Give the audience a box of asthma
From Create Your Own Story
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You hear Palestrina's (God's) voice say something in 16th century Italian. You tell him you don't fucking speak 16th century Italian and can't understand a damn word he is saying. He kindly repeats what he has said in unaccented 21st century English. Oh, this is how you always imagined things would play out. He tells you he say how you handled all the crises that Monteverdi (Satan) had put in font of you, and the beauty of the honey your musicians have made. He tells you he is stepping down from the position of God, and now you have become God, eternal master of all bees and now beekeepers. You raise your arms above your heand and ascend from the concert hall into heaven. You have successfully completed your mission. | You hear Palestrina's (God's) voice say something in 16th century Italian. You tell him you don't fucking speak 16th century Italian and can't understand a damn word he is saying. He kindly repeats what he has said in unaccented 21st century English. Oh, this is how you always imagined things would play out. He tells you he say how you handled all the crises that Monteverdi (Satan) had put in font of you, and the beauty of the honey your musicians have made. He tells you he is stepping down from the position of God, and now you have become God, eternal master of all bees and now beekeepers. You raise your arms above your heand and ascend from the concert hall into heaven. You have successfully completed your mission. | ||
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| + | Music has now become purified, and has left Earth because of you. Now you will spend your days enveloped in warm honey watching Bruckner completely nibble away at J.S. Bach's wig until he has to get a new one for Bruckner to nibble at. You have reached paradise. | ||
Current revision as of 17:52, 8 July 2017
You reach under your podium and grab your emergency stash of asthma boxes to give to the audience in case something like this would occur. You have one of the violists hand you a couple of boxes at a time while your flailing epileptic arms equally distribute them across the concert hall.
You distribute them all before the disgusting man can give them the cough drops. Suddenly, the audience coughs two times in quick succession completing the ritual. The disgusting man cries and melt into the floor, while your musicians finish on the good chord, stand up, go insane, and die. There is suddenly a light that comes down from above, and you look up and hear Living Room Music by John Cage and you can see Anton Bruckner nibbling at J.S. Bach's wig. Yes, this is the heaven as you have always imagined it.
You hear Palestrina's (God's) voice say something in 16th century Italian. You tell him you don't fucking speak 16th century Italian and can't understand a damn word he is saying. He kindly repeats what he has said in unaccented 21st century English. Oh, this is how you always imagined things would play out. He tells you he say how you handled all the crises that Monteverdi (Satan) had put in font of you, and the beauty of the honey your musicians have made. He tells you he is stepping down from the position of God, and now you have become God, eternal master of all bees and now beekeepers. You raise your arms above your heand and ascend from the concert hall into heaven. You have successfully completed your mission.
Music has now become purified, and has left Earth because of you. Now you will spend your days enveloped in warm honey watching Bruckner completely nibble away at J.S. Bach's wig until he has to get a new one for Bruckner to nibble at. You have reached paradise.
