If you can read this, either the style sheet didn't load or you have an older browser that doesn't support style sheets. Try clearing your browser cache and refreshing the page.

(SFGate)   Unlike a cello in the clutches of the TSA, this oboist managed to keep his oboe from harm. While collapsing to the ground from a brain hemorrhage. During a performance   (sfgate.com) divider line 46
    More: Scary, TSA, symphony  
•       •       •

5627 clicks; posted to Main » on 25 Feb 2013 at 9:37 AM (1 year ago)   |  Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



46 Comments   (+0 »)
   
View Voting Results: Smartest and Funniest

Archived thread
 
2013-02-25 09:40:58 AM
Backpressure's a biatch.
 
2013-02-25 09:43:44 AM
That isn't possible, he isn't fat.  I was told only fat people have a risk of stroke and heart attacks.

I know better, my older bro just turned 42 and suffered a stroke back in 2011.  He is just as skinny as the guy in the article.  His diet does consist of a lot of processed foods, mainly Totinos pizza rolls and Gatorade.  He thinks all that salt is healthier, then the pop and chocolate he used to consume.  If only his mom cooked real meals more often, and lived with dad, he would have gotten in the habit of snacking on raw vegies more.  I did notice the poor fellow in the article does have prior cancer issues, and I do hope for his recovery.

/we have different moms
//he is first born of first marriage, I am first born of second marriage
///orange and red bell peppers are delicious even without dip
 
2013-02-25 09:44:44 AM
The article was a quick reed.
 
2013-02-25 09:48:46 AM
This man put the "oh" in "oh-buh-muh-moe."
 
2013-02-25 09:56:23 AM
Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break.  There was this old man who sat on a stool by the door, holding a little tray of cologne and breath mints.  He sat there slumped, in a dark blue suit, thick framed eyeglasses, and deep creases that ran from the corners of his mouth.  He stared straight ahead, holding the little tray, like a little crack in the universe where the ever trickling waters of sadness leaked away behind the everyday scenes.  As I walked toward him, he blinked and his eyes stayed closed.  He sat there for just a moment, then pitched forward, falling face first to the piss-scuffed floor.  But he kept that little tray up, the little mints and sweet smells that served as his livelihood, balanced forever on his fingertips.  And he was dead.

This other guy in the bathroom starts freaking out, laughing, "Did you see that shiat?  Do you farking see that?  Dude just keeled over and died!  Holy fark I'm tripping my nuts out!  Who does that?"

He took out his cell phone and started taking pictures of the warm corpse holding the tray.

Gently, I reached down, took one of the chalky, Easter colored mints, and pushed it into the old man's mouth.  He probably never ate a single one, hoping instead to sell them to a passerby, some drunk in an overstretched collared shirt who invariably said "No."  He deserved a little treat.  It was after all, his retirement party.

I stepped over him and went out to where the music blared and the people were dancing poorly.
 
2013-02-25 09:59:55 AM

EyeballKid: This man put the "oh" in "oh-buh-muh-moe."


Did you mean to say "oboe-mo-boe"?

images3.wikia.nocookie.net
 
2013-02-25 10:00:55 AM

Boonlert Boonpan: The article was a quick reed.

reneedezvous.files.wordpress.com
 
2013-02-25 10:03:13 AM

spentmiles: Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break.  There was this old man who sat on a stool by the door, holding a little tray of cologne and breath mints.  He sat there slumped, in a dark blue suit, thick framed eyeglasses, and deep creases that ran from the corners of his mouth.  He stared straight ahead, holding the little tray, like a little crack in the universe where the ever trickling waters of sadness leaked away behind the everyday scenes.  As I walked toward him, he blinked and his eyes stayed closed.  He sat there for just a moment, then pitched forward, falling face first to the piss-scuffed floor.  But he kept that little tray up, the little mints and sweet smells that served as his livelihood, balanced forever on his fingertips.  And he was dead.

This other guy in the bathroom starts freaking out, laughing, "Did you see that shiat?  Do you farking see that?  Dude just keeled over and died!  Holy fark I'm tripping my nuts out!  Who does that?"

He took out his cell phone and started taking pictures of the warm corpse holding the tray.

Gently, I reached down, took one of the chalky, Easter colored mints, and pushed it into the old man's mouth.  He probably never ate a single one, hoping instead to sell them to a passerby, some drunk in an overstretched collared shirt who invariably said "No."  He deserved a little treat.  It was after all, his retirement party.

I stepped over him and went out to where the music blared and the people were dancing poorly.


Yeah - sorry about that. My flatulence has killed many a men's room attendant - so much so that I'm considered the typhoid Mary of crop-dusting.
 
2013-02-25 10:05:55 AM
So it sounded just like any other oboe performance?
 
2013-02-25 10:07:27 AM
It's not always the TSA, I got to watch a ramp guy towing several of those open-top baggage trailers take a turn too fast and lose a guitar case off the top.  It hit hard, bounced and rolled before coming to a stop.  The guy came back for it, gingerly picking it up and giving it a shake.  I assume he heard the splinters of the thing rattle around inside because he simultaneously recoiled in horror and tossed the dented case back on the baggage trailer, jumped back into his little car and took off, again driving too fast.
 
2013-02-25 10:09:44 AM

oldfarthenry: spentmiles: Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break. ...

Yeah - sorry about that. My flatulence.


Neither smart, nor funny, but -- a CSB on both your houses.
 
2013-02-25 10:13:29 AM

spentmiles: Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break.  There was this old man who sat on a stool by the door, holding a little tray of cologne and breath mints.  He sat there slumped, in a dark blue suit, thick framed eyeglasses, and deep creases that ran from the corners of his mouth.  He stared straight ahead, holding the little tray, like a little crack in the universe where the ever trickling waters of sadness leaked away behind the everyday scenes.  As I walked toward him, he blinked and his eyes stayed closed.  He sat there for just a moment, then pitched forward, falling face first to the piss-scuffed floor.  But he kept that little tray up, the little mints and sweet smells that served as his livelihood, balanced forever on his fingertips.  And he was dead.

This other guy in the bathroom starts freaking out, laughing, "Did you see that shiat?  Do you farking see that?  Dude just keeled over and died!  Holy fark I'm tripping my nuts out!  Who does that?"

He took out his cell phone and started taking pictures of the warm corpse holding the tray.

Gently, I reached down, took one of the chalky, Easter colored mints, and pushed it into the old man's mouth.  He probably never ate a single one, hoping instead to sell them to a passerby, some drunk in an overstretched collared shirt who invariably said "No."  He deserved a little treat.  It was after all, his retirement party.

I stepped over him and went out to where the music blared and the people were dancing poorly.


I internet love you.
 
2013-02-25 10:14:25 AM

Boonlert Boonpan: The article was a quick reed.


Did you read it twice?
 
2013-02-25 10:17:13 AM
I wonder if he ever thought he wood wind up like this.
 
2013-02-25 10:24:53 AM
d2tq98mqfjyz2l.cloudfront.net
 
2013-02-25 10:26:37 AM

wxboy: Boonlert Boonpan: The article was a quick reed.

Did you read it twice?


The oboe is a reed instrument, windbag.
 
2013-02-25 10:27:08 AM

Boonlert Boonpan: wxboy: Boonlert Boonpan: The article was a quick reed.

Did you read it twice?

The oboe is a reed instrument, windbag.


A double reed instrument.
 
2013-02-25 10:34:35 AM

wxboy: Boonlert Boonpan: wxboy: Boonlert Boonpan: The article was a quick reed.

Did you read it twice?

The oboe is a reed instrument, windbag.

A double reed instrument.


Goddammitsomuch, I knew that.

Hoisted on my own petard.
 
2013-02-25 10:38:03 AM

Boonlert Boonpan: wxboy: Boonlert Boonpan: wxboy: Boonlert Boonpan: The article was a quick reed.

Did you read it twice?

The oboe is a reed instrument, windbag.

A double reed instrument.

Goddammitsomuch, I knew that.

Hoisted on my own petard.


You guys are amusing.
 
2013-02-25 10:51:32 AM
Wow, that blows.
 
2013-02-25 10:56:18 AM
Dying on stage.

Probably his second choice.
 
2013-02-25 11:07:58 AM

dv-ous: Backpressure's a biatch.


My first thought, too. Done in one.

/brother and sister-in-law both play oboe
//double reeds: perform a phrase, then exhale all the air you couldn't use before you can inhale afresh
 
2013-02-25 11:11:23 AM
That doesn't surprise me.  Playing the oboe is hard.  And even at it's best, it doesn't sound good.
 
2013-02-25 11:30:31 AM

spentmiles: Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break.  There was this old man who sat on a stool by the door, holding a little tray of cologne and breath mints.  He sat there slumped, in a dark blue suit, thick framed eyeglasses, and deep creases that ran from the corners of his mouth.  He stared straight ahead, holding the little tray, like a little crack in the universe where the ever trickling waters of sadness leaked away behind the everyday scenes.  As I walked toward him, he blinked and his eyes stayed closed.  He sat there for just a moment, then pitched forward, falling face first to the piss-scuffed floor.  But he kept that little tray up, the little mints and sweet smells that served as his livelihood, balanced forever on his fingertips.  And he was dead.

This other guy in the bathroom starts freaking out, laughing, "Did you see that shiat?  Do you farking see that?  Dude just keeled over and died!  Holy fark I'm tripping my nuts out!  Who does that?"

He took out his cell phone and started taking pictures of the warm corpse holding the tray.

Gently, I reached down, took one of the chalky, Easter colored mints, and pushed it into the old man's mouth.  He probably never ate a single one, hoping instead to sell them to a passerby, some drunk in an overstretched collared shirt who invariably said "No."  He deserved a little treat.  It was after all, his retirement party.

I stepped over him and went out to where the music blared and the people were dancing poorly.


Bravo!

/have never regretted "favouriting" you.
 
gja [TotalFark]
2013-02-25 11:43:55 AM

spentmiles: Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break.  There was this old man who sat on a stool by the door, holding a little tray of cologne and breath mints.  He sat there slumped, in a dark blue suit, thick framed eyeglasses, and deep creases that ran from the corners of his mouth.  He stared straight ahead, holding the little tray, like a little crack in the universe where the ever trickling waters of sadness leaked away behind the everyday scenes.  As I walked toward him, he blinked and his eyes stayed closed.  He sat there for just a moment, then pitched forward, falling face first to the piss-scuffed floor.  But he kept that little tray up, the little mints and sweet smells that served as his livelihood, balanced forever on his fingertips.  And he was dead.

This other guy in the bathroom starts freaking out, laughing, "Did you see that shiat?  Do you farking see that?  Dude just keeled over and died!  Holy fark I'm tripping my nuts out!  Who does that?"

He took out his cell phone and started taking pictures of the warm corpse holding the tray.

Gently, I reached down, took one of the chalky, Easter colored mints, and pushed it into the old man's mouth.  He probably never ate a single one, hoping instead to sell them to a passerby, some drunk in an overstretched collared shirt who invariably said "No."  He deserved a little treat.  It was after all, his retirement party.

I stepped over him and went out to where the music blared and the people were dancing poorly.



sharecovers.com
 
2013-02-25 11:57:26 AM
Fisrt sign of trouble was when the classical musician was seen swaying while playing the music.
I'm telling you, fellas, we're going to need more oboe.
 
2013-02-25 12:05:49 PM
Brain problems are common among oboists.  Why else would they play an instrument that's basically the beta version of the clarinet, which is easier to play, less expensive, and sounds less like a baby duck being squeezed to death?

Bassoon is one of my favorite tone colors in the orchestra, though.  Go figure.
 
2013-02-25 12:06:24 PM
I refuse to believe that the man pictured in TFA is in his fifties.  He looks like he's in his late teens (if you ignore the silver hair), maybe his mid-twenties.
 
2013-02-25 12:08:36 PM
If anyone has witnessed something like this in person, it is effing SCARY.  I saw a guy fall to the ground in the metro station in DC.  No one helped him right away.  I walked away.  I feel awful about it still.

Almost a year back, my son's mother got up to give him a bottle, started to lay down in bed, then proceeded to have a grand mal seizure.  Scariest thing in my life.  I thought she was going to die in my arms, and I joke about that shiat all the time.

cool story bro. 20 minutes is too long after a stroke.  I would like to see a follow up.

Death is near, everyone.
 
2013-02-25 12:42:46 PM
Unfortunately it was not a stroke of luck.
 
2013-02-25 12:43:14 PM
Potentially broken string instrument trifecta in play.
 
2013-02-25 12:50:58 PM
that blows.
 
2013-02-25 12:51:20 PM
Probably too much exposure to oboe music.
 
2013-02-25 12:56:08 PM
oops - I even searched for "blows" on the page. hmm. DNRThread.
 
2013-02-25 01:15:01 PM

Riotcow: Potentially broken string instrument trifecta in play.


Are... are you trolling an oboe thread?
 
2013-02-25 01:59:49 PM
Meh..

if I had a nickle for every time I've kept from spilling my beer at the expense of my face.

/Not impressed
//We protect what we love at all expense
 
2013-02-25 02:26:28 PM

spentmiles: Strange timing, seeing this article first this morning.  I was in a bar bathroom over the weekend, taking a break.  There was this old man who sat on a stool by the door, holding a little tray of cologne and breath mints.  He sat there slumped, in a dark blue suit, thick framed eyeglasses, and deep creases that ran from the corners of his mouth.  He stared straight ahead, holding the little tray, like a little crack in the universe where the ever trickling waters of sadness leaked away behind the everyday scenes.  As I walked toward him, he blinked and his eyes stayed closed.  He sat there for just a moment, then pitched forward, falling face first to the piss-scuffed floor.  But he kept that little tray up, the little mints and sweet smells that served as his livelihood, balanced forever on his fingertips.  And he was dead.

This other guy in the bathroom starts freaking out, laughing, "Did you see that shiat?  Do you farking see that?  Dude just keeled over and died!  Holy fark I'm tripping my nuts out!  Who does that?"

He took out his cell phone and started taking pictures of the warm corpse holding the tray.

Gently, I reached down, took one of the chalky, Easter colored mints, and pushed it into the old man's mouth.  He probably never ate a single one, hoping instead to sell them to a passerby, some drunk in an overstretched collared shirt who invariably said "No."  He deserved a little treat.  It was after all, his retirement party.

I stepped over him and went out to where the music blared and the people were dancing poorly.


That was beautiful. Have you ever written a book?
 
2013-02-25 02:43:49 PM
spentmiles:
I've read worse from acclaimed authors.

/slowclap.jpg
 
2013-02-25 02:56:18 PM
38 comments in and no one's pointed out hemorrhage is misspelled?
 
2013-02-25 03:24:21 PM
Heh, I need coffee...I read that as "hoboist kept his hobo from harm"...

which is funnier than what happened to this poor bastard.
 
2013-02-25 03:34:53 PM
A. A Bassoon burns longer
 
2013-02-25 03:41:31 PM
Only because this word always gets me: hemorrhage. 

Speaker2Animals: 38 comments in and no one's pointed out hemorrhage is misspelled?


Too busy bleeding from their eye sockets, perhaps?
 
2013-02-25 04:12:17 PM

Speaker2Animals: 38 comments in and no one's pointed out hemorrhage is misspelled?


Oh, dammit. I even looked at the article to make sure that I was spelling it right and STILL transposed the double letters.

/subby
//Next time I'll call it a 'brain leak'.
 
2013-02-25 05:08:07 PM

SwiftFox: A. A Bassoon burns longer


B. You run over the conductor. Business before pleasure.
 
2013-02-25 09:41:43 PM
Perfect pitch with an oboe: Tossing it into a dumpster without hitting the sides.
 
2013-02-26 12:33:22 AM
He must have been in the marching band in high school. The first lesson you learn is "Don't lock your knees. If you do and you pass out, be sure to fall backwards so your instrument won't get damaged."
 
Displayed 46 of 46 comments

View Voting Results: Smartest and Funniest


This thread is archived, and closed to new comments.

Continue Farking
Submit a Link »






Report