A Big Mistake
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It was a beautiful, sunny, hot day. Good for picnics, bad for marching band practice. You know those days. The ones where the director comes out of his office, annoyingly cheerful, and says, "What a wonderful day! I'm so eager to begin practicing! Come on guys, let's backmarch at a really fast tempo for a really long time!" Everyone's soon grumpy and tired of marching around in the heat, holding up their sweaty instruments. Each section was complaining about how their instrument was the hardest to march with.
"OUR'S is the worst," said a flutist, "We have to hold ours straight up in the air, sideways. You guys think YOU have it hard! All you do is hold it out straight. Easy!"
"Yeah," shot back a saxophone player, "But our's are MUCH heavier. So we win. You lose."
The band director was tired of all the bickering. "Come on guys, I have a treat for you all!"
The entire band was a bit suspicious, since 'treats' from band directors usually involve strange CDs with scary music ("It's baaaaaaaaaannnnnddd-tastic!"), or being told about a 62432 mile long parade the band will be marching in next week. Backwards. With lots of steep hills. Because backmarching is the devil.
He disappeared into the school, which was a bit weird, since you should never trust band geeks alone. They end up having "I can blare louder than you!" contests which disturb the neighbors and result in many complaints, or planning a revolution against the drum major or the flute section or something.
But he was back within a few seconds, with a cooler, and was soon forcing cans of Mountain Dew on everyone.
A big mistake.
Within a few minutes, the cans had been opened and were half gone. Some were having guzzling contests, others were having Mountain Dew splash fights, and the rest were just plain hyper.
"I know!" said the sousaphone player, "I'll be a piccolo for today!"
The saxophones were having races to see how could skip around the track the fastest, while juggling their instruments.
A trumpet fell off the top row of the bleachers. How it got up there, and what it was doing, nobody knows. Its owner ran after it, laughing madly, clutching his can of Mountain Dew. He picked it up and began playing a drunken version of the school alma mater. The rest of the trumpet players joined in, all playing it in different key signatures, resulting in a horrible sound.
It was too much for the drum major, who fainted.
The rest of the band grabbed the drum major and hauled him off into the woods.
And this is why you never give a band Mountain Dew.
I've been there.
And it's not pretty.
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Wheeeee!
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It was a beautiful, sunny, hot day. Good for picnics, bad for marching band practice. You know those days. The ones where the director comes out of his office, annoyingly cheerful, and says, "What a wonderful day! I'm so eager to begin practicing! Come on guys, let's backmarch at a really fast tempo for a really long time!" Everyone's soon grumpy and tired of marching around in the heat, holding up their sweaty instruments. Each section was complaining about how their instrument was the hardest to march with.
"OUR'S is the worst," said a flutist, "We have to hold ours straight up in the air, sideways. You guys think YOU have it hard! All you do is hold it out straight. Easy!"
"Yeah," shot back a saxophone player, "But our's are MUCH heavier. So we win. You lose."
The band director was tired of all the bickering. "Come on guys, I have a treat for you all!"
The entire band was a bit suspicious, since 'treats' from band directors usually involve strange CDs with scary music ("It's baaaaaaaaaannnnnddd-tastic!"), or being told about a 62432 mile long parade the band will be marching in next week. Backwards. With lots of steep hills. Because backmarching is the devil.
He disappeared into the school, which was a bit weird, since you should never trust band geeks alone. They end up having "I can blare louder than you!" contests which disturb the neighbors and result in many complaints, or planning a revolution against the drum major or the flute section or something.
But he was back within a few seconds, with a cooler, and was soon forcing cans of Mountain Dew on everyone.
A big mistake.
Within a few minutes, the cans had been opened and were half gone. Some were having guzzling contests, others were having Mountain Dew splash fights, and the rest were just plain hyper.
"I know!" said the sousaphone player, "I'll be a piccolo for today!"
The saxophones were having races to see how could skip around the track the fastest, while juggling their instruments.
A trumpet fell off the top row of the bleachers. How it got up there, and what it was doing, nobody knows. Its owner ran after it, laughing madly, clutching his can of Mountain Dew. He picked it up and began playing a drunken version of the school alma mater. The rest of the trumpet players joined in, all playing it in different key signatures, resulting in a horrible sound.
It was too much for the drum major, who fainted.
The rest of the band grabbed the drum major and hauled him off into the woods.
And this is why you never give a band Mountain Dew.
I've been there.
And it's not pretty.
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Wheeeee!
