TAMPA – By now, we have all heard Larry King’s ads for the super-vitamin, Ester-C. It is marketed to the old and the feeble (usually mutually exclusive), and is pimped between Paul Harvey segments. Since LushForLife.com has, historically, had a general mistrust of geriatrics, we did some investigating into the effect of this so-called vitamin.
First, of course, I had to infiltrate the old folks and their territories, so, after a ton of special effects movie make-up, I was ready to head old to the local Piccadilly. I ordered the sliced roast beef with a side of creamed corn and a bran muffin and began my investigation.
I invited myself to sit at a table with an old-timer named William who had ears like a Tibetan statue and was definitely in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. I asked him how his pork jowl sandwich tasted and he simply replied, “Mississippi is for lovers.”
To my left, I noticed an inordinately unattractive bag of meat and bones named Martha who was gnawing particularly enthusiastically at her pulled pork lunch platter.
“Hey, you look jubilant,” I told her, winking my eye in an attempt to wrangle her assistance. “You must be taking that Ester-C.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “I’ve got a connection down near the port. You interested?”
I gave her my number, written on a napkin in extra large characters so she would be able to see it through her cataract eyes. I told her to call before my five o’clock bedtime.
I received her call at four fifteen and agreed to meet her the next day at a ballroom on 56th Street called Mitzy’s. We were getting close.
I arrived there the next day with twenty dollars in my pocket, ready to do the deal. Martha arrived in a sweet shuttle bus, full of other old, toothless, gummy retirees. She then handed me my supply like a slick heroin dealer and beckoned me inside the club.
I, reluctantly, took my pill and waited for the effects to kick in as I walked inside of the dimly-lit Mitzy’s.
My worst fears were realized as I entered, as no less than seventy septuagenarians were dressed in latex, plastic, chains, and studded belts. They were rubbing on each other in such an obscene way, it made me instantly think of deep-sea invertebrates fucking. I ran to the bathroom to vomit.
Another curmudgeon approached me in the bathroom. “So, can’t handle your shit, huh?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I replied, with chunks of food spraying out of my mouth.
“The EC, man. Aren’t you feeling it? It’s like a thousand fingers all over my body, each one touching my G Spot, man. Don’t you feel it? Ooh! My song’s on. I gotta go!”
I picked myself up off of the bathroom floor and went back to the orgy to find out more. When I got back to the dance floor, however, everyone was naked, asleep, and snoring.
I returned to my office and phoned Larry King for an interview. He declined, so I mailed a cardboard box full of feces to his office at CNN with a note that read:
“Dear Larry,
I know that Ester-C is just ecstasy for old people. You have been exposed. Send me one million dollars in unmarked, non-sequential bills or I will reveal your secret.
Love,
Egbert Souse”
