This may surprise you, but I didn't grow up dreaming about being an agent. I wanted to be a doctor. Unfortunately, I was thrown out of medical school during my second year. The teachers felt that my moral compass wasn't pointing due north. So I moved to L.A. and became an agent. That was a much better fit.
The trouble started a few months back when I realized my clients weren't making enough money to pay for my second home. They were talented, but none of them was perfect. Some were too tall; some were too short. Others were great with comedy but not so good with drama. It was always something. I used to fantasize about finding the perfect actor. And then it hit me. Why not just make one?
Igor had been my assistant for two years when I approached him with the idea. He liked it. So we started visiting acting schools and workshop companies, claiming we were looking for new talent.
I found the perfect body on a kid who had just moved here from the Midwest. He had been raised on a farm and his body was amazing, but he had a wandering eye. So we jumped him in the parking lot, took his body, and threw out his head.
The two of us discovered the perfect face on a bartender at a Hollywood nightclub. The guy was gorgeous, but he was dumber than a box of hair. Igor told him I was casting an independent film, so the young actor jumped in our van without thinking twice. An hour later, we tossed his brain to the coyotes that roam the Hollywood Hills.
My creation now had the body of an Adonis and the face of a god. But it was mindless. The skull was empty. I knew the perfect actor needed to have talent. So I told Igor to bring me the brain of Ryan Gosling.
A few days later, Gosling's brain was in the creature's head, ready to follow my directions. I then used a Tesla coil to generate just the right amount of electricity. On my mark, Igor threw the switch. The creature's eyes flickered. I had done it! The perfect actor was alive! Alive!
Suddenly, he jumped down from the table and started growling demands at me. The creature wanted a manager and a personal assistant and a three-picture deal.
I whirled on Igor and shouted, "What have you done? This isn't the mind of Ryan Gosling!" My assistant confessed that he hadn't been able to find Gosling, so he had to settle for the next best thing.
"So whose brain did I put in that perfect body?"
I broke down in tears. The dream was over.
Soon the monster started doing rounds on the talk-show circuit. He told them everything. Ellen was shocked. Jay was speechless. My career was over.
And now here I am, hiding in my office, as if I were the monster. Are my sins that mortal? Am I the only agent who has gone too far? I guess the answers don't matter now, because the mob is right outside my door. I can hear them clearly. They're planning to throw my body off the Hollywood sign.
What they don't know is that agents are like roaches. We know how to survive. I've got Igor waiting in the bushes below the sign. He has my notes. I will return and be the star of my own sequel. I will have a strong third act. And I'll sell the rights to my story for a fortune!