Things overheard in the music building:




“1/4? Really? Who writes a measure of ¼. WHY would you write a measure of ¼?” 
“Because fuck you that’s why.” 

“I will literally trade you my sandwich for that practice room.” 
“Dude you should eat your lunch.” 
“I won’t be able to eat it if my teacher decapitates me for not practicing JUST TAKE IT.”

“I always wanted to look inside the percussion room. It’s like Narnia, but noisier.” 

“Satan created piccolos to punish the trumpets for their pride.” 

“I’m thinking about dropping music history.” 
“But why, don’t you need that class?”
“Yes but half of it is non-music majors and two people were having a discussion about why there were hashtags at the beginning of the music.”

“So my teacher convinced me to take the History of Rock and Roll over the Summer but it was an online course and he found the webcam filters and inevitably the first unit ended up being taught by a talking dinosaur on my webcam. This man teaches college theory.”

“SHH. Don’t say the theory teacher’s name. He’s like Beetlejuice. If you say it three times he’ll appear behind you and fuck your shit up.”

“I found out Mozart had a butt fetish and I’m never going to be able to stop calling him Mozfart.” 

“If I see a drink within 100 feet of that Steinway I will track you down and beat you with my harpsichord.”  

“Theres no way a tuba can fit in that tiny ass locker.”
“Not with that attitude.”

~somebody accidentally slams the piano keys with the backpack~

“It’s just simple stomps and claps.”
“I’m a SINGER. If I could stomp and clap don’t you think I’d be SOMETHING ELSE?!”

“It’s a simple repetition.”
“You’re a simple repetition.”
“Shut the fuck up.”

Me (drunk in a practice room at 3am because I wanted to see how it felt to play trombone when I can’t feel my face. Also, I’m slamming the piano keys with my forearms): FUCK YOU I’M HENRY COWELL