An out of work pianist with Tourettes Syndrome is strolling around the streets and bars of Soho one unemployed afternoon. Walking down Dean Street he sees a lounge bar with a sign in the window 'Pianist wanted for evening performances'. 'Fu**ing get in there you c*nt!' he says to himself and goes to the bar. 'Get the fu**ing manager of this pig **it middle class w*nkhole please you c*nt', he says to a somewhat startled barman. The barman however obliges and his manager comes upstairs. 'Can I help you sir?' he says. 'Yes you can you fat piece of s*it, I saw your poxy advert in the c*nting window and I'm here to audition.....w*nker.' The manager is naturally put off by the man's abrasive manner but his dire need for a top class pianist forces him to agree to an audition. The first tune the Pianist plays is an uplifting jazzy number, not too involved, yet utterly melodic. At the end the thrilled barman cries, 'Wonderful, wonderful. What was that called?' 'That song, you big nosed tw*t, was called "Excuse me prime minister but I just j*zzed in your daughter's eye, and now the c*nts blind...' 'Oh' says the manager 'err, can you play me another. Something a little less "lively".' 'W*nker..' interjects the pianist before launching into a powerful ballad which leaves the manager in tears. The manager through his salty teardrops asks him the title. 'That little number was called "Sometimes when you do a bird up the sh*t box you get cr*p on your bell end.' 'I see' says the manager, 'Have you got any songs with less offensive titles?' 'Well there's my jazz number "Do you want me to split your r*ngpiece", or there's the epic "I don't care if you're older my dear, you've still got nice jugs". 'Look' says the manager interrupting, 'I think you're a superb pianist but the title of your songs are a little âracy". I will hire you on the condition that you do not introduce your songs or speak to the audience.' âF*ck it' says the pianist 'Why not'. On his first night everything is going superbly the crowd are lapping up his repertoire and his silence is being received as modesty. The only thing putting off the pianist is that in the front row there is a gorgeous blonde in a black evening dress with a split up the side revealing the tops of her stockings, and a plunging neckline which boasts a proud and inviting cleavage. During the interval the pianist has got such a stonking hard on that he decides to go to the bog and knock one out. Just as he has shot his muck he hears himself being re-introduced over the tannoy, so he rushes back to the stage and finishes his act. After the show he is at the bar relaxing when the blonde approaches him. 'Hi' she says. 'Hello' he winces, struggling to hold in the expletives. She leans over and whispers in his ear, 'Do you know your c*ck is hanging out of your trousers, and sp*nk is dribbling onto your shoes?' 'Know it?' says the pianist putting his beer on the bar confidently, 'I f*cking wrote it!!!