Palm Drama in St. Barthelemy — old families, private land, possibly a government conspiracy or two…

An orchard of palms prompts primordial ponderings in Laz.

Palm porn. The money shot, by Laszlo Von Glitz.

Lala dances prior to being ousted mostly non-violently by a scary land-baron who has an underground mountain colony that aliens may have helped found in the 80s or perhaps in the 1880s -- we don

THE TALE OF THE SCARY TRUCK PEOPLE:

So the story goes comme ca: Lala and Laszlo are driving around where they shouldn’t be driving. Only because Laszlo NEVER LISTENS TO LALA he didn’t notice this.
Lala, having taken multiple xanax with a pina-colada chaser was numbed to the drive at this point. So, although she may have gestured in a lazy way to the various signs that proclaimed: “CHEMIN PRIVEE” “KEEP OUT” “DOGS PRESENT” “THIS MEANS YOU, LASZLO VON GLITZ” — sadly, he didn’t notice.

And so we drove.

How Laszlo remembers it...

“I just wanted to get to the top of the mountain to take a nice photograph,” Laszlo asks me to mention at this point in our terrifying tale.

“That’s what the chicken said,” I respond.

“Just finish the damn blog,” says Laszlo.

So… there we are. Innocently nearing the summit of a not-too-populated mountain. I won’t say the name because I am afraid this dude and his alien ancestors and the chain gang of albino guinee pig-people he has down there (cue the David Bowie music) and their pick up trucks (gray) will come after us… Deep breath. So this dude comes out of no where, in a truck. He said something in a low voice. His lips barely moved. “Where ah you goink,” he said, louder. Tree frogs shrieked.

Laszlo did what Lala calls “prevaricating.”

“I didn’t see any signs, man,” he said, which, Lala, said, shaking her head, was true.

“He totally doesn’t see anything at all. I warned him. And he doesn’t listen.”

“There were signs?” repeated Laszlo.

“This is my family propety,” said weird guy in truck. “Thah ah signs everywhere.”

“We totally saw them, and we are leaving,” I said.

“You would totally sell me down the river wouldn’t you,” said Laszlo under his breath.

“It’s really not the time, honey bunny,” said I. “I think that man has a gun.”

(The following moments were full of tires squealing and much backward driving.)

Laszlo: Wow, babe, that was close.

Lala: You totally never listen to me.

Laszlo: I’m going back to get that photograph.

Lala: Okay, can you pick me up some Diet Coke?

THE NEXT MORNING:

Laszlo, solo, sans Lala, drives BACK to the other side of said mountain — the SAME mountain — in the same rental car in which we had been accosted the night before — and here is how he tells it…

Laszlo: “OMG. OMG. OMG. Lala. Get up. I’m scared. Get up. I’m totally freaked. You are not going to believe this.”

Lala: “Why are you shutting all the drapes and locking the doors?”

Laszlo: “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Lala: “Just calm down and tell me what happened. No, never mind that, that’s just a martini glass I was using for water. Ice water. No, don’t smell it.”

Laszlo: “I made it all the way up.” (big hand gestures). “35% pitch.”

Lala: “What’s a pitch?”

Laszlo: “I”m talking here… 35% pitch. 6 foot wide pathway. I’m driving. (makes driving gesture). Up, up up! BEAUTIFUL vistas! BEAUTIFUL! I stop 10 yards from the summit. I’m snapping photos. There’s a hair pin turn there so I can’t see where the roadway goes.All of a sudden I hear a truck engine starting!

Lala: “You mean a car engine?”

Laszlo: “Pretty sure it was a truck engine. It was throatier.”

Lala: “Whatever. Go on.”

Laszlo: “As if it were in slow motion, a gray pickup, the SAME GRAY PICKUP, rounds the hairpin. Now it’s facing me.”

Lala: “Holy shit, what did you do?”

Laszlo: “I was scared. There were two gentlemen in the cab… I couldn’t tell if one was the same guy — but they were wearing similar hats to the guy’s yesterday. They didn’t say a word. I didn’t say a word. I just got in the jeep, and I slowly backed that mutha down that slope, at the pace of a snail … it was hard enough getting up it without falling over the edge… All the while, this truck was bumper to bumper with me, escorting me down, down down.”

Lala: “So your life was at risk.”

Laszlo: “Very at risk!”

Lala: “Did you pick up the Diet Coke?”

Laszlo: “What?”

Lala: “Nevermind, just keep going.”

And so it went on, dear readers, this confessional of fear. What were those strange men doing up there? We Google Earthed it and found there is NOTHING THERE for them to be guarding so assiduously. NOTHING.
WE concluded, like any red-blooded Americans, that there were certainly hidden tunnels and secret locations up there. Stuff is GOING on.

This is not what the gray truck looked like. Probably. But this is how Laszlo remembers it. Hey, dudes in the mountain? Can you not kill us? Cool.

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7 thoughts on “Palm Drama in St. Barthelemy — old families, private land, possibly a government conspiracy or two…

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