Congratulations Dead Jazz Musician!

While trying to perform an improvised, high level jazz performance you’ll sit down and start eating a Twix bar while simultaneously playing with the wrapper.  This will make a crunching sound, as well as a crinkling sound.  The annoying one that people tend to make in the theater.  You’ll make it into a microphone while loudly chewing into another microphone and the crowd will go crazy.

“He’s a genius,” one woman will murmur to her friend, who will nod in agreement.

“I’d totes suck his dick he’s so smart,” the friend will murmur back to the woman, who will nod in response and make a gesture like she’s also sucking a dick.

You’ll notice the gesture and get distracted.  Since you’re an idiot, it’s tough for you to do two things at a time.  Three things?  That’s fucking impossible.  So while looking at something, chewing and crinkling a candy bar wrapper would normally not be an issue for an adult, it’ll be a huge problem for you.

You’ll suddenly forget how to chew and the delicious chocolate covered wafer of the Twix, lubricated by its savory caramel coating, will slip right into your windpipe.

You’ll make a little yipping sound.

The crowd will clap politely.

You’ll grab your throat.

They’ll ooh and aah.

You’ll fall to the ground, rolling back and forth.

The crowd will burst into applause, hooting and cheering wildly.

You’ll do that until you become unconscious due to oxygen deprivation.  Then you’ll die of oxygen deprivation while the crowd hoots and hollers at you.  The next day the Jazz Quarterly (if that’s a thing) will release a special edition praising your avant garde performance and mourning your untimely demise.  It’ll be touchingly stupid.

Congratulations Dead Jazz Musician!