Oh, percussion are weird. They're the only section I know that uses their instrument as anger management. They're usually beatnik or gothic, skater or maybe just plain weird. Their section gets up every morning at five, and goes outside to learn "sticking techniques". Percussionists are the only people I know who have ever threatened to beat up someone with their instrument, except one weird trumpet player. But that involved a coat hanger and 12 white lab mice, which was a long story. But most the most important thing to understand about percussion is that they hate band. The only thing they hate more than band is the band director, and band isn't that far behind.
The percussion skit consisted of noise. It started with one guy sitting in a metal folding chair in the middle of the court. He sat down and started dragging his stick across a huge water cooler. Soon, another percussionist came out. The first guy dropped his stick in curiosity, and walked over to the second.
"Paul," he asked very uneasily. The two drummers did what appeared to be a secret hand shake, and the first exclaimed, "Paul!" The first percussionist then returned to his stick and water jug. The second percussionist proceeded to pull a pair of sticks out of his baggy pants and bang on the gym floor with them.
Suddenly, a third guy walked out, dragging an old broken down camp vacuum behind him. Both of the first percussionists dropped their sticks in fear. The first percussionist sprinted to the new comer and asked in panic, "Paul?" The third performed the same secret hand shake. The three percussionists looked at the stands and said in unison, "PAUL!"
The first two percussionists picked up their sticks and go back to their noise making. The third sees this, watched for a moment, obviously in deep concentration. After a few moments he shrugs and began running frantically around the court. As he ran he dragged the vacuum along behind him. Of course the broken down vacuum created quite a raucous and got many laughs from the stands.
Sure enough, out popped percussionists numbers four and five, brandishing two basket balls. The first two percussionists again dropped their sticks in unison. The fellow with the vacuum heard this and stopped in his tracks, which sent the vacuum soaring across the gym.
"PAUL?" The three percussionists screamed. Again hand shakes were given, and again identity was confirmed. This pattern continued over and over, each time a new Paul appeared, each time Paul had something new to create noise with. Eventually all 8 percussionists were on the court jamming to a syncopated rhythm with their seemingly useless noise makers. The performance ended with a big bash and the guy with the vacuum nearly killing himself. See? Strange.
Low brass was next. What is there to say about low brass? Well this skit included trombones, baritones, sousaphones, and horns, although horns aren't a part of low brass. Trombones are zombies. Tubas are full of it, or full of themselves. Baritones are weird. Horns are just plain obnoxious. Yeah, low brass is pretty… out there.
Ha, finally! Color guard was up. Color guard girls are fun, but they often live up to their ditzy reputation. They're the spunkiest members of the group, and coffee and color guard do not mix. The skit was awesome though, the dance was totally on. Everyone was impressed.
Next came the trumpet. Boy are they a piece of work. Life is a game to them, and they're the most important ones in it. They're fun to be around most of the time, but they tend to say hurtful things. Either they do it on purpose or they just don't realize it. Trumpet players are the goof offs of the bunch. An awesome trumpet player at a high school level is one in a million, but when you have one, your band has it made. Trumpets tend to take music whatever speed they want; making entrances where ever they please, and playing just as loud as they can. They also like to blame it on the saxophones.
The trumpet skit was as out there as expected. It consisted of Cameron sitting in the middle of the court on a folding chair. He wrapped a towel around his head, and put up a sign that read: "Shoe Gypsy". The shoe gypsy then proceeded to call "volunteers" from the audience. The first volunteer, a freshman trumpet, walked uneasily up to the gypsy, who held out his hand in an expectant manner. The volunteer gave the gypsy a high five. The gypsy looked at the young trumpet player like he was a moron. He pointed his fellow section member's shoe, and again placed out his hand in an expectant manner. The freshman uneasily obeyed, handing over his shoe to the senior. The gypsy then proceeded to study the shoe very carefully. He even took a long sniff of the sweaty old marching sneaker, causing many laughs and groans of disgust from the audience.
"You will die alone and unhappy, but not until you have squandered your father's fortune," announced the gypsy. The poor freshman ripped his shoe away and stormed back to the stands. The audience roared with laughter. "Alright! Silence," the gypsy commanded. "I am ready for my next vict— customer!"
A few more trumpets were called onto the court. The gypsy had something very funny to say for each. But then came an unexpected turn.
"I seek the one with the long, smooth, luscious legs," the gypsy began, making every girl in the audience uneasy, "the brunette who carries… a whistle and white leather gloves!"
"NO WAY, MAN," was the scream from Eddie's direction. No one had caught on as fast as Eddie did. Smooth luscious legs, hah, that was funny. The gypsy patted his lap, as if inviting Eddie into it. Eddie shook his head slowly but forcefully, with a huge smile plastered on his face, which was now a blushing shade of red. Eventually, with a little encouragement from the trumpets, Eddie went out to the gypsy. It took a little more encouragement to actually get him to sit in the gypsy's lap. This hadn't been planned, or at least Eddie had been conveniently left out of the loop.
The gypsy coaxed Eddie's shoe off of him, and proceeded to expect in the usual manner. This time, however, he took a big long lick of the bottom of the shoe. Gross me out! They gypsy predicted that Eddie would need a new bottle of hair remover soon, and sent his victim back to his seat. The audience nearly died laughing. The gypsy put away his sign and carried the metal chair back into the storage room outside the gym.
While the gypsy did this, the next group was announced. Of course, who else? Senior girls were up.