An English explorer was trekking through a remote jungle with a local wise man he had hired as a guide. Two days into their journey, far from civilization, they began to hear the faint, slow beating of drums in the distance.
*Dum. Dum. Dum. Dum.*
The Englishman said to the wise man, “Is that anything to worry about?”
“No,” said the wise man, “Drums not bad. Only bad when drums stop.”
As they pushed farther into the jungle, the drumming gradually grew louder and faster.
*DUM-pum. DUM-pum. DUM-pum. DUM-pum.*
The Englishman felt uneasy and prodded the guide, “Are you quite sure that's all right?”
“Yes,” the wise man assured him, “Drums not bad. But when drums stop...very bad.”
Farther in, wading through the thickets and bogs of the deepest, darkest jungle, they could hear the drumming becoming more urgent.
*BUM-chika-chika. BUM-chika-chika. BUM-chika-chika.*
Before long the drumming had surrounded them, sounding mere inches away, the deafening rhythm accelerating to a frantic pace.
*BUM-bakka-chika-chika-BUM-bakka-chika-chika BUM-bakka-*
Now gripped with mortal fear, the Englishman's wide eyes darted frantically in all directions, his heart racing, his body pouring sweat, when all at once the drumming ceased.
*...chika-chika BOOOM.*
Then silence.
Utterly panic-stricken, the Englishman gushed, “My God, what happens now!?”
The wise man slumped his shoulders, hung his head sadly, and moaned, “Now...bass solo.”