I'm an actor, and my troubles all began with my agent, Morty Fineman. He became jealous of my success, and wanted nothing more than to squash any opportunity that might present itself to me, especially those real wonderful opportunities that leave you wondering, "How could this script squeeze by the likes of Tom Cruise?" My spouse warned me to sign with another agent, but I felt certain that Morty had what it took to stabilize my career. At first, this was the case. I received many lucrative offers in this large urban sprawl we call Los Angeles. I was working in all the nice places, even the hottest spot of them all, Hollywood. Entertainment Magazine said I would sprout into a new Paul Newman.

Then, seemingly on the spur of the moment, Morty started a squabble. It got so bad he tried to stab me and I had to call the police squad. They used pepper spray to subdue him. At the trial, Morty tried to spout some nonsense about how I attacked him. Morty was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so, of course, he received no jail time.

I was once a famous actor. It's a long way from my current factory job-I squirt oil into the hinges of doors that squeak. Thanks to the spontaneous nature of the spotlight, I may yet again be famous.