What’s the name of that pianist that turned his back to the crowd and looked out the driver side window at the “winding river?” And why did they force him to wear a top hat as he chauffeured them up the Pacific Coast Highway? The top hat was so tall that modifications had to be made to the roof to accommodate the hat’s height.
They were up the night before, sawing slovenly at the roof, drunk on moscato, making a crude hole for the hat. “This will be good for a laugh. Wait and see his face when we show him the hat and the hole.”
The hole worked for a time. However, some miles into their journey along the “winding river,” the jagged edges along the circumference of the hole gnawed at the felt hat. It didn’t last long once the hole’s teeth got ahold of it. The pianist went to remove the hat, in near tatters, but they hollered, still drunk on cheap cloying wine, “No! No! Don’t take off the hat. Sooo hilarious.”
The pianist did as he was told, concealing his irritation. The hole licked its lips and went to town.
More about: Dominik Von Senger, Montezumas Rache
