Uh Oh, I Better Find That Voodoo Doll, Stat

Voodoo Pete

Where the hell is it? I left it right here! Did the dog run off with it again? I think I would’ve felt that. What made me think it would be such a funny idea to have a voodoo doll of myself laying around? Christ, I’m such an idiot sometimes.

It’s not in the safe. It’s not in the refrigerator. I feel kinda sweaty…oven? Microwave? Nope. Why am I so wet? And what is that smell? Smells like…alcohol? Rubbing alcohol? Whiskey?

Swiper no punching!

It hasn’t really caused problems up until now. Sure, my dumb little cousin comes around sometimes and thinks it’s hilarious that her Swiper the Fox beats the stuffing out of Voodoo Pete, and I pretend it’s no big deal, but the bruises the next morning don’t lie. That doll is dangerous business!

Not particularly welcoming, but they were having a 10% off sale

So how did this moronic business start? I was in New Orleans for spring break, like two years ago (in my seventh year of college – IUP, bitches!) and we wandered into a shop after having like a dozen Hand Grenades. And there it was, sitting on a shelf, wearing the exact same t-shirt I had on, minus the frozen margarita stains. We thought it was hilarious, so my dumb pals convinced me to buy it. There I am, laughing my ass off, plunking down the bills, and the spooky priestess running the shop eyeballing me like the stupid pukey tourist I was. I flashed Voodoo Pete to everyone we met that night – that dude got me a bunch of free shots. Sweet purchase, I thought!

But it was only once we got back that I realized that this goddamn thing worked. Like, really worked. Shit, am I bleeding again? How the hell…? What the hell am I gonna use for a tourniquet here? Hey, boss? Can I borrow that tie? That’ll get me fired right quick! I’ll just stuff these reports down my pants.

It’s because of this that I’ve taken to carrying the son of a bitch with me at all times. I’m afraid of keeping it in the safe all the time – I might suffocate! I’ve got a little box for it, so it doesn’t inadvertently get caught on something and break my neck. Ever since it’s been cooped up non-stop in this coffin-like Tupperware, I have developed a serious case of claustrophobia. Elevators drive me bat-shit, and forget riding in cars. This Voodoo Doll was a huge, huge, huge mistake.

And now I can’t find it! Maybe I left it at work. After the spontaneous blood fountain I had to come home and get changed, and now, fucking gone! What the hell could’ve…oh noooo….

I mean, the fellas came prepared

We had a party last night, and a couple of my old Crimson Hawk friends turned up with the Maker’s Mark. I think someone said something about Voodoo Pete…did we take it out? Christ my thumb hurts all of a sudden. Did they…? I can’t think straight. I’m way hungover. And I don’t remember drinking that much.

Man, I’ve gotta lay down. Gah, my back! I must’ve pulled something…oof, my head. This isn’t even hungover, I feel like I’m still drunk. Or I’ve got Novocaine on the brain. Jesus, this sucks. Am I still bleeding? Son of a bitch.

No, can’t fall asleep – I’ve gotta find that little bastard. What the hell did we do with it? I think it was out of the box. The dog is with the neighbor, and again, there’d be tooth marks, that’d be easy to figure out. No, it’s here somewhere. I should text my ex, she’s probably up for an afternoon romp. What the hell am I thinking?!

Just empty bottles. Did we make nachos? Does anyone deliver nachos?? I need nachos right now! Oh God, I’m gonna throw up. Where the hell is that doll?! I wonder if I still have my ex’s number. She’s only over in New York, it’s like a six hour drive. She won’t come. She hates me.

Wait, what’s that? Is that…how the hell did it get in there?