Brass Monkey Business

The tuba sounded the note that I wanted but at an uncontrollable octave - far too high. I pulled my head back, noticing I had implanted a baritone’s mouthpiece by mistake. The previous night’s whiskey escapades and pill-popping parade was still in effect.

Regardless, I continued playing, but the octave was far too high. Quite the clueless conundrum, but after I pulled my head back I noticed that there was a baritone’s mouthpiece inserted instead of the regulated tuba kind. Probably because of all the dope and booze I’d downed the night before. 

Was it deja vu or a concussion? Only the voices during my blackouts new for sure.

After settling the tuba inside of its crimson-cushioned case and hurling the baritone’s mouthpiece through the sliding door, consequently shattering the glass and circumstantially splitting the gardeners head open with the mouthpiece, I disrobed. Clad only in my red silk panties and an angry carnivorous hard-on, I descended into my tuba-shaped pool. The fingering keys were diving boards. 

Music had been good to me. As for the unrecognizable trio passed out on the submerged staircase, I'm not sure if they had been good to me, but they were alive. I didn't need another incident like the billiards room and the overdosing Croation princess again.

 All three stragglers were brunettes; two of them were momentary strangers while the one with her chin dipped into her breasts was Aklana – a flutist from the orchestra I was performing with. After my first lap through the pool, I looked at the backs of the other twos heads and recognized them immediately. Joanna – a cellist and Elizebel – a violinist, both from the same orchestra. Or were they hookers I found outside of Miko's tavern?

Whomever and whatever, I hoped they didn’t mind waking up naked, strung out on the homemade cocaine my agent provided. That was how I found them; birthday suits, powdered noses and all. That yayo left quite the impression on one’s senses. I once swore that my heart was beating so fast that I travelled back in time and performed an undiscovered concerto with Antonio Vivaldi entitled Hallowed Dildo in Winter.

Joanna soon awoke while I was dipping my nose into the share of the homemade narcotic I had formed race lines with across her chest. Luckily she was still remarkably thrashed. She smiled and once I crossed the finish line she dipped her head underwater, removed my favorite panties, and performed a tongued rendition of Johannes Brahms Cello Sonata in F along my grumpy cock. Fineldo, the gardener I had accidentally brained and quite possibly lacerated with my incorrect baritone mouthpiece made a gurgling noise which wasn’t a good sign, so I grabbed an empty, over tipped champagne bottle and brained him again. That shut him up.

Unfortunately, it was also time for me to make my way to the stadium to prepare for that night's performance. I hoisted myself onto the pool’s edge with Joanna clinging to my now un-grumpy dick like a catfish to a log of meat hooked to a fishing reel.

My fishing enthusiastic friends were right; you have got to get them early when they’re hungry.

I dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, threw on some sneakers and my favorite black trench coat all the while searching for my favorite tuba mouthpiece, which I could not locate. I kept a spare in one of the stadium’s lockers for such an occasion, so I ceased probing for my favorite one, but the mystery of its location left me uneasy, but a bump of home-cocaine and a mouth-rinsing swig of Gentleman Jack perked me right up. I told the ladies to see themselves out and call an ambulance for Fineldo, saluted my photograph of me and Vivaldi holding a dildo shaped like a Christmas tree, and headed for the bus stop.

The ride was pleasant, mostly because I was numb from the last bump of Snow White. I stood so as not to pass out and miss my stop like I had two days ago after the night the conductor invited me to his home for a dinner party/transvestite modeling show, which was quite impressive, and trannies always seem to have the best drugs.

I was dropped three blocks from the stadium. At the second crosswalk I dug my hands into my coat pockets. In my right one I felt something metallic. It was my favorite tuba mouthpiece. I was elated, then I sniffed it – I always sniff it when I first hold it – don’t know why. It smelled like Joanna’s mouth, which was perplexing but not uncommon. I’m just wondering how the hell it wound up in my coat pocket.