to Ian’s capacious chest and is enjoying the faintly alcohol-scented snores Ian is emitting. They doze together.
Libby, unused to being unleashed, walks in circles, hunting for the mice which live in Mary’s rose garden.
Pierre- I’m a dog, da**it, not a pathetic cat!- happily relieves himself in Mary’s daffodils, over and over again, thinking, Ah,this is the life.
Only 4 comments? Karen, the natives are getting restless. Let's move on people. Nothing to see here
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