The Curse

You would think that if You needed to hire a witch doctor, one would have to travel to Africa or South America.

 

Nope. Yes I can actually hire a witch doctor in Atlanta who specializes in lifting curses. It costs the paltry sum of $1,000 to cast out demons and

curses. Unless you know that you a specific demon inside you. That will cost an extra $500.

 

Yes, they have a list of demons on their website. Like a menu

 

Just pick one, pay your thousand plus dollars and you can say adios to ole Beelzebub.

 

So why am hunting down a Witch doctor? Well, it seems the curse has struck again.

 

Every time we get ready to go on a trip, something wicked this way comes.

 

My lovely wife and I were scheduled to go on a short vacation to New Orleans this morning. The trip was a Christmas gift from our kids.

 

We had reservations at the Hotel Astor Crown Plaza in the French Quarter, a list of places where we wanted to eat and a coupon for beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe du Monde.

 

But, as it always seems to happen when we get ready to go somewhere, tragedy struck.

 

And once again, it struck me.

 

I don’t know why the bad luck curse never pounces on my beautiful wife.

 

She’s certainly not living a life of high moral standards. I saw her gleefully grind up a bunch or egg shells in the food disposal the other day and I’m pretty sure that PETA would not appreciate that.

 

So, yesterday evening, I started to have some abdominal pain. Nothing severe. I had purchased some potato salad and eaten it earlier that day and thought it might be food poisoning.

 

You can never trust premade salads that come from grocery store.

I thought getting a hot bath would make me feel better. Or maybe I would pass out from the pain and drown. Either way, I’d get relief.

 

But as I lay there in the water, my pain began to get much worse.

 

If I was going survive being stuffed with beignets like a fat, juicy tick, I’d have to get to feeling much better.

 

I didn’t.

 

Finally, I broke down and told my wife that I needed to go to the hospital. I know she likes bargains and considering all of the trips I have made to the hospital lately, sure we were due a free surgery.

 

Or at least a discounted enema.

 

I got to the ER at Grady General last night about 7:30 and the moment I stepped though the door, I knew I had made a mistake.

 

Every seat in the ER lobby had someone’s sick butt in it. I asked the woman at the check-in window how long it would be before a doctor could see me.

 

She laughed and replied “several hours.”

 

If this was another intestinal blockage like I had a year back, I would not last ‘several’ hours, so I got back in the car and we headed to Thomasville.

 

It only took the people at Archbold only a few minutes to take me back and I was in a bed and heading down for a CT scan faster than the folks at Grady Archbold could get a fresh body bag ready.

 

Long story short, I didn’t have a blockage. Or a blood clot.

 

Nope, this was fresh condition. The doc said that my appendix was ‘bad’ need to come out.

 

Now, if it were up to me, I would have sent my appendix to remedial classes.

 

Maybe some after school detention until it got its crap together.

 

My surgeon suggested a different course of action.

 

“Let’s cut that sucker out!”

 

He said it with a little too much enthusiasm which made me wonder if he was thinking more about all the new accessories he would be buying for his yacht this spring instead cutting me open.

 

But I didn’t care. I have good health insurance.

 

“Do it!” was my reply.

 

I’m now lying in my bed on the 6th floor dreaming about beignets and women exposing their ta-tas in order to get some beads.

 

I’m wearing one of those hospital

gowns that ties in the back. I have showed my shiny white ass to multiple people since yesterday and have not gotten a single bead tossed my way.

 

As I sat here contemplating my sad lot in life, I have come to the conclusion that I am cursed.

 

Apparently, at some point in my life, I must have pissed off a gypsy or stole the parking space from a warlock at Walmart.

 

That can really be the only explanation.

 

I haven’t run over any little puppy dogs or pushed down any old ladies.

 

Well, at least not lately.

 

So, all I can think of is that at some point in my life I have pissed off someone who deals in the dark arts and they cast a spell on me.

 

I’m not sure what kind of spell it is but it must have something to do with me leaving the house and going on vacation.

 

Somewhere out there, somebody is cursing me by sticking a pin in a doll that looks surprisingly like me. Or mixing up a fresh batch of eye of newt and nightshade.

 

The Witch Doctor in Atlanta offers several services that is supposed to protect me from these mischiefs.

 

Loa atonement. Creeping Death, Quetzalcoatl, Haunting Girdles. And my personal favorite- the lotus swarm. My wife would probably object to that one.

 

The Witch Doctor also sells various potions and products that may help me have better luck.

 

I can buy a paste made from ground up mummies that is guaranteed to bring me peace. Just not better rub in your eye.

 

I can also buy an amulet made from wormwood and even a real human skull.

 

I’m not sure what to do with that last one.

 

Maybe I should set it on the dashboard the next time I leave on a trip.

 

The Witch Doctor said he could provide me services in person, over the phone or via Zoom. Didn’t know they were so technical advanced.

 

All I know is that I am tired of going to the ER every time my wife and I drive across town. So as soon as I get out this hospital bed, I’m ordering me a used skull and maybe a couple mouse embryos. Supposedly, you boil the mouse carcass and make a nice tea that will help ward off the evil eye.

 

I’m about to get the Witch Doctor on a Zoom call.

 

I’m either going to get better or tomorrow, I’m going to wake up with an a toe growing out of my forehead.