WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MATERIAL HAS BEEN RATED "HFS (HOLY FUKKEN ****) BY ROYALORLEANS! THIS IS EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE! SO DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!!!
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."
So the scene opens to my adoring family in our Bavarian castle. We're dressed in fancy 17th century clothes. I'm playing Dies Irae on a massive antique harpsichord, drinking some fine 18 year Malt Scotch, while my wife does stitchwork in a large chair. My children are playing with the dog next to our ornate fireplace. After a couple of minutes dabbling with the musical piece, my wife comes over and slams the harpsichord lid, as hard as she can, onto my fingers.
"Darling," I say, between the tears and screams, "what an interesting thing to do." I get up off my 17th Century harpsichord stool and slam the thing into the side of her face, dislodging some teeth. As she falls over somewhat dazed, I reach into the harpsichord and wrench out one of the strings, which I then use to strangle my wife with.
At this point, the children are obviously distressed. They, and the dog, run over to try and stop me. Rounding on them, I kick my daughter right in her 12 year old ******, and elbow drop my 8 year old son onto his fragile little chest. Did I mention he's a hemophiliac?
Through all this, the dog is barking and snapping incessantly at me. It's one of those little handbag rats. I douse it in my Malt Scotch and drop kick the **** thing straight in to the fireplace, where it begins to combust.
After all this commotion, my father and mother appear on the stage. Given that they're both over 80, and served in the SS during the war, they're both very good looking people, if a little flawed. My father looks around the place and becomes so turned on by the violence that he begins masturbating. My mother, she's such a darling, hurries over to her semi-conscious grandchildren.
Father, still masturbating, strolls over to my wife who's beginning to come round. He notices the teeth she's missing and decides to her mouth, rather hard. My wife, in a large degree of pain already, goes into shock and bites down. My father socks her one in the head, but she won't go down. He's shaking her about like a wet fish, but she won't budge. It's priceless.
Meanwhile, my mother has disrobed and commanded, in her harsh Germanic tones, both the children to do the same. I'm standing over them with a Hussar's sabre I've taken from over the fireplace, so they're more than willing to comply. My mother gets my son to start eating out her 85 year old *****. It's drier than the Sahara, bless her. I insert the sabre into my daughter's already painful ******, slowly at first.
The dog, still on fire, finally manages to escape and blindly runs straight at my Aryan father, who's managed to pull his mangled ***** out of my wife's semi-conscious jaw. Dad bleed extensively, I'm talking a fountain of the stuff, straight onto the dog and proceeds to stamp on the **** thing. In shock, it begins to expel all it's effluvia onto the stage: ****, vomit, and ***.
Dad, still mad at my wife, picks her up by the hair. He rubs her face in it, only to find she's getting turned on. Because his ***** is so **** mangled, he decides to start fisting her, taking advantage of the situation. But dad's got a thing about ****. And rather than fist, he punches his way in. I should know, we've done it before.
So as my Dad's slamming his fist into my wife's ***, while she's rubbing dog filth into her , I've upped the ante with my daughter and sped up the sword. Obviously she's bleeding quite heavily at this point, just like my wife's *** in a couple of minutes. My son's in tears at what he's being forced to do and, in disgust, vomits straight into his grandmother's *****. She smacks the boy in the eye socket and, in true **** style, marches off to get her jack boots.
I've had enough of my daughter, so I thrust one final time with the sword, so hard the tip comes out the top of her head. As her body goes into its death spasms, I make my son her in the mouth. Her body also lets go, and she s out a kilo of the brown stuff. I tell my son to roll about in it, while his grandmother comes back on stage.
In this time, my wife's *** has started hemorrhaging all over my dad. He's had more than enough and snaps her neck, not before giving her a few knocks to the head though. He's a gentleman like that. Mother comes back on stage in full SS regalia and has a branding iron in the shape of the Star of David. Red-hot I might add. As my father and I walk off stage, she inflicts the branding iron on my covered son, while singing songs about the master race. She's got a powerful voice on her that woman.
My son, naturally, passes out. My mother, disgusted at his weakness, kicks his body all over the stage, then throws it on the fire. At this point, I love this part, my father and I rise up through the floor with this large, Frankensteinian machine. My mother and father gather my family's corpses (and the dog's) into the center of the room while I plug the thing into the electricity grid.
Now this bit is a miracle of science. Part voodoo, part **** technology, it's one grand scene. My father goes to call for the servants while my mother slits her wrists with the sword, and draws a pentagram around the corpses, before toppling over dead on top of them.
As I crank up the machine, Father returns with the servants who are carrying a cage. Inside the cage is the Pope, bound and gagged, but still in his regalia. We're not that cruel after all. I open the cage and my father helps the servants bring on a massive crucifix. After a bit of struggling on his holiness' behalf, we manage to nail him to the **** thing. To stop any more wriggling about, I use the hammer that pinned him on to break his knees and elbows.
The machine starts to glow green and make loud noises, so I know it's ready. The servants hoist the Pope's crucifix, upside down, over my darling family. My father, ever loyal to the Reich, bless him, gives a rousing speech from the Nuremburg rally before stabbing himself right through the with the sword. It's too much for the old man, and he finally gives up his 89 years of living.
With the tears still brimming in my eyes from witnessing such a proud act, I take two cables and clamp them onto the Pope's nipples. I squat down and out a massive load of clay-like brown stuff. I start drawing runes on his face, then stuff his mouth with the remainder. Returning to machine, I pull the switch and this beautiful, sickly green lightning goes straight through the crucifix and into the bodies. The pentagram on the floor starts to glow. It's something beautiful I tell you.
As the Pope screams up there on his cross, my family's bodies start twitching. His holiness bursts into flames just as my wife starts to stand on her feet. The last thing he sees is my wonderful zombie family reaching up towards him.
The zombies promptly turn on the servants, tearing into them with their undead fingers, ripping at organs and such. There's blood everywhere. It's at this point that Satan, dressed as Hitler, manifests in the pentagram and commends me on such a sterling job of inhumanity. My dad would be so proud.
As a finale, Satan pulls out his 3 foot spiked ***** and s me right in the ***, vigorously as you like, while my zombie family, sated on human flesh, start a conga of the dog being ed by my daughter, my son ing my daughter, my zombie wife doing my son, dad's her while eating my mother's zombie . Then Satan and I start singing "Time of my life", just before the curtains drop on this happy family scene.
For the longest time, the agent just sits in silence. Finally, he manages, "That's a **** of an act. What do you call it?"
And the father says, "The Aristocrats!"
