FAT GUY CALLS IT QUITS

At three o'clock low, Fat GUy barged into Suite 2323 (the Dream Factory) like he owned the damn place.
Jack Bronstein snuffed out his cigar, and sprang to his feet.
"Fat Guy, you big fat ass!" he grinned. "Sit down, Fatty."
He offered the fat-assed fellow a Fig Newton, but he was rebuked.
"Just business, sir," said Fatty. "Just business."
Rebuked, Bronstein lit up another cigar, and frowned.
"This is a side of you I haven't seen, Fatty," he said. "And frankly? I don't like it. But you're here to talk business. So talk."
Fat Guy took a hit off his asthma inhaler before speaking.
And speak he did.
"here it is, Mr. Bronstein," he beamed. "Baseball Ben Very Good to Me--the legend of Sammy Sosa."
Jack sighed.
Fatty remarked, "And that ain't all, Jack. That ain't all."
"'That ain't all,' Fatty? 'THAT AIN'T ALL'? Come on, Fatty. You haven't even named a male lead. What is this?"
Fat Guy said, "I'll TELL you what this is. I quit."
Jck tossed his cigar out the window, and threw in the lighter for good measure.
"You what?" he gasped.
FAtty replied, "I QUIT. Feel me? Out the door! I"m through working for you. I've had it!"
Bronstein said, "Uh, Fatty, you don't really do any work for me in the first place. YOu bring me half-baked movie ideas, and DickSharkwater makes movies LOOSELY based on said ideas. By the time Dick gets through with 'em, I can't even RECOGNIZE your original IDEAS. That ain't workin'!"
Enraged, Fatty fumed, "Balls."
Jack said, "Make no mistake; i appreciate the way you help me murder the burrito delivery man every day. Make no mistake."
"Don't try to blackmail me, Jack," barked Fatty. "I may have made the phone calls, but YOU pulled the TRIGGER. MURDERER! ELF-FRIEND!"
"Lose the Tolkien airs, FAtty," chuckled Jack. "They don't suit you."
"Suit THIS, boss," laughed Fatty. "you're on your own!"
Jack, struck with solitude, graspoing for something solitude, shoved a cigar in his mouth and wept.