Osric, a poet
Oswald, an advertising man
Osric: My hair is falling out, and no one reads my poems.
Oswald: My liver is bad, and everyone reads my ads.
Osric: Alas, I am marginal to the economy.
Oswald: Alas, I am central to the economy.
Osric: Of course, you had to sell your soul.
Oswald: And you were unable to sell yours; perhaps I could
write you an ad?