Whistler’s-a-motherf***er

Enjoy da Music

(originally published on Xanga September 04, 2012)

I like to whistle. What can I say? I do it all day, every day! If you’re nearby I hope you enjoy listening to it cuz if I’m around you’re gonna be hearing it! It don’t matter where I am –  on the train, in the supermarket, at work. Hell, I even do it at the library and in movie theatres during the feature presentation. I don’t give a fuck! Anybody who don’t like it can go fuck themselves!

Anyway, I’ve always prided myself on my diverse musical tastes and I tend to reflect that in my whistling. Sometimes I’ll whistle a straight tune. Other times I’ll sustain one constant note, like a fucking tea kettle. Then there are times when I chirp like a bird. At other times I get all avant-fucking-garde, whistling up a series of arbitrary notes all around the musical fucking scale.

For the most part, people enjoy my whistling – love it really. I mean who wouldn’t? Every now and then though I do come across a fucking asshole or two who wants to rain on everybody’s parade and shut down my beautiful fucking serenade – like the other day at work. I’m sitting at my desk, minding my own business, cruising ‘round the net while whistling my favorite tunes from the Air Supply catalog. Next thing you know Donny Dickface comes over and, in his lispy homo voice, is all like “Um, ‘scuse me but do you think you can maybe not whistle?” I nearly lost my shit! But I’m a professional.

“Oh, am I bothering you?” I asked the dick wad.

“Well actually, yes. You see, I’m trying to write this RFP response but it’s really difficult to concentrate with your constant whistling.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I sympathized, “but whistling helps me to relax so if it bothers you I guess you’re gonna have to learn to ignore it.”

The fucker then got all belligerent on me.  He was like “I’ve tried my best but I’m afraid I just can’t ignore it. I have something really important that I have to get done within the next two hours but I can’t seem to make any progress when I have to listen to you blowing ‘I’m All Out of Love’ out of your lips in a piercing high pitched tweet.”

“Actually, that was ‘Even the Nights are Better’ not ‘I’m All Out of Love’.” That shithead knows nothing about classic rock!

“Whatever! I don’t wanna listen to it while I’m trying to work! How would you like it if I brought my trumpet in and went all Dizzy Gillespie in your ears when you were trying to get something done?”

“I ain’t playing no trumpet,” I said, “I’m just whistling.”

“Either way, can you stop, please?!”

“No, I ain’t gonna stop! This is a free country faggot. If I wanna whistle cuz it helps me relax at work then I’m sure as fuck gonna whistle.”

He was being a real douche. Even that old hag Bertha Chestnut thought so and hobbled to my defense. “Don’t you listen to that jerk,” she said, “You have a lovely whistle.”

Ah, sweet Bertha Chestnut. Nobody quite knows what the fuck she does around here but she’s been with the company since like 1947. “I’m computer illiterate and I plan to stay that way,” she’s fond of saying.

“That’s the trouble nowadays,” Bertha continued, “people don’t whistle any more. When I was younger, everybody whistled! Back then we couldn’t afford those fancy phonograph machines that all the kids have these days so if you wanted music when you was doin’ the Charleston you would have to make it yourself by whistling.”

I’m not exactly sure what the fuck the Charleston is but I always hear old people talk about it. I think it might be what they used to do for fun before they invented fucking. Anyway, Bertha and I started a lengthy conversation about how much better things would be if more people whistled. I told her about this article I read about a school teacher in Atlanta who got her students to start whistling in class and all around the school. It was an experiment based on some study they did in England that showed how whistling makes you more focused. Those tooting fucks actually improved their test scores by like 300%! Maybe if queer boy here actually listened to what I was saying he could have learned something that might have helped him get that RFP done. Instead he just threw his hands up in the air and stormed away.

The next day I lodged a formal harassment complaint with HR against the fucking asshole-face and got him fired. Good riddens to bad rubbish!

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One thought on “Whistler’s-a-motherf***er

  1. Pingback: City of Traffic | SKANLYN

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