Gorab: This is a song that Gorab wrote. It's about family.

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This here's the story of Gorab's very first band
Like many pregnancies, it came about unplanned
They could only pluck G-strings
And Gorab can't fucking sing
This here's the story of Gorab's very first band

Gorab: Gorab was scrounging around in a garbage can for needles one day when he witnessed a mother and father brutally raping and murdering, in no particular order, their six-week-old infant son. It looked like fun, so Gorab joined in. While Gorab was going to town mummifying the body with his sperm, Mommy and Daddy were digging up the half-rotted corpse of a dog they tested their hibachi chef skills on. Gorab decided to use the rotted newborn as a makeshift condom, thrusting further and further into the putrefied Fido until it started ejaculating post-mortem. Gorab went down on Rotting Rover, then gargled the mixture of maggots and cum. He then spat it into Mommy's cooze causing instant zombie pregnancy. After all was said and done, Gorab and his new soulmates used the dog's intestines to string up a guitar, and we started our band.

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Gorab: Nine months later, after twanging dog guts and smoking copious amounts of meth, Mommy gave birth to a human-maggot-canine hybrid that made Jeff Goldblum from "The Fly" look good by comparison. This rounded our band to its fourth member, but first Gorab would teach this antichrist the ways of the world...of Gorab. Gorab blew the mailman for free stamps, and afterward he set that same mailman on fire, serving the civil servant's roasted cock as bratwurst to the neighborhood watch. Gorab then taught the recently-birthed little bastard the most important lessons Gorab could teach: the 14 words, firearm handling, and rope tying. He also gave the kid pictures of Sammy Davis Jr. to double his hatred level. After all this, we shot some heroin, sucked each other off, and started drumming.

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Gorab: Years passed, and things were going great for our merry band of neo-Nazi, necropedophilic, meth-eating, animal-violating cannibals. Then one day, Mommy shot Daddy in the neck and Junior proceeded to fuck the bullet hole, jamming the bullet so far into the spinal cord that Daddy became quadriplegic. To celebrate Junior's accomplishment, Gorab initiated the biggest circle jerk ever conceived, easily eclipsing any award show afterparty. Junior and Daddy's dicks had the skin peeling off like a banana afterward. Mommy's clit was almost the size of a door satchel. Gorab...was no worse for wear, really. Years of practice does wonders. After all, Gorab has always been in peak physical shape. He subsists on a daily diet of cigarettes and meth: the breakfast of champions. That's the album title. Anyway, we knew our band would never take off while tied down to this old crack shack, so we burned that fucker to the ground using the electrical wiring and sewage from the septic tank. Fire makes Gorab horny, so he started to fuck this fire. Then Mommy, Daddy, and Junior all joined in. It was the only time in history a fire festival went as planned. Just ask Ja Rule. Anyway, our combined spunk and clam juice would finally put out the flames, but not before Mommy, Daddy, and Junior had their genitals roasted off. Gorab was immune to the flames, however, thanks to his love of whippits and Everclear. When all was said and done, we went on tour.

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Gorab: Before we left to go to our first gig, Gorab made sure to pick up his going-away present: the charred, mummified condom baby that started this whole enterprise. Gorab needed a fleshlight while on the road, after all. While playing our first gig, Gorab went all Donita Sparks and threw the newborn corpse into the crowd, starting a riot. We as a band then collectively decided to honor GG Allin by throwing our feces at the audience, and afterward honored Great White by burning down the venue. Mommy, Daddy, Junior, and Gorab ate the roasted genitals we had left over from the flaming house orgy as well as the infant mummy and the dead concertgoers. The show went down in history as "The Clam Chowder, Hot Dog, and Beef Jerky Grillstravaganza". The best part was that the venue encouraged diverse audiences, so Gorab and the gang got to wipe out a bunch of fuckin' minorities as well. We were on our way to hitting it big.

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Gorab: We met with a major record executive the next day, looking to score a record deal. After telling the story to him that Gorab has been telling you, he asked us what the name of our band was. That's when we told him: The Aristocrats. The exec seemed intrigued, but then he said that there was already another band with a similar name and backstory signed to the label. But he saw lucrative potential in Gorab, if for nothing more than a trafficker for the label's failed clients. Gorab signed the contract for his label advance cash, then murdered Mommy, Daddy, and Junior on the spot. Afterward, once Gorab got his fat stacks, he injected the exec with potentially fatal AIDS and ripped up the contract after pissing on it. Unless you're Resistance Records, Gorab ain't signing to your faggy label. Besides, the exec was a kike anyway, so Gorab's just living up to his Nazi dream of robbing Jews then killing them. Gorab used the money to buy a shit-ton of meth ingredients, and became the biggest drug lord this side of Detroit. And that's the story of Gorab and his first band.

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