A visiting music lover wanders into a back alley antique shop in San Francisco's Chinatown. Picking through the objects on display he discovers a detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he picks it up and asks the shop owner what it costs.
"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand dollars more for the story behind it."

"You can keep the story, old man," he replies, "But I'll take the rat."

The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him.

By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels, and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars. Rats by the thousands are at his heels, and as he sees the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and starts to run full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously, now not just thousands but millions, so that by the time he comes rushing up to the water's edge a trail of rats twelve city blocks long is behind him.

Making a mighty leap, he jumps up onto a light post, grasping it with one arm while he hurls the bronze rat into San Francisco Bay with the other, as far as he can heave it. Pulling his legs up and clinging to the light post, he watches in amazement as the seething tide of rats surges over the breakwater into the sea, where they drown. Shaken and mumbling, he makes his way back to the antique shop.

"Ah, so you've come back for the rest of the story," says the owner.

"No," says the music lover, "I was wondering if you have a bronze electric guitar player."

A couple of centuries ago in Italy the church needed a bell ringer and the word was spread far and wide. One day the bell at the entrance rang and the priest answered to find a man standing at the door with no arms. The priest asked if he could be of assistance. The man said he was there to apply for the bell ringer’s job.

Somewhat taken back, the priest said, “my son, I do not mean to offend, but how would you ring the bell with no arms?” The young man replied, “Father, I was able to pull the rope to ring the doorbell.”

The priest thought for a moment and being impressed said that he would consider hiring him but that first he wanted to give him a trial at ringing the bell, so up to the tower they went.

Once in the tower the young man backed up a bit and ran forward hitting the bell with his head and the bell rang. He backed up and hit it again with his head but this time he glanced off the bell, fell to his side and out the tower window to the road below.

Aghast, the priest ran down the stairs to where the young man fell. When he finally got there a small crowd began to gather. The priest asked the people there if anyone knew the young man to which one person replied, “I don’t know, father, but his face rings a bell.”

Several days later the doorbell to the church rang and the same priest answered the door. This time he was met with a strapping young man. The priest asked him if he could be of assistance. The young man stated he was there to apply for the bell ringer’s job. The priest said they were putting off hiring someone for a while because of the horrible accident that had occurred a few days prior.

The young man said he was aware of what happened, that the man that was killed was his brother and he was there to honor him.

Deeply moved, the priest said he would hire him and led him up to the bell tower. The young man asked if could ring the bell. With the priests approval he grabbed the rope and began ringing the bell. On the third pull he stumbled, his hands came free. and the young man fell out a tower window to the road below.

Horrified, the priest sprinted down the stairs to the body and the gathering crowd below where someone asked the priest who the dead youth was. The priest replied, “I don’t know, but he’s a dead ringer for his brother.”