L4L Report From The Mediterranean Sea

The following article was received from Danny Albertson via satellite at LushForLife.com headquarters in Tampa, Florida from the coast of Beirut shortly after Israeli bombing of Lebanon began to take place. We believe Albertson’s trained chimp may have wired the story – so any factual inaccuracies are simply beyond control.

“It’s approaching five o’clock in the morning, floating onboard Duncan Idaho’s yacht, the Scullender, several miles off the turbulent shores of Beirut, Lebanon, as the bottom of the amyl nitrate bottle finally unveils itself to my debauched and swollen eyes. My crew of Lebanese vigilantes has abandoned our escape; the only remaining member is Miguel, one of the last trained chimps who survived the shooting at LushForLife.com headquarters last month, who I decided to bring along on this assignment, partially for his inane wit, but mainly for his grizzled drinking habit. Our lone boat emits the only sign of life and flashes of light for miles, aside from the flickers of blasts from the Lebanese shoreline, visible from this luxurious boat that Duncan so warmheartedly provided.

I was sent to Beirut to supervise a transaction between LushForLife.com executive Duncan Idaho and group of Lebanese tradesman, as well as a lead I picked up from one of my ‘psychedelic consultants,’ who told me his colleague in Beirut was the last person on earth to obtain an extremely rare hallucinogen derived from Cypripedium acaule. The deal with the Lebanese traders was already set in stone; the price of the aluminum tubing we were buying was agreed upon in writing, Duncan’s third party buyer was making the purchase, and all I had to do was make sure Duncan wasn’t getting duped – the only thing Miguel and I required was to get the bugger done.

The morning of July 13, before heading to the Lebanese market to complete the transaction, I took Miguel with me to a brothel located on the outskirts of downtown Beirut where I was instructed to meet my source’s client, where I could acquire some of this obscure drug. We each shared a round of amyl nitrate as we passed by the various movers and shakers trying to push twelve year-old African hookers into our paths. Though my intoxicated chimp wanted to take the Lebanese pimps on their offers, I forcefully reminded him, as I passed the amyls, of the purpose of this quest.

We reached the entrance to our client’s brothel; it was more of a deserted, inhospitable hut than a place to find sensual delight – occupied only by a pair of run-down whores and our man, Naim El Saikali, sheathed in a hooded garment, obscuring his appearance.

’I never do business before enjoying a drink,’ he muttered in a surprisingly coherent English accent.

’Do you mind sharing a table with a chimp?’ I asked him, ‘I never drink without him, and he’s very well mannered.’

He force fed us round after round of a home-distilled grain alcohol; a primitive spirit with a hasty bite and a strong kick that made my chimp’s stomach grumble with delight.

I sat across from him, attempting to keep my words short and my thoughts clear, struggling to keep my brain wrapped around the task at hand.

’I’ll tell you where to find the mystical acaule,’ he said, writing down something on a napkin, ‘Go to this place. You will find good luck there.’

The time was almost 10am, judging from my watch, which I could barely see clearly enough to distinguish the angle of the directional arms. We didn’t have time to explore the acaule just yet; it was time to get the dirty business done. Meeting up with these businessmen will surely be a formidable task, but one that I was sent here to do. One thing I know about dealing with Duncan – and his temper – is to not leave any stone unturned, or reap the consequence of having your entire liquor cabinet evaporate and your stash vanish without a trace. Otherwise, I would just send Miguel on this awful task. He’s a capable primate, sometimes more than I am?

Upon returning to the marketplace and finding my associates, I was shocked to find our third party buyer tied up in chicken wire and gagged in a shipping box, next to two other Israeli captives and guarded by a half dozen armed Lebanese soldiers who looked more bug-eyed and tweaked than Miguel when he and I engage in all night meth-binges. These fuckers were definitely either in their element, or really out of it – ready to gun down anything that moved? in my case, a drunken, glassy-eyed Gringo with an equally soused chimpanzee at his feet.

’I’d like half a pound of jumbo Mediterranean sea shrimp, a barrel of your finest swill, and a shard of gristle for the monkey to chew on,’ I said in a slurred voice, with my eyes slightly closed.

They mumbled something in Lebanese [sic] and pointed at me to leave, so I took them up on the offer. ‘I guess the fishmonger is on down. My mistake. Good day, gentlemen? ‘

I had to make the quick decision of abandoning our search for the mystical acaule until a later time. The moment had come to make a prompt getaway, with amyls in pocket and chimp in hand. Real pros know when the time is right?

Our boat sailed off shore while a fleet of Israeli bombers coasted towards the Lebanon skyline, causing havoc and demolition. We’ve been anchored several miles off shore for three days, just within international waters, waiting for one of Gale Force’s hijacked steamboats that we sent transmissions to three days ago to come and rescue us.

We’ll see the calming shores of Tampa Bay soon, I hope. If not, Miguel and I have plenty of El Saikali’s grain alcohol and the remaining drips of amyl nitrate to keep us company.

Reporting from the Mediterranean, this is Danny Albertson.’



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