Page 26 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Eight

(telephone slams down, followed by a knock at the door)

ACTOR: Just a minute, just a minute. It must be the boy with the
dry cleaning. I wish they’d learn how to press a jacket with
shoulder pads. (door opens) Yes, just bring it right in—oh, what
can I do for you?

DEVIL: Perhaps a great deal. I understand you are in the market
for a theatrical agent.

ACTOR: Huh? How did you know? I just hung up on my old
agent.

DEVIL: News travels fast in my line of work, especially bad
news. Let me introduce myself. Here is my card, hot off the
press.

ACTOR: Ouch! You’re not kidding! Is that paper or metal? It
looks like it’s been in an oven or something. So you’re Nicholas
Mephistopheles. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you. What other
actors in town do you represent?

DEVIL: Quite a few, actually, but they wouldn’t admit to it. In
fact, some of them don’t even want to be caught dead with me—
but they are mainly bit actors and has-beens. I have a part in
mind for you that will be the biggest in history.

ACTOR: Oh, yeah. I’ve heard all that before. Why don’t you just
go back to Hollywood and Vine, where you came from? How did
you get in here, anyway? The doorman has instructions not to—

DEVIL: Come, come, my good man. This little charade has gone
far enough. Let us put our cards on the table. Do you believe in
God?

ACTOR: Of course I do! I’m not one of those rotten commie
atheists!

DEVIL: And who created the rotten commie atheists? Was it
God?