u/Complete-Custard6747

All those petticoats must’ve made it smell like the back of an overheating PlayStation 4

Well I went back to Paris.
I said I wasn’t going to back to Paris but I went back!! On account of getting another text message from Mrs. George, or whatever they/them’s name is. Apparently there’s something seriously going down on the island of Mallorca and she just couldn’t bring her boywife with her this time.
So I knocked on the door and immediately George opened it. (Did I mention she’s like 4’11? Fuck. Scared the shit outta me) she didn’t look too happy and definitely looked like she was in a hurry.
“Mr. Chopin’s tummy ache is better, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” George Sand said. “Unfortunately, I had to summon you for bath night.”
I wasn’t sure what they/them meant. But she put something in my pocket and blew cigar smoke in my face before turning into a cherub and flying away. I love lesbians.
I entered the flat. The past two times I was here the Boywife in question was at the piano. This time, he was nowhere to be found.
“Mr. Chopin,” I called cautiously. “Mr. Chopin, your husband said its bath night.”
No answer.
I even looked inside of the piano. Inside the chamber pot. Inside the mini fridge (but there was off brand root beers in there).
So I opened the door to the washroom finally. There was indeed a full bubble bath. Mr. Chopin was standing beside it, obsessively patting down his severe side part.
“Oh, hi Fred,” I said. “Your husband said it’s bath night. Are you ready?”
Mr. Chopin whipped off his frock coat in the style of AALAMPOUR, but unfortunately he’s too feeble and fragile and fell right over. He whimpered. I actually think he did it on purpose so I’d pick him up.
When I put my hands under Mr. Chopin’s armpits, he went really really stiff and spoke to me in Polish: “Czy George ci powiedział, że kopię? Trudno mnie wsadzić do wanny. Czy George wspomniał też, że lubię gonić? Wiesz, co to oznacza, prawda?”
Luckily I’ve been taking lessons and replied “yes, Fred, I do know what a chaser is. Now let’s get your pants off ok?”
He was a kicker. He fought the whole time.
“I hope nobody chases me,” he said in English before taking off in a full sprint around the bathroom.
Luckily he’s like 90 pounds and can barely walk so he made it like a foot before I hog tied him with his own cravat.
At this point I was able to get Mr. Chopin in the tub.
“TOUCH MY FEET >:{“ he scowled as I washed everything but his feet.
“I’m sorry but your husband said I’m not allowed to touch your feet, Mr. Chopin.”
The Victorian boywife frowned once more. “George has given you something for me.”
That’s right. I reached into my pocket and it was a packet of Nestle hot chocolate. I was honestly relieved.
I made said mug of hot chocolate and when I came back into the bathroom Mr. Chopin had composed the entirety of Rondo in C minor while giggling.
“You’ve brought what you came here for me for!” He exclaimed as I handed him his hot choccy.
I think I might offer him ketamine next time.
7.6/10 because I’m covered in Parisian soap.

When I was a kid (ages 8-12, I'm 20 now) I went to music school for piano, and recently bought myself an electric keyboard. I remember the basic things, such as how to read the charts and the hand placement and posture, along with some childhood melodies but no real 'advanced' techniques and such.

One of my favourite pieces is La Campanella by Liszt and would it be possible to learn it as a beginner ? My true dream would be El Contrabandista, but that sounds even harder than La Campanella.

I know Liszt is is pretty hard in general and La Campanella sounds terrifying but is it doable with enough time and practice ? Or would it be better to stick to easier songs for now and slowly get closer to that level ?

For me, whenever my fingers get slightly sweating, my hand starts slipping all over the place and I start playing like a 5 year old. However, I’ve seen plenty of performers sweat on stage during long and virtuosic passages (cough cough trifonov) and they still play with great control and accuracy. For those that overcame those situations, what helped you the most?

I shoulda never gave that they/them bitch George my number after the first time I babysat her boywife Mr. Chopin because I got a text Monday letting me know to get to Paris ASAP.
No details, just that I would be compensated handsomely, and I quote “it’s really bad this time” whatever that meant
Hey did I mention George is like 4’11? She grabbed my dick and balls when I got there looked up at me and growled ‘he just finished a nocturne. DON’T TOUCH HIS FEET.’ Yeah ok George but last time he tried to trick me??!
Anyway George left so I went inside and that little Polish man was once again kicking his little feet at a Pleyel piano.
I said “hey, Fred. It’s me again. Your husband said it’s real bad this—“
That’s when I noticed the smell. It filled the whole Paris flat. Putrid, stinky stank, like a bus station bathroom full of dirty diapers. Or when a dumpster is in the sun, yknow?
Mr. Chopin looked at me. He was sweating so bad dude, monkey gripping the first draft of No. 1 in B-Flat Minor like somebody gonna snatch it from him.
“Tummy hurt :/“ he wheezed. “Real bad this time. Uppies, or else >:{“
Well, he remembered me, and I remembered how awful his Polish accent was.
I carried him into the bedroom where he demanded I remove his shoes, and I reminded him George said I was NOT allowed to touch his feet. He was still monkey gripping his nocturne and waived it above his head. I thought it was an offering so I tried to take it but he kept moving it around saying “HAH, HAH” very Polishly before breaking into an uncontrollable coughing fit and farting. Then he started to cry.
“George is so much nicer to me,” Chopin said.
“Please go to the bathroom,” I sighed. He was still monkey gripping the nocturne when he pathetically pulled his little pants down and exploded all over the chamber pot.
I left the room in disgust. I put Shosty on the record player to drown out the ploop ploops but it was to no avail.
I spent the night once more with the Polish man.
He wined all night until George came back. This time she did not ask me how I did, but wordlessly handed me an envelope full of cash. I put it in the bank this morning. Anyway I tested positive for Cyclospora. I don’t think I’ll be well enough to go back to Paris next week. 0/10

As someone who is neurodivergent i’m just curious what y’all think

Well since we live in the modern world full of different interesting activities. I was thinking what if I just used his schedule and lack of sleep and focused on song writing. Maybe it would improve I know I like to exercise and have different responsibilities but I think that type of dedication would definitely and had improved musicians songwriting etc.

Incredible he was a poor sleeper and played piano most of the day and night writing music he was just in love with music that much.

He gets real outta breath down there

I answered a Craigslist ad last week that said ‘Need someone to watch my pathetic boywife while I am out of town’
posted by ‘George’.
I thought, why not, I need the cash. So I went to the address which was an apartment in shithole Paris, and met the person named George who ended up being a they/them butch woman outside the apartment.
She said, ‘my boywife must be tended to. Don’t touch his feet.’ and left. No further explanation so I went inside.
There was a little fella sitting at a Pleyel piano kicking his tiny feet. I said ‘hey man, I think your husband hired me for the night.’
He took a breath and looked over at me and quietly said ‘Bonsoir.’
I have never wanted to throw up more in my entire life than hearing French spoken with a Polish accent. Like a homesick croissant.
He tried to stand up and made a really pathetic face at me. Then he wheezed, stuck out his lower lip, and pointed to the chaise lounge. I guess he wanted me to carry him 12 feet across his living room. I guess it was ok because he weighed like a newborn.
Then he frowned and said ‘tummy :(‘
So I asked him what’s wrong. He said ‘hongy :/‘
I asked what he could eat. He said ‘plain pasta.’
So I made him wet noodles and each forkful he said ‘Merci.’
Like ten minutes passed in complete silence except for tiny pasta sounds.
When he was done he demanded I take his shoes off. I said George said I’m not allowed to touch his feet. He said ‘Touch them, touch them, put my Polish dogs in your mouth and suck suck suck, I love it, I love it’
I ignored him and carried him into his bed, where he kicked his own little shoes off before saying ‘blanky’
I tucked in the Polish man in despite his petulant demands for being little spoon. But I was not going to get in bed with him. He smelled like boogers.
the front door opened and that they/them woman named George came in. She asked how he did and the Polish guy said ‘George I was so brave.’
Anyway I got paid three francs and a loaf of bread.
10/10 Would babysit the Victorian boywife again.

Fred Chopin was a girl that poops

Your impromptu was a fantasy