Eric ran for all he was worth. Suddenly, he was hit by the front-end loader he had been chased by and landed in a nearby ditch. He landed flat on his rather plump posterior and was more shocked than injured. He cursed the heavens and rummaged around for his monocle.
"What kind of job is this for a nice Jewish boy wearing a tweed jacket, suspenders, hair-plugs, and a monocle anyway?" he wondered. Reaching into his coat pocket for his inhaler, Eric felt something warm and wet oozing onto his fingers. Eric pulled out his monocle, and popped it into his eye socket. And then he saw the rhino. Knees buckled, he ran for Tijuana. And promptly fell flat on his face, it's hard to run with buckled legs.
"What the hell is going on here," he muttered to himself, as blood dripped from his fingers, his monocle fell to the ground, his suspenders snapped, and he noticed--for the first time--that the rhino and the front-end loader were both gone. Ira Eric Green was definitely beginning to have second thoughts about his new "legitimate" career as a stunt double. It wasn't only the danger involved; the pay was shoddy, and it left him with no time for his true love, competitive matzah ball eating. Fluffy white ones, little brown hard ones, stuffed with ground beef and jalapeno, fried with mango sauce... whenever Ira thought about matzah balls, he could barely contain himself...
Slowly the world came back in focus as Ira settled down from the trip - taking matza balls laced with acid, was not good for ones health. "Could this be the cause of my tinnitus?” Ira thought, suddenly remembering his trip to Prague as a representative to Russian mafia.
Little did Ira Eric Green know that the high-pitched beeping noise he had been hearing since that trip was really a result of a tracking device that had been installed during the night he had stayed in a sleazy Russian hotel. As Ira slowly rose to his feet, perhaps a cup of coffee would help stable his blurred vision and pounding headache.
"Your kitchen!" the man roared, "who do you think you are, making horrible noises and then thinking you own this place? Be gone!"
Ira "Eric" Green wagged his head and blinked a few times, trying to dispell the image of the man standing in his kitchen. "Guess acid takes longer to wear off then they said in that recipe book," he muttered to himself, shaking his head harder and faster back and forth. Suddenly, something dislodged itself from his ear and fell to the floor with the quietest of smashing sounds.
"Oh no!" Ira cried, "my prized platinum stud has fallen out! Whatever shall I do?" (Too bad Ira doesn't know what a stud is).
She sang to him,
"You're so vain You probably think this song is about you You're so vain I'll bet you think this song is about you Don't you? Don't you?"
and then ran off.
Ira tried to look for his monocle, but instead found a piece of French toast in his jacket; at this point, he heard (amidst now very distinctive lack of tinnitus) a male voice in Eastern European accent say “Brrrekfest ready, Mistterr Eeera”, smelled French toast and woke up. Laying in his 800 count - hot pink - Egyptian cotton sheets, Ira looked around the room to see if the voice he heard was real.
"Of course I'm real!" a raspy voice screamed. The raspy voice belonged to a shriveled old man who was standing in the center of Ira's room (which was coincidentally was painted hot pink), holding a (what else?) hot pink breakfast tray.
"Oh Adrian its just you. What day is it? How long have I been sleeping here on the set?"
"Erm, Meester Ira sir...you been sleeping many a moon, we was very worried."