Restaurant star Adrien Brody was comatose from the 15 burger orgy that had recently concluded. His ashen, pasty frontage was smeared with condiment. A token french fry lay half-protruding from the considerable rolls of waxy stomach fat.
He woke with a start. The Nokia was cawing its angry drone. It was his agent.
"Adrien, there's a possibility of some work on the Continent. It's only a shampoo advert but let's face it - we need it right now. They say they'll pay a week's fees with expenses and put you up full board."
The final two words had got his attention. Brody sat up, sending an empty can of Tennent's clattering to the floor. Thick mucus dribbled from his sallow mouth as he imagined being able to eat his way through a meal intended for an entire hotel full of guests. With extreme difficulty, he shifted his vast carcass out of the bed by rolling on to the floor. Realising he could no longer stand unaided, he dialed for help on the Nokia. Unlimited food for a week - he would not be letting this opportunity pass him by. All that was needed was to get on a flight to Amsterdam the next morning.
The airline check-in clerk flatly refused. There was absolutely no way, she gasped, that a passenger aircraft of any size would be allowed to fly with this man on board.
Brody sat down on two benches. Barring a miracle, he would not be flying. The dream of 40 breakfasts was slipping away. He needed a solution. His swollen membrane struggled with the possibility of sentient thought. Hadn't Thin Red Line producer Grant Hill used a military helicopter? His dubious agent was tasked to find a solution.
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