My Favorite Musician's Joke

A jazz trumpet player dies in a subway mishap and instantly finds himself in what must be heaven. He starts walking around, taking in the sights. He notices that everything is light, fluffy, soft colors and such he says to himself, “Like wow, it's so pastel...” He sees people sitting around, plucking harps, lyres and dulcimers and muses “Whoa, it's like, so, modal.” He continues wandering, becoming more and more bored. Tries flying with the wings he seems to have sprouted with little success and thinks “Must take pixie dust or some shit like that.” He wonders why there hasn't been any explanation or introductions made. He wants a cigarette but has none.

Out of nowhere comes a very different looking angel. This one has long, shoulder length curly hair, a brightly colored set of robes that look like the caftans Miles Davis used to design. As he comes closer the musician sees that he's wearing black frame RayBans, and is carrying a gorgeous full on Harry James circus trumpet in one hand. The weird angel walks up to him and offers out his hand for some skin saying, “Hey baby, I just got hipped that you were here, welcome to heaven. That's where you are, all musician's go straight through, no line, no grouchy saints at the gates, right on in. I'm archangel Gabriel, but the cats all just call me Gabe. I'm going to get you all slick with the scene up here. Did you bring your ax?”

The trumpet man starts feeling about his robes and, like magic, finds his favorite trumpet, except now it's gold with silver filigree highlights and a solid gold Rubicon mouthpiece. He think about a Horning mute and it just appears in his other hand. He starts to smile.

Gabe continues, “The scene here is mind blowing kid, we have an eternal jam session, everybody, playing everything all the time. No matter what you want to blow, it's happening right here. You want to blow classics? They all here baby. Bach, Beethoven, Handel, Chopin, all them, all the time playing. Want to blow Mozart? That child sets records baby, never quits, he asked once about playing some pool but we don't have money up here and he got bored real fast. You want jazz? Harry's here, Ella, Satch, Miles, Train, Dexter, Krupa, Goodman, both Dorseys, you want in? Just tune up and sit. They been asking about you. Want blues? We got Bessie, Billy, Son House, Robert Johnson (there was no deal baby, you can dance with the devil but he don't let nobody else play), Blind Lemon, all them, all here, always playing. Rock? Hah! Those kids are dropping like flies baby, we got them all too. Anything you want, anytime you want it. How's that for Heaven?”

The jazz baby is starting to dance a bit, warming his mouthpiece in his hands, working his lips in and out, trying to decide where to sit in first. He says “Yeah, this is heaven, this really is heaven, where's Miles? Ain't had much work since he been gone, I want to see Miles again. This is HEAVEN.”

Gabriel says, “Yeah, heaven it is, Miles is right over there, see? But before you go, I got to tell you one more thing. OK? See, God's got this girlfriend, and, well, she, likes to sing. Dig?”