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A family walks into a talent agency. It's a father, mother, son, daughter and dog. The father says to the talent agent, "We have a really amazing act. You should represent us."
The agent says, "Sorry, I don't represent family acts. They're a little too cute."
The mother says, "Sir, if you just see our act, we know you would want to represent us."
The agent says, "OK. OK. I'll take a look."
"Sir, ye shan't be disappointed!" the father intones grandly and, with that, snatches up the dog by the scruff of its neck and slashes it from asshole to earlobe with a razor-sharp carpet knife, spilling its entrails into the floor and spraying half the room with the canine's blood as the disemboweled animal shrieks, writhing in its death spasm. In trance-like unison, the wife and children throw off their robes, revealing hellishly tortured nude bodies covered in horrific webs of ripe and ragged scars, as well as intricate full-body tattoos of demons, crushed skulls, Nazi swastikas, barbed wire, meat cleavers and what-have-you.
While Dad wrenches the twitching dog like a wet towel, crunching its skeleton quite audibly, wringing the last ounces of its blood into his grimacing, hungry maw, Mom and the kids kneel at his feet and consume equal portions of the animal's blood and internal organs -- tugging at the guts like slippery, rancid Cajun sausage until the tissue gives way with a wet pop, releasing delectable mouthfuls of dog shit as they all chant in an unknown and menacing tongue. When the vomit soon comes in glorious, violent gushes, the three laboriously use their faces and lips to paint a gory, malodorous, shit-spattered pentagram upon the floor.
"Sweet Creeping FUCK!!" The horrified agent leaps from his chair, one arm telescoping for the door, but the father heads him off with a sick smile and dripping blade. "Siddown and shuddup. You ain't seen SHIT yet, my good man." The agent complies, although he's not one bit comfortable with this unseemly display.
Starting as a rumble deep in his bosom and gathering to an agonized bellow, the father clenches his upraised, blood-caked fists and issues an invitation for Satan himself to rise from Hell and join in the blood feast, whereupon the wife and kiddies collapse in fits of screaming insanity, their eyeballs rolled back hard, their tongues grossly extended, their faces and bodies racked with unspeakable pain. The agent, feeling more than a bit queasy by now, grips the arms of his chair for dear life as the entire office seems to pulse and heave around him. He realizes that these freaks are, collectively, giving birth.
Then something...SOMETHING...pierces the very fabric of space and time and hits the deck like an asteroid of pigshit and dead bones, right in the center of the pentagram, as the family of ghouls whine and cower in their respective puddles of piss and congealed bow-wow blood. While this impact is impressive, the accompanying stench is indeed formidable --- something on the order of a one-ton bowel movement of mustard catfish, cabbage, hardboiled eggs and castor oil, brought to simmer over a pile of smoldering Jew corpses. In the sun. Under a tarp. In Luling, Texas (which is such a vile-smelling place, words fail me). The great steaming, stinking, maggoty pile of toejam funk that has materialized then shudders...then moves...then finds its feet and STANDS.
It is The Dark One, covered in the gore of a thousand centuries of sin, dragging something heavy and dead and rotting at the end of an ancient chain. "BEHOLD THE MURDERED SOUL OF JESUS CHRIST!" the monster roars, lifting his prize and shaking the wormy carcass with no concealed rage. Christ's withered, crumbling dick breaks off and drops to the floor, where Mom gathers it up lovingly and tucks it into her turd tunnel. Satan bellows, "I THIRST!"
On cue, the father grabs his son by the hair, pulls his head far back, and rips through the boy's soft neck from ear-to-ear with the carpet knife. The kid drops like a rag doll, twin geysers of claret from the massive gash spattering across The Devil's horned visage, where it is instantly absorbed through the skin. His mother and sister take turns filling their ****s with the boy's expiring blood and begging Satan to drink his fill --- which he does, probing his huge, cold reptilian tongue up into their filth holes, stretching them beyond their limits, pulverizing their reproductive organs, and slithering back out to suck up the fresh gush of pulpy gore from their twats.
Finally aroused, Satan produces his giant, demonic shank --- over three feet in length, crooked as a dog's leg, and covered in festering boils of only the most contagious diseases. Thick, stinking, chunky yellow-green puss oozes from its nozzle, but it is nonetheless eagerly welcomed down Mom's throat. She gulps and gags at the rotting root, the foam of decay dripping from her face. Her ecstasy is short-lived, however, brought to an abrupt end when the foul length of meat suddenly sprouts poisonous spines that impale her head and throat from the inside out. Savoring her death-shudder, Satan busts his nut of sulphuric acid and jerks his thorny crank out with sufficient force to rip off the mother's head, which remains attached to his tuber, like a class ring.
The Dark One now realizes that the daughter, although bleeding from the **** like a stuck pig, has been fiercely teabagging him, eating the maggots and fungus from his slimy black balls, even as he slaughtered her mom. Such loyalty deserves reward, and Satan bestows it upon her in the guise of a sputtering, splattering, Hell-born fart, one from the heart, right into her pretty young face. The hideous blast of corrosive gas vaporizes her hair, turns her flesh to carbon, sears out her eyes and tongue, and renders her deaf; but, in his mercy, The Prince of Hell permits her to live, that he may relish her mortal agony.
Satan at last turns his attention to the father, who has been fucking his dead son in the esophagus through the enormous gash in his neck. The dad blows his load, as well, takes a deep piss down the boy's gullet, then rolls the kid over and stomps him in the guts repeatedly, until hot piss, blood clots and fuck wads come churning out of the boy's wound. Amused, Satan chuckles a cold, black, guttural chuckle, "YOU ALWAYS KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME LAUGH!" The father and Satan then turn and bow to the talent agent.
For the longest time, the agent just sits in silence. Finally, he manages, "That's a hell of an act. What do you call it?"
And the father says, "The Aristocrats!"
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