h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Great; so you *also* spent several weeks in hell this summer? Oh swell, this just *has* to be a ploy from the narcs trying to get their hand on our special mixture. Better stay the hell away...or are you saying this Brown can help the Cause?
I think I handled him quite nicely; he got a bit edgy the last day, screaming of the navajo tribe and a secret landfill, but that was the last thing I've heard of him, so I guess we have to figure that out for ourselves...

Listen! Just don't panic Ok. I've got everything under control. Just keep your eyebrows out of the reach of Narc's flamethrowers for the next few days and we'll be home free on L S fuckin' D if you know what I mean! ! !

aaaaaargh!! I just made it back from a vicious attack by a whole motherload of Armani-clad boys back in Oslo. Don't ask what I was doing in the Norwegian capital; I think this line may be tapped...
Brown is as gone as a tourist on Ibiza. I'm going in to find that landfill, and I'm gonna survive this or die in the attempt!

The Norwegian Suits cannot be trusted. Look for a Man with a leg made of wood. He was a bigwig in the management of the Beatles during their drug years, although his name isn't mentioned on any of the papers. Believe me, he's the guy you need to communicate with. Also please remember that it's no coincidence that the letters of Oslo can be arranged to spell sloO. Comprende?

Lacerda, Lacerda? Come in man. For gods sakes man, have you gone to ground or is there some serious shit happening here? If you don't contact me soon I'm going to have to take extreme measures... I warn you: that might include consuming all this LSD - You know what that means! None for you!

aaaaargh nooo man! Don't spill a single one of those LSD doses! I'm gonna need every single one after what I've been trough these last weeks! I went into Oslo as planned; looking for the secret valley of the indians and all the people who have disappeared carrying huge lumps of marihuana stacked in their jackets. Now, I come in to the bustling city, expecting anything but the attack from behind that actually happened. They've DRAFTED me, man! I was in the army; but luckily I took enough drugs to get transferred to civil service, which put me back in Hellhole, Nowhere, pop. 53, on the local library, stacking BOOKS!! BOOKS!!
I'm going to pieces man, I can feel it all swarming in on me now...this is the end, I see the light, I can hear voices...I have to remember not to buy anymore of that guy who sold me this...
The world is ending, AC-1D, and we sure as Hell better be ready for it. I'm back! I'm back to stay! Hell, I'm miserable just now...better get me some sleep before the Bastards get back on my throat again. GOod luck man, you're gonna need it; it's a jungle out there!

Holy Jesus on a bike! Have things got that bad? It's like Argentina all over again. The draft! Those fucken paramilitary gestapo posers will try anything.
Anyway just calm down, smoke some hash and chill out. The LSD will kick in shortly and you'll be back to the familiar hallucinatory world in which you are so much more comfortable.

Argentina? Oh please no don't even mention that again! I'm out of the daze and desperately looking for all the people; they've disappeared completely! All I see is an auditorium full of mutant sheep, and all I can think is that I suddenly know that THESE were the basterds who killed Kennedy!
If I can handle this; I'm always gonna be ok. We need to score big some of these days man, reality is becoming a wee bit too insistent lately. We need Unreal.
Lots of it.

Now be careful what you do with these sheep. They're a nice enough bunch but don't mention the Kennedy thing - they're sensitive. And I hope you're not wearing those fur-lined Ug Boots and Jacket you're so fond of. That could make for an embarrassing Faux Pas.
And don't let them sell you any sheep tranquilizers. That shit can do nasty things to people! Just stick to the drugs you've got until you receive a brown paper package from a man named La Fontaigne (I think it means the Fountain in French, but who knows). Anyway, I think that this package will be just what you're looking for.

Ok, I've gotten the brown paper bag now. No troubles, only that he didn't really want to let it go. I had to become nasty to make him let go, so I'm getting a growing uneasy feeling that the man I really took that bag from was Boutros Boutros Ghali. Inside is just a key and a little metal amulet with two arrows on it, which I just can't open. Since this got to me so bad, I took about 100 grams of the sheep tranquilisers and have been dancing Reinlender with Bresjnev for the best part of a week. I'm back now. I'm stuffing books. I'm getting to old for this shit.
What are YOU up to, by the way?

The man you took the bag from was in fact an associate of mine from certain enterprises currently underway in Peru. He brought that bag to you all that way, having appropriated it from a clandestine quasi-religious group of zealous archaeologists who are determined to keep secret a new herbal paste discovered in the arm pit of a preserved Mayan King. Appparently this paste will do stuff to your brain that they have not yet figured out how to simulate the effects of for high-budget movies. But you've got to figure out where to point the arrows.
As for me, I've been writing reviews for dance performances and seeing what I can do about the little old lady who has moved into my flat, alternately insisting she is my grandmother or a rather serious symptom of some drug-induced psychosis. Fortunately I'm sticking to the universal drug laws including the one that states: "Never believe anything a drug induced hallucination says to you, unless it is said in a particularly amusing and or convincing manner. Especially never believe anyone claiming to be your grandmother, even if they are, in fact, your grandmother"