Tycoon

There was no doubt in his mind that the production and distribution of hotcakes would propel Eric into the status of filthy-rich  foodstuff mogul.  According to the alluring maxim, hotcakes were in high demand and sold at a break-neck speed. All one need do is harness this tempestuous industry: a task that Eric set about exacting with all the gusto that a manic chimp could muster.

He was quick to find that a spatula, a mangled Teflon-coated frying pan, and an oversized novelty chef's hat did not make a successful franchise.  It was, ultimately, the overheads that would destroy Eric's venture as he employed a troop of his deadbeat friends to renovate and work in the kitchen.  During this time Eric religiously watched "My Restaurant Rules" with clipboard and pen and adopted Jamie Oliver's accent 'to sound more professional…and for the ladies.  Pukka!'

Eric's best decision was to promote his best pal Stonky to the position of kitchen manager.  This masterstroke of delegation was based on the fact that Stonky was the only employee who owned his own apron, cat-of-nine-tails, and knew the word micromanagement.  In addition the rest of the motley crew wouldn't know a good hotcake if the viscose batter oozed off the ceiling and scalded them on their furry faces, a common practice in the maelstrom of a kitchen. 

The move payed off immediately with Stonky introducing full-body hessian hair-nets after the first batch of hotcakes tasted of the lumpy and unmistakeable flavour of fleas.  It also enabled Eric to put his time to better use in the sourcing of exotic ingredients that would make his hotcakes number one.  Most of this time though was spent in front of the mirror styling his hairdo in the vain of Donald Trump.  Little did Eric know that his dreams of glory would be short-lived...

I walked in to find Eric sitting alone and dejected on the floor of the kitchen, singing TLC's "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls" to himself.

'Come on Eric, cheer up.'

He sniffled, 'How was I supposed to know that mango puree and yabbies wouldn't taste good together.  I'm sure I saw it on Iron Chef.'

'Well really Eric, I don't know why you tried the hotcake scam in the first place when you have no idea at all how to cook.'

His head sank.

'I know…I know,' he murmured.

'Hey.  How about you and me start up a new pyramid scheme?' I suggested coyly.

'Really?' he perked up.

'Yeah, why not?'

'Well the courts said…'

'To hell with the courts!'

'Can I be CEO?'

'You can be whoever you like Eric'

'OK,' he wiped the encrusted snot from his upper-lip, 'Go grab my briefcase and monocle.  We have a lot of work to do.'

And there I left him, rubbing his hands together and laughing maniacally as he planned the inferno that would engulf the kitchen that night, 'earning' him $25,000 in insurance and killing two of his 'expendable' friends for authenticity, convenience, and kicks.