One is complaining to the other about how there are no decent acts anymore. “These acts these days, I tell ya, there’s no talent . . . prop comics, I mean Jesus Christ . . . that’s what humor has come to? Sticking a toilet seat around yer neck? And lookit these magicians these days . . . sitting in a glass box under a frozen sidewalk for a week? Where’s the magic? I just can’t do it anymore, I ain’t got the chops for this shit . . .”
The other man agreed. “I haven’t seen a decent act since the Gong Show went off the air.”
The first man looked at the other, then went on, “I really think it’s time I packed it in. You should see my office, stacks of resumes up to the ceiling, but do I want to even meet any of these yabbos, let alone SIGN any of them? Christ . . . no.”
The other man was about to console the first man when they were approached by the waitress who had been waiting on them for the last hour. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but did I hear you say you were looking for an act to sign?”
The first man said, “Well, yeah, but I don’t think there’s anything I want to see anymore . . . I got an old fashioned streak.”
The waitress smiled. “Well, hon, I might just be able to change your mind. I happen to be part of an act that is as old fashioned as vaudeville, in fact we’re a family act. Part Magic, part music, and part comedy.”
The first man sat up straighter. “Holy shit.”
The second man said, “A triple threat!”
“You bet your sweet bippy,” the waitress said. “Lemme set the scene for ya . . . Picture this . . . the stage is dark, there’s a thick, luscious, red velvet curtain, which opens slightly to reveal me and my eight year old son, I’m wearing a long gown, drenched in aquamarine sequins and cubic zirconia – real classy. And my little son is wearing a tiny tuxedo, so adorable, you should see him, just like a little prince. He’s pushing a small black box on wheels.”
The second man asked, “Kind of like a rolling suitcase?”
The waitress winked. “Exactly like a rolling suitcase, but with secrets inside.”
The first man said “I like secrets. Go on.”
“Ok,” the waitress said, and continued, “So, my little son holds onto my hand and we begin to sing a duet of Big Balls, by AC/DC-“
“Wait wait wait,” said the first man. “Just hold on for a second . . . AC/DC? I thought you said this was an old fashioned act.”
“Oh, it is,” the waitress assured him. “We both sing it very old fashioned, almost operatic. You have to understand, my little boy is only eight, so his voice hasn’t broken yet; it’s a very heartbreaking duet. It brings my mother to tears every time we sing it, and she lost her hearing over twelve years ago.”
“Jeez,” said the second man. “Must be good.”
“It gets better . . . ok, so at the end of the number my son opens the box to reveal my husband inside . . . My husband was a soldier and lost his legs in Iraq, so he will be naked and, obviously, without legs . . . which is good, because his part of the act needs everything to be fully visible, legs would only get in the way.”
The first man asked, “Why is he naked?”
The waitress winked again. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” she said. “all will be revealed. So, my son opens the box and shows his naked, legless father. I should probably also mention at this point that his father is painted like a clown. Ok, so he reveals his father, and his father walks out of the box on his hands -which always brings some applause from the audience, I might add- and parts my dress in the middle, revealing my glorious womanhood to the crowd.”
“Gee.” marveled the second man.
“Now, it’s at this point the act really gets good. My son has got vaudeville in his blood, I’m not kidding. My husband lays down on the stage, and my son stands over him, facing me, with his back to the audience. My husband rips the tear-away pants from my son, leaving him standing with no pants on. At this point I place a single ping-pong ball into my mouth, and pretend to swallow it, while my son begins to orally satisfy me.”
Both men sat in silence, listening to the waitress. “While he is orally satisfying me, my husband begins to orally satisfy our son, so you see there is a chain being formed . . . I’m sure it’s obvious where this is going.”
” . . . no.” said the first man.
“Ok, so while this is going on I begin to sing Great Balls Of Fire, while my son and husband hum the accompanying music, our dog is walking around on its hind legs in a tutu, and-“
“Wait,” said the first man. “where the hell did the dog come from?”
“Didn’t I mention our dog?” the waitress asked.
“No!” both men said in unison.
“God, no wonder my husband usually talks to the agents, I’d forget the finale if it weren’t so fabulous. Ok, so yes, there is a dog in the act too. It’s walking around while we are singing and humming. As the song begins to wrap up my son begins to wiggle around a bit, and then my husband follows suit and begins to wiggle around too, and as the song completely climaxes I break wind through my vagina, which is something you really have to hear to believe, while at the same time my son defecates on his father’s chest, and my husband releases three pool cues from his anus. One after the other. Our dog gobbles up each pool cue, and takes it over to a plate filled with flash powder and drops each one in, causing a huge flash of smoke and fire, three times in all. During the last flash, my son falls back onto his own stool, covering his father’s chest, and I fall on top of him, and the dog jumps onto my back. The force of this concussion causes all three of us to vomit at the same time, red white and blue. The dog waves a little flag of Old Glory. Huge applause. The end.”
“Jesus.” the first man said, after a long pause. “That is certainly one hell of an act.”
The waitress smiled, and said “I told ya so. Didn’t I tell ya so?”
The first man asked, “What do you call the act?”
She leaned in close to the men, and whispered, “The Sophisticates.”