Okay, this is a long story, but its also entirely true.
I used to work in an office in NY, my job there was basically to wait for something to go wrong with our equipment and then fix it as quickly as possible. Since modern telephone switches are generally pretty reliable, I had a lot of free time on my hands. Time which I used to teach myself how to play the guitar and the banjo.
There were several other guitar players in the office and on occasion, we'd all sit around and talk music, or even bring our instruments to work and have informal jam sessions at lunch.
One of my co-workers, we'll call him Al (not a musician), was a real, dyed in the wool, Brooklyn wise guy. He enjoyed the various entertainment opportunities the city had to offer, and one afternoon as the day was winding down Al invited Keith (a very unpopular, overly self-righteous, holier-than-thou, Bible thumping hypocrite) to go out to the Paradise Club (a strip joint). Keith (blushing furiously at the thought of naked boobies), who lived in the basement of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, where he was restoring the pipe organ, refused, claiming he had to go home and shellac the organ.
We all got a kick out of that, and it became a popular euphemism around the office.
Some time later, when the guitar players were all sitting around talking, Keith, uninvited, pulled up a chair and joined the circle. The conversation halted, and everyone turned to look at Keith, as if asking 'what the hell are you doing here?'
Keith said, "What? I'm a musician too!"
To which I replied, "Shellacing the organ no more makes you a musician, than spanking the monkey makes me a zoologist."