Musician's Suitcase

On their way to a classical music concert, a mother and daughter board the subway. “Look over there,” the mother says, “The man with the big suitcase. That’s the musician we are going to see in concert tonight!” Just as the mother speaks, the man reaches into his suitcase and pulls out a shiny violin.
The musician stands up. “Excuse me,” he says, “but I need to practice for my concert, I hope you don’t mind.” The people sitting around him grumble an incoherent response. “Thank you,” he says. Then he bends down and whispers into his suitcase, “You guys can come out now.”
Two completely naked little people, a little man and a little woman, climb out of the suitcase. The musician looks at them and says, “90 please.” At which point the little people immediately begin to make passionate love.
“Oh my gosh!” The mother screams.
Fwap, fwap, fwap, comes the rhythmic sound of the little people’s lovemaking to a stunned crowd. Then the musician begins to play. His violin sings of sadness and loss, love and beauty, and by the time the song is over nearly everyone has tears in their eyes.
For a moment, there is complete silence. Then thunderous applause fills the train.
The mother and daughter approach the musician. “That was incredible,” the mother says, “but…do you need the midgets having sex? There are children here!”
The musician reaches down and rests his hand proudly on the naked little man’s shoulder, “Of course! This is the best fucking metro gnome I could find.”

Your Repertoire.

Jacques Thibault, the violinist, was once handed an autograph book by a fan while in the green room after a concert. "There's not much room on this page," he said. "What shall I write?" Another violinist, standing by, offered the following helpful hint, "Write your repertoire."

Lectropositive Mama

'Lectropositive Mama (tune, Lady Madonna)
'Letropositive mama, Cesium on your meat, Wonder how you manage, To stay on your feet. How d'ya stand the smokin'? How d'ya 'bide the flame? Do you think that life's just A burnin' game. Monday night your hunger's a blue fire, Tuesday morn' you're cookin' 'fore the sun. Wednesday rain, you're only flamin' higher, Having your fun. 'Lectropositive mama, Cinders in your curls, No way can compare you, To ordinary girls. Likin' the explosions, Rock you on your seat. How can any woman handle All that heat?