So, one day in the city of St. Petersburg was a solemn concert on the occasion of some important date - the day of the city, maybe, or something else there. The concert was attended by Valentina Ivanovna and other wonderful people.
The composition of those performing at such concerts has not changed for many years: the Musketer Boyarsky in a hat, the good Doctor Rosenbaum, the curly composer Cornelyk, the elderly but still fit Lyudmila Sencina, well, and the immortal Edith Piech (sometimes with her grandson) and Edward Hill, whom I remember for more years than I live in this world. than they are rich.

And then suddenly comes on stage the composer Karavajchuk.
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In short, it is such a composer that some consider him an absolute genius, and others a complete idiot.
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When he is invited to perform somewhere, he removes his only ever-washed cushion from his pillow to put it on his head during the performance.

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Well, and so, this composer Caravaychuk comes out to the microphone and says with his unspeakably disgusting whispering voice: "Dear friends! All you heard was a terrible fight. For those who think he’s heard, I repeat: PO-E-BE. And now we’ll listen to music".

And in the dead silence, in which not even Valentina Ivanovna whispered, the composer Karavaychuk sat down for the piano, put on his head a knot and played something magical.

c) LJ Gorchev