We were playing a party at some posh Country Club out in the middle of nowhere, and the party was in the upstairs dining room of the club house. All around the room were nothing but glass windows that let you look out over the surrounding golf course. Most of the room also had a patio that surrounded it, but outside the window behind the stage there was just a sloped roof.
As Scott (the trumpet player) and I were setting up in our usual spot at rear center stage, I looked out the window, down at the sloped roof, and spotted a dead bird lying on the roof. I stood staring at it for a bit, wondering why in the world it had chosen this spot to die. It wasn't mangled, or lying spead-eagled: it was kind of curled-up like it had just lay down and died on the roof for some reason. I nudged Scott to point it out, and when he didn't respond, I looked at him and saw that he, too, was inspecting something. I followed his scrutinizing gaze and realized that he was puzzling over an odd-shaped splotch on the window. It was mostly round, about 4 inches in diameter, with two wing-like protrusions on either side, almost parallel with the ground.
I hope you understand, I couldn't completely suppress the sadistic grin as I sleuthed together the apparent sequence of events that must have taken place. I pointed out the bird's carcass to Scott, and was rewarded with a low chuckle. Then we called over Jeff, the guitar player, whom we also knew to have a sick sense of humor. We could see the gears turning in his head as his eyes went from corpse to splotch, splotch to corpse, and the wicked grin slowly etched his features.
Finally, he nodded at the bird and said, "The last thing that went through his brain--was his asshole!" and walked away.
