Those Agents

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My friend Gretchen, the best unpublished author I know, just got unceremoniously dumped by her longtime agent. Agents are some of the worst people in the world. (To paraphrase Albert Brooks, “That’s not my opinion. It’s a medical fact.”) Their reputations are well- deserved. They make lawyers look like Mother Theresa. To help Gretchen (and anyone who’s ever received that agent Dear John letter) land on her feet, here are a few of my favorite agent jokes. Enjoy!

A screenwriter returns home after a long evening’s work of waiting tables, only to find his house a pile of smoldering rubble. Policemen and firemen poke grimly through the remains. The writer leaps out of his car and runs over to a detective. “Oh God! My house! What happened? Where are my wife and children?”

The cop says, “I’m sorry sir. I’m afraid your agent came to your house, slaughtered your family, burned your home to the ground, and then danced on the rubble in hobnailed boots.”

The writer looks at the detective, excited, and says, “My agent came to my house?”

How many agents does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Sorry, we’re not screwing in any new light bulbs anymore. But have you considered turning your light bulb into maybe… a candle?

The crusty old literary agent finally passed away, but his agency kept getting calls asking to speak with him. “I’m sorry, he’s dead,” was the standard answer. Finally, the receptionist who

fielded the calls began to realize it was always the same voice, so she asked who it was and why he kept calling. The reply: “I was one of his screenwriters, and I just like to hear you say it.”

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