We Couldn’t Get Liberace, So Instead…

Posted By: leeduigonPosted On:

Who knew a chicken could learn to play the piano? If you think it must’ve been easy, try it yourself–without using your hands. Imagine what she could do if she had hands instead of wings. Or if you had wings instead of hands.

8 comments on “We Couldn’t Get Liberace, So Instead…”

  1. It seems that the chicken has been trained to peck wherever a key lights up. It’s still clever, though.

    Reply

    2. Nah, clarinet would be sufficient.

      And now I must shut down the system and start my pre-bedtime chores.

  3. This brings up a question. Why would you want to train a chicken to do that?
    Well…maybe Edgar Albert Guest had the answer…

    It Couldn’t Be Done

    Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
    But he with a chuckle replied
    That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
    Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
    So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
    On his face. If he worried he hid it.
    He started to sing as he tackled the thing
    That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

    Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
    At least no one ever has done it;”
    But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
    And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
    With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
    Without any doubting or quiddit,
    He started to sing as he tackled the thing
    That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

    There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
    There are thousands to prophesy failure,
    There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
    The dangers that wait to assail you.
    But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
    Just take off your coat and go to it;
    Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
    That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

    Reply

    2. I’ve always liked that poem, even after having read a parody of it that ended, “He tackled the thing that couldn’t be done — and found that he couldn’t do it.” 🤣 When you like the original even after reading a parody of it, you know the original was good.

      Sometimes the original does suffer, though. That happened to me when I’d read Fielding’s “Shamela,” his parody of Richardson’s “Pamela” before reading “Pamela” itself. “Pamela” held up as a novel to a certain extent, but every time I saw the word “virtue,” my mind pronounced it “vartue” — and I kept picturing Fielding’s alternative scenes of Pamela’s defense of her “vartue” all the way through.

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