The Man and The Agent

A man steps slowly into the office of a well known showbiz agent. The agent is sitting at his large oak desk, head immersed in a big stack of papers. On hearing the man he looks up.

The agent: “What the hell do you want?”

The man proceeds: “Sir, I wish to tell you about a nightclub act my family and I have created, one which will net you only a great wealth.”

The agent replies: “Very well, what is your act?”

“Well,” the man starts, “first I enter the stage wrapped in a porcelain smock engraved with images of Tartaglia’s ballistics system on it. I then chip away the porcelain clothing, using a velvet axe, until I am left wearing nothing but a fine cheese wetsuit. My wife then comes out with a copy of Engels’ Socialism: Utopian and Scientific, which she proceeds to read out to the audience backwards in its entirety. Whilst she addresses the masses I perform ballet to GG Allin’s Expose Yourself to Kids. When this is finished my son and daughter come on stage dressed as Kierkegaard’s right eyeball. They are then absorbed via osmosis into both me and my wife.”

The agent, “...”

The man continues: “My wife removes her skin and it turns out that she is actually Bach, she goes on to toccata my ears. After this we swirl around in goat’s mucus while playing Monopoly. I let her win by taking a fall at the electric company. A reformed Faith No More come on stage and we eat their livers. I insert vibrating telegraph poles under my wife’s fingernails, at the same time she measures the geometry of a audience volunteer’s spectral mass. I scream bloody gore at her and we have a faux altercation which ends in me transmogrifying her atoms into The Secret World of Alex Mack. I then eat my own liver, take a bow, and walk off stage.

The agent: “Sounds great, what are you called?”

The man: “The fabulous Elton John experience.”