A talent agent is sitting in his office. A man walks in.
“Not you again?” says the talent agent. “Your last act got booed off the stage.”
“Wait, hear me out. This one’s amazing.”
“Oh yeah?” says the talent agent. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s another family act,” says the man. “You got the same combover Borscht Belt father, only now he’s short of breath and dragging his foot and ranting like a lunatic jacked up on steroids and Adderall. His son comes on stage — he’s a sweaty shipwreck of a man with glassy eyes and blood and cocaine leaking out of his nose. His girlfriend follows him — she’s a gorgeous knockout and she starts giving lap dances to a bunch of men in suits, straddling them and screaming, ‘THE BEST IS YET TO COME,’ while they throw money at her.
“Borscht Belt’s wife comes on stage. She’s dragging hundreds of orphans with her, and then she starts grinding her stiletto heels into their faces shouting, ‘I REALLY DON’T CARE DO U? FUCK CHRISTMAS. CHRISTMAS CAN FUCK ITSELF UP THE ASS.’
“This turns everyone on and they all start fucking each other right there on stage, and then Borscht Belt’s daughter comes on — another knockout — and she bends down to yell into the ear of one of the trampled orphans. ‘Daddy is fighting pedophiles!’ she bellows. Everyone laughs uproariously while Jeffrey Epstein’s ghost comes on stage and starts fucking Ghislaine Maxwell while Bill Barr and Ted Cruz watch and Borscht Belt Dad gives the thumb’s up and wishes them well.
“Mike Pompeo takes out a Bible and starts shouting about Judeo Christian values. Borscht Belt Dad grabs the Bible, holds it upside down and then sprays it with tear gas while Mike Pompeo and Mike Pence and Bill Barr and Stephen Miller give each other handjobs and Mitch McConnell confirms an anti-abortion judge. Lindsey Graham yells that women have to get married and fuck their husbands and then everyone reaches for the Bible and tears at it until it’s just a mound of ripped pages in the middle of the stage.
“‘Let’s urinate all over it!’ says Borscht Belt Dad, but before they can do it, Steve Bannon runs across the stage with an axe, trying to behead some doctors while Jared Kushner runs in the opposite direction, slips on a banana peel and evicts hundreds of low-income families onto the street as winter closes in. A bunch of skinheads in military cosplay gear come on, light a few tiki torches, fight each other flailingly and then shart themselves screaming about the white race. Rudy Giuliani comes on with some porn and a few corpses, screeching, ‘VOTER FRAUD.’ He cremates the corpses, sees a teenage girl, unzips his pants, and then rolls around the ashes with a gardening hoe from a random landscaping business.
“Some more suited men come on stage wearing elephant masks and they genuflect to the Confederate flag along with Jenna Ellis and Sidney Powell and Kayleigh McEnany. Then Borscht Belt Dad takes out the Constitution, which makes everyone start talking in tongues as they all try to snatch it like a bunch of methhead zombies. Everyone grabs and rips and tears it to pieces, and a few of the elephant mask men use their pieces to wipe their asses while Borscht Belt Dad adds his to the remnants of the Bible in the middle of the stage and the daughter fashions hers into a made-in-China clit ring.
“250K corpses are thrown onto the stage.
“‘I WON THE ELECTION,’ shouts Borscht Belt Dad, flushing a toilet fifteen times and summoning everyone to gather around the scraps of Bible and Constitution. They all get naked and fuck each other in every possible way and combination and then there’s this American flag and they all start ripping it up. They add the ruptured stars and stripes to the pile, and then everyone on stage urinates and shits all over the remains of the Bible and the Constitution and the flag, which is no longer still there.
“So there they all are, covered in piss and shit and blood and cocaine and money and AR-15s and orphans and corpses and ashes and landscaping equipment and the detritus of their piss-excrement pile. Afterwards, they all stand up and take a bow.”
“That’s an interesting act,” says the talent agent. “What do you call it?”
The man extends jazz hands.
“The American Aristocrats!”