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His name was Joseph Smith and he was a talent manager. His Mormon parents had intended him to be a priest, but he had escaped that life to run around the country recruiting people for short stints of stardom and then leaving them in a bar in Nebraska when they were done. The repetition of this strategy had resulted in him growing rich beyond his wildest dreams.
The day was a snowy day in January, the snow was piled higher outside than all the ashes accumulated from incinerated Jews during World War Two. He was about to go home to his 8th nagging wife when the phone began to ring. Normally he'd answer right away, but he had to think about his kids first. He had to think which pair of the money-sucking brats he had "custody" over this week and whether he could get away with not being home on time to help his current wife throw them into the crummy basement of the otherwise lavish house.
"Fuck the damn kids," he murmured under his breath and then remembered that those exact words had lost him a great deal of money in that trial years ago where he had "allegedly" done things to his daughters by his first wife. Luckily in this business you could cover up anything.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver.
"Joe! I have a great act for you! It's another preforming family act and they were just phenomenal! You gotta come see this!"
Another damn family act; just great. Still, it was better than going home and acting like a family with the ones he loathed. He worked out the details and drove to the theater that the performance was going to take place in. He walked inside and sat down at the only table in the room and faced the stage. A man poked his face out from behind the stage curtains and asked:
"Are you the talent manager?"
Joe shot him an angry look and replied, "No I'm John McCain and I just wondered in here after forgetting where I lived. Of course I'm the talent manager! Start your act and stop wasting my time."
The father timidly pulled his head back through the curtains and whispered something to his family backstage. They drew the curtains to the side and out came the family to put on their performance. The talent manager watched with disgusted intrigue as the first act consisted of one son in blackface stealing things from the daughter who then killed him with her patented "Hank Hill Handgun" while revealing the swastika band on her upper arm and the mother sang a self-composed song entitled "Get Your Hands Off Me you Damn Nigger." The second act then showed the mother lead the daughter, who was now acting as Helen Keller, into a gas chamber while the father extolled the virtues and morality of exterminating the mentally and physically handicapped. The third act was actually quite enjoyable as it had the son performing a magic trick where he made a glass of water disappear and reappear on the table the manager was sitting at. The fourth act went right back to horrible as they brought the family dog out and tried to get him to speak English for forty-five minutes.
The talent manager normally would have left but he wanted to heckle the hell out of these people once they were done. So he watched as the father stepped out onto the stage and began telling a story:
"Once upon a time there was a talent agent who was going to see this family perform. He goes into the theater and makes a very unprofessional remark to the father of the group. The family that was going to perform for him that night just had their house burnt down by a bunch of hate-mongering Scientologists and had been sleeping outside in cardboard boxes. They hoped that the talent manager would take them on so that they could find some better shelter than cardboard cubes and the windbreakers made of dead hobos. The father saw that the talent manager didn't look like he was going to approve of their act, so he told him this story:
'There was a talent agent that went to see a family troupe perform at a small local theater that they had been able to get into by kidnapping the owner and having him call the talent agent to tell him to come see them before they killed him and shoved him behind the stage left steps. When the talent agent arrived, he watched the family perform and told them that they were the most goddamn horrible act he had ever seen. With that, the son jumped off the stage and blocked the door as the rest of the family ganged up on him. He tried to scream, but his breath was knocked out of him as the father tackled him to the ground and the wife placed a noose around his neck. He was found the next day hanging from the stage lights with a cryptic note attached to his shirt. The note said: "We gave you the option of hiring us, but looting your corpse works too." The detective who first looked at the note, flipped it over and saw what was on the back.
"Who the hell," he asked his partner, "are The Aristocrats?"'
As the father finished his story, the talent manager looked at him unimpressed and said, 'You think you can threaten me with your stupid joke? Fuck you and you family. Especially your daughter. I'm out of here.' The father watched him go and a tear rolled down his face. He went backstage and broke the bad news to his family and they all trudged out of the theater into the outdoor frozen wasteland. They got into the car they had found and tried to get into comfortable positions to sleep. The father turned on the car and turned up the heat a bit in hopes that they wouldn't freeze to death that night. The next morning the two police officer who found them all dead from carbon monoxide poisoning via clogged tailpipes would have the following conversation:
'Doesn't it just make you sick, Marty? An entire family dieing in a car trying to keep warm through a blizzardy night...'
'Yeah, well what are you going to do, Saul? Who are you going to blame?'
Marty took a long drag on his cigarette before answering: 'The Aristocrats.'
And so you see, Mr. Smith," concluded the father, "not taking us on as one of your acts is a lose-lose situation for everyone. So just sign us on and help us dispose of that other guy's body."
The talent manager just looked at them in silence. He remained silent for a very long time and the family began to get worried that he may have had some sort of stroke and died in his seat, leaving them with two bodies to dispose of. Then, he started to laugh.
"I get it!" he hooted as he fell forwards and gouged his eye out on the corner of the table.
"Goddamn that's hilarious!" he exclaimed as he kicked the table causing the glass the son had used in his magic trick to fall off and shatter.
"Holy shit you guys are funny!" he bellowed as the glass cut open his arteries and his vitreous humor poured from his deflating eye.
"What?!?" the father shrieked in bewilderment, "What could be so funny that you've just effectively killed yourself by laughing about it?"
The talent manager said with his last breath: "The Aristocrats!"