Brody visits his Agent

Brody heared a familiar sound - it was his trusty Nokia 3210.  Brody rushed to answer it, but couldn't find the bloody thing.  His blood pressure raced as he got up from the couch a bit too suddenly, and he frantically tried to find his ancient device.  The ringing seemed very close by... Ah, he thought, and reached between his rolls of belly flab.  Lo and behold, there it was, along with a few half eaten Doritos chips.  I'll save those for later, Brody thought, and placed them back between the rolls for safe keeping.

Brody managed to mash the key pad sufficiently to answer it - it was his agent.  He said he'd landed on a role that would be perfect for Brody.  He'd heard this all before - the last audition was for a Walls Sausages advert, and the director had been reduced to a sobbing mess by the savage manner in which Brody had devoured not only all of the sausages, but also all of the food for the whole crew.  However Brody was short on funds, having spazzed his compo winnings on Tesco Burgers and given himself bute poisoning.  Brody looked at his Best Male Oscar on his mantlepiece, covered in cobwebs and slices of mouldy pepperoni, and sighed.  Hungry and desperate, Brody agreed to meet with his agent to read the script.

Brody climed into his Fiat Cinquecento, the suspension groaning more than the House of Commons after one of Ed Balls's chunky farts. The engine turned over at the fourth time of asking, every warning light illuminating on the dashboard.  After 15 miles and 3 stops for petrol (Brody refused to put more than a fiver in the tank), he arrived at his agent's office in a delapidated industrial estate in Slough.

"Brody, this role is perfect for you - it'll put you right back on the map," announced his agent.  Brody grabbed the script between his pudgy fingers, smearing the pages with sweat and mayonnaise from the Chicken Royale sandwich he had monstered at the services.  It was for the role of Widow Twanky at the Bournemouth Palladium.
"Not bloody panto again," wheezed Brody.  The last time he'd done panto, he was fired after the first night for making every child in the audience scream in terror.
"Look Brody - I'm not a miracle worker.  You're not going to get a role like the bloody Pianist again.  There's no demand for obese concentration camp victims."
Desperate for funds and famished, Brody agreed to do the audition.  At least they'd have a complimentary buffet...