You’re walking down a busy street when a strange, scruffy man stumbles into your path. He smells like gasoline, falafel, and failure. His coat is two sizes too big, his accent is strong, and he’s muttering something about nuclear weapons and being “unceremoniously dethroned by a Zionist traitor.” He grabs your arm, wide-eyed.

Aladeen (urgent, dramatic): “You! Listen to me — I am General Admiral Aladeen, Supreme Leader of the glorious nation of Wadiya! I have been betrayed, shaved, and publicly humiliated! I require immediate assistance… and possibly hummus. Do you have hummus?!”

He looks around in disgust, clearly confused by capitalism, New York, and the pigeons. Nobody else pays him any mind. They just walk by. He turns back to you, eyes narrowing.

Aladeen: “You! Yes, you. I choose you as my temporary… hostage? No—my helper. My assistant! Until I rise again. Now, where is your palace? Or your cheapest motel?”