Tasteless humor

No political correctness (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You have been warned. The joke that follows is tasteless. But funny. I have a theory that jokes that are tasteless and funny are funnier than jokes that are merely funny. And of course they are funnier than jokes that are tasteless and not funny. Because those are not jokes are they? They're just tasteless stories.

Anyway I've now given you a whole paragraph in which to decide whether you want to read a joke that I guarantee is tasteless and I believe (but do not guarantee) is funny. Oh, what the hell. I guarantee it's funny, too. Or double your money back.

This was prompted by one of my daughters sending me a link to this article: "Singing show tunes helps fight off dementia: study."

English: Early 1990s TaB Clear soda can (US, 12 oz.--355 ml.) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Phillip Armstrong was a music teacher with a mission: he wanted to bring music to mentally challenged individuals, people who used to be called, in the old days before political correctness, morons. Philip believed that somehow music could reach them, help them connect with the world, and move them toward a better life.

Philip was frustrated. It didn't as all go as he'd planned. He tried to get them to learn the music--and they did--sort of. But some would sing the first measure while other sang the second and others the fifth. Same thing with the words. They'd learn the words--some of them--and then they'd add their own words and they'd sing them in whatever order pleased them. Same with the tempo.

It was chaos. And not musical at all.

But he did notice something: when he waved his arms in time with the music, some of the singers matched the tempo. Wrong words, wrong notes, but some had the right tempo. That was an improvement.

One day he picked up the first thing he saw in front of him: a big red apple that he'd packed as part of his lunch and started waving it in one of his hands. One by one the singers locked their eyes on the big, red apple and as they did their singing changed: they started to hit the right notes along with the right words and at the right tempo.

Heartened, he reached down and picked up another bit of his lunch: it happened to be a bright pink can of Tab soda. In his right hand he waved the apple. In his left the soda. And the music changed. It sent chills down his spine. Suddenly the singers were finding the tempo, the notes, and the right words. Once they locked in on them they locked in, solid. And somehow they were singing harmonies--harmonies that he hadn't taught them!

As he continued waving his arms they kept getting better. Their confidence grew, and so did his. They followed every movement of his hands with their voices. Louder, softer, faster, slower. They saw what he wanted and they delivered it.

The connection he'd hoped for was happening. The music was transforming them, and they were transforming the music. Hour by hour they got better and better.

Eventually they were so good that Philip had them perform locally. They astounded everyone who heard them--including a man who was an agent for a recording company. He signed them to a contract. They recorded their music and it went right to the top of the charts.

Within a year they were touring the world led by Phillip, still waving his arms with the two things he'd originally picked up that day. He'd tried different things, but none of them worked. Only a bright red apple and a bright pink can of Tab did the trick.

The singers became famous.

Perhaps you've heard of them.

The Moron Tab and Apple Choir.