The...

A man walks into a talent agency. He brings his family – his wife, his two kids, a boy and a girl, plus the family pet, a Russian sheepdog named Sputnik. This a family act. The talent agent is prepared to roll his eyes, typically unmoved by what’s referred to as, “family entertainment.” The man explains they are different, more wholesome than every other rival put together. The first thing the man does his take his wife by the hand and begin a slow, sweet dance. She twisted her ankle walking up the stairs, the elevator in the agent’s office has been out of service since 1962. Every step of the way, the man gauges her pain level, not wishing to even approach the threshold of semi-paralysis. He carries most of the weight, lifting her up and ensuring she doesn’t aggravate the injury. Art needn’t hurt anyone.

The music is placid in sort of Kenny G. sort of way. Nothing about it is dangerous or risqué. The two children begin singing tunes of peace and reconciliation. They are nice kids. The older one, the boy, accidentally knocks over a glass paperweight on the agent’s desk. He apologizes profusely, stopping the performance for a second. The agent has a eye for talent and sincerity. The boy begins to cry, taking out a notebook and quickly scrawling a handwritten note, owning up to his mistake, saying the fact that it wasn’t intentional is no defense. He hands the agent a blank check and insists he write the amount in damages on it. It’s the least he could do. 

The man pulls the team together, but he knows that there are far more important things than impressing this person. Like what they’re having for dinner or where they will sleep tonight. These are actual concerns that put the idea of auditioning in perspective. It might explain why the no member of the family displays even the slightest sign of nervousness. The wife asks the agent about his family, wanting to get to know him a little before their time is up. Instead of wasting it on making balloon animals or other pointless circus tricks, she would like to know his story. It’s very nice, but he doesn’t have time to get into how he ended up in this career. Would he change some things? Certainly. 

The man’s daughter starts dusting the window sills of the office, after seeing the agent rub his nose. Allergies can be a killer – not literally, not usually – but still, quite annoying when persistent. She suggests they open a window and offers to run across the street to the appliance store and buy a small fan to help with the room’s circulation. She begins adding fresh flowers in tall, skinny vases to spruce things up as well. 

It was at this point in the performance that the agent wondered when the dog would appear. He noticed him right away, but for the previous twenty minutes not a peep. Then he heard a flushing sound and out scurried the dog from his personal restroom. The dog, apparently the only nervous member of the crew, decided to relieve himself right then, but not there. In fact, he was thoughtful enough to use the proper facilities.

The audition concluded with a long, sincere salutation on gratitude, in which each member thanked the agent for the opportunity, regardless of the outcome. They all understand the business. When they stopped the agent nodded and said they all seem like very nice people, albeit a little boring. But before they left, he asked, “so what do you call themselves.” 

In unison and without hesitation, they responded, “The Psychopaths.”