Al The Sophisticate

For those of you who scurried off to your local theaters this past weekend to hear a tasteless joke, I have one word for you: SUCKERS! Paul Provenza is full of shit. Penn Gillette is a self promoting psycho oaf. They are boastful and exaggerating buffoons. They have laid the gauntlet down in their brilliant new movie The Aristocrats. They maintain that they have captured the dirtiest and most tasteless joke off all time. That is a challenge to me. I can be dirtier and more tasteless then their joke. Put up or shut up and let's see if the new Olympic bar for offensiveness can be topped. My wife was even offended by what follows -- and she’s my wife. Dear readers, see if you can top this:

I walked into a showbiz producer's office, and told him I had an act. I was holding a beautiful brief case, fully polished and shiny and I was dressed in a banker's suit and tie.

From the case that I was carrying I pulled out a laminated picture of me and a very attractive dead cheerleader with a bright happy smile. Her name is Natalie Holloway. The picture also showed her rigor mortis, maggot filled, battered torso from her Aruba murder.

Holloway was having her last orgasm. There I was lapping away at her remains, thinking of how lucky I was, as the murderers looked on, salivating. I licked and licked and licked her disintegrating body, and swallowed the maggots from every crevice, nook and cranny. The old clit tasted like good aged wine. I was engulfed in pure ecstasy as I slurped the last droplet of shit in her ass with the worms wiggling and vibrating on the tip of my tongue.

The agent then asked my name. I said Al the Sophisticate!
Not to be mistaken with any amateur acts from the boy scouts called the Aristocrats!