Yesterday I spoke with my friend and former work colleague, Brian. We talked about how our boss, Phil, died this past Labor Day of a massive heart attack. Phil was at a national park with his granddaughters, felt ill, went to a trash barrel and vomited, then sat on a bench and died.
I told Brian, "You know, I tried to kill Phil once with a voodoo kit that Sherry (another coworker) gave me one year for my birthday." I told the story here.
Brian said, "Well, your voodoo might have worked. That was about the time he started having problems." Phil had health issues and went in for a heart operation in January, 2010.
Well! That news made me feel kind of...weird. Not guilty, because officially I don't believe in voodoo. When I did my voodoo ceremony to bring about the very heart attack that later felled him, I'm sure I never for a moment really believed it would work.
But, my natural skepticism aside, what if it did? What if I sent a voodoo curse to Phil? Rather than dropping him that moment like a falling tree, it took its time, worked its way through his system, until, by god, in a couple of years the curse killed him!
The cops can't prove it, and the voodoo kit is long gone. I've disposed of that evidence. Besides, is murder by curse the same as up-close-and-personal murder? I don't believe there's a law against placing a curse. So, even though I'm confessing, I won't spend a minute in jail.
Be careful around me. Don't piss me off. Those voodoo kits are available in fine novelty stores everywhere, and you will ever know if the cause of your sudden pain or even death is because I'm sticking pins into a doll and chanting your name.