“Young lady, I’m gonna need you to reassemble my piano right now.”
“It’s a harp, Bob.”
“No, no. You can’t be a harp player; my drummer would be hurling drumsticks at you.”
“I swear to you that what I’m playing is a harp.”
“Uh-huh. And was it invented–”
“Harpo Marx did not invent the harp, Bobby.”
“–by Harpo…ah. So his name was just a coincidence, then?”
“Um, sure, yeah.”
Good to know.”
Sorry about the ads but here goes…
https://www.gq.com/story/bob-weir-grateful-dead-profile