Jimmy Vestvood: Amerikan Hero Page #3

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They don't even get

what a p.I. Does.

And no offense, Mr. mehdi,

but I did not come to America

to work at a persian

supermarket.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

You should be grateful

that you have a place

to work in this economy.

Ask Rick.

He'll tell you.

Dude, I'm white, good-looking,

I have a ph.D in economics

from Harvard and this

is the best job I've had

- since graduating.

- Okay, do it again,

and this time,

use more elbow doctor.

Elbow grease.

"Ph.D."

- prick.

- I heard that.

That's for my

little baby, ooh...

Hey, you open it,

you buy it.

- Homayoun?

- Dad. Hey.

Jamshid, you remember

my son?

Homayoun? The last time

I saw you, you were

a little boy.

What happened?

Puberty?

- That was 20 years ago.

- Wow.

And now he's getting

married to homeira joon.

- Hi, nice to meet you.

- Nice to meet you too.

You look so happy.

Yeah.

She's always happy.

And once they are married,

he's gonna take over

the business.

Dad. We talked about this.

I don't want to be

a butcher.

I mean,

I'm a vegetarian.

Don't be a p*ssy.

No offense to you, homeira joon.

I like p*ssy.

Okay.

Son, I promised your mother

on her deathbed

that you're going

to take over this

butcher empire.

- Homayoun?

- Mh-hmm?

It's you.

Don't break my heart.

Don't break my heart.

Okay, okay, dad.

Let's take it easy, okay?

- It's okay sir, it's okay.

- It's gonna be okay, dad.

Mr. mehdi, come back.

Come back.

Okay... okay.

Congratulations

on the wedding.

Stay happy.

So, how is your mother?

She's good, thanks god.

She's good.

Well, I tell you what.

If you convince her

to go on a date with me,

I will let you

pass out your flyers.

Mr. mehdi, I'm not gonna

pimp out my own mother.

You're not pimping her out.

I just want to take her

out for a Starbucks.

You scratch my balls,

I scratch yours.

I'm pretty sure

it's "Back."

well, my back

is not itching.

Okay, you got a deal.

I scratch your balls.

Okay, I will give her

my beef.

She's gonna love it.

And, I will

throw in my bone.

Mr. Westwood.

At your service.

I understand you're

a private investigator.

- Yes, I am.

- I may have a job for you.

- What kind of job?

- Please, get in.

Mr. Westwood?

Mr. Westwood?

Mr. Westwood. Hey.

- Ugh!

- Sorry. Sir.

Get in. Plug the nose.

Sorry, sir.

- Oh, god.

- Let me get that for you.

- Oh-hh!

- Sorry, sir.

Oh, wow.

A big-screen TV.

This is

the American dream.

Mr. Monroe will be

with you in a moment.

Can I get you a cocktail

while you wait?

Yes. Tea.

Hot tea.

Stirred, not shaking.

Shaken, not stirred...

Oh.

Hello, deer.

I would not shoot you.

Hello?

Mr. Westwood?

Over here.

Oh, sorry,

I was just practicing

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