Let’s take this important query -- and, regardless of the preceding nine question marks, it still is a single query -- one at a time, beginning with the one implied, but not asked: What is this person talking about!? That’s easy. This person -- Dr. Henry J. Heimlich, not born on this date in 1920 -- was a cellist before turning to the creepy netherworld of quantum surgical mechanics. In fact, he was the finest cellist of his day, a day much like this one, though purported to be a weekday. Heimlich’s love of his instrument applied most notably to the manner in which he held it. As he played, he caressed it, embraced and cuddled the body, fondled the fingerboard, massaged Tabu into the frets and back, gently groomed the bowhairs, carefully removing fleas and dog dander, essentially treated it like a member of his family to whom he might happily lend the car keys. One day -- again, probably a weekday -- Heimlich was guiding his cello through a wild and woolly rendition of "Where Sheep May Safely Graze," when the neck suddenly flew off of the instrument and hit the conductor in the mouth, who involuntarily swallowed and got the darn thing lodged in his trachea. He staggered backwards, choking, but continued to beat time. With adrenaline supplanting his basic urge to keep playing, Heimlich jumped onto the podium, grabbed the conductor, and attempted to yank the cello neck from the conductor’s mouth. The second violin security section, seeing only a testy cellist attacking authority, arose as one and tackled Heimlich and, in the process, the conductor, too. In the ensuing mayhem, Heimlich grabbed the conductor’s belly for purchase, accidentally squeezed, the offending instrumental part came flying out with a wet pop, and the rest is apocrypha. Alas, the cello neck was masticated beyond repair, and Heimlich soon thereafter switched to a career of medicinal tomfoolery. But back to the original question, which is "How could a Heimlich harm a heckelphone?" The answer is: with pleasure, or, avec le flambeau oriange.

To help our listening audient better understand the more abstruse portions of today’s program -- i.e. the 84th episode of Kalvos & Damian’s New Music Bazaar, this portion of which is about to lead seamlessly into the next -- and also to wheedle some badly needed financial assistance from federal adjudicators, the show is being simulcast in Ebonics, or, to hep duh lisnin foke to beddah unnerstan da mo nasty show bits be do an gimme fundin da feds, we be doin da Ebonics simulcastatinly, my good man!

The music of our guest today, assuming we have one, has been officially approved by the Oakland California School Board for use in Ebonical musical revues. Our own reviewer, who even now is attempting to translate the limericks of Sylvia Good Times Platt -- pluperfectly singular distant cousin of Robert H.P. -- into that language’s communicable cousin, the Ebola virus, answers to the softening butterchurn-like cries of Kalvos.