Voodoo Lounge v.12.1: I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!

Brand Names: The New Slavery

Levis. Gucci. Prada. Coach. Fubu. Sean John. Lugz.

They are all brand names that bring connotations to the viewer. They portray the user as "rich." "Handsome" or "beautiful." "Classy." "Flossy." You get the point. Even if the item itself is fake, as many of it is (How many fake Nike jackets have you seen in your day?), you still see the attempt to attain status and standing with the world with the flashing of a discreet, or in the case of many bling bling gear, not so discreet. It is a shame that younger children are MORE familiar with the face of Ronald McDonald and Nike than they are with the letters that grace their textbooks. It's a damn shame. I content that Brand Names, more of which I'm sure you can bring to mind, reflect a new slavery, where we are so tied to image-bearing brands that bring us glory and false inflation of self-esteem. This is slavery of minds and wallets. We are all guilty of it. The shirts we wear have brands splashed on their chests. The little tab on our jeans? I can tell you just how much that person spent on their jeans, and yes, I will pigeonhole them according to salary bracket. How messed up is that.

Lately, the argument of utilizing NBA player arms and even some cheerleader bellies (i swear this is true) to splay banner ads has surfaced. Yes, soon you too will see Michael Jordan with a small Nike symbol on his bicep. You may also see Budweiser on a cheerleader's midriff. Now take the argument of brand slavery to another level. In the days before the Emancipation Proclamation, the slaves were branded by their master. You will find symbols of that plantation or identification numbers branded across their arms, their legs, their rears, their backs. People then were treated like chattle, not people, but property, and you will also find that brands are used on animals in much the same way. To identify. To prevent loss. To mark for life the property of a man. These men are black. Their "owners" are white. The fans are white. Perform for us, will you, wear your brand, show your product loyalty. Pander to the masses.

This is a new slavery, the new brands of a consumer nation. The players themselves will not be permanently tattooed, but millions of viewers bear witness to that mark, and it is clear to whom that player belongs. It will be clear to whom you will belong once you buy into that brand just because so and so had it on his arm. So and so had it on her midriff. The new freakin' slavery, Voodoo Babies, how do you like that? Free your minds from the waste that is abundant and see consumerism and materialism destroying lives and potentials. When we identify ourselves by our material belongings and brand names, we are enslaved to the dollar, we are enslaved to an ivory tower filled with men who laugh and take our money in one breath.

This has been burning in my mind lately, children, and I urge you to seriously think of the implications of what is going on in your media today. Turn off your TV. Face reality.

Peas,
Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 11:15:00 PM

Someone told me to say hi to you

Don't you hate those tantalizing SUBJ: lines? "Someone told me to say hi" or "Here are the pics you wanted" or "Re: Your Question". It's all crap, I tell you. But anyway, I just used it on you.

Jill told me to say hi. Why don't you see what's up with her?

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 11:18:00 AM

The Blog Community

I would first off like to thank Mista J for sending me some traffic. I know my site isn't as sexual chocolate as his, but he did send me some traffic. I salute you, Mista J, educator of the free world.

NBM, the NYtimes of the Blog Set, yes I still read your site. I want to see what new things you can pull out of your hat. And I keep checking to make sure that you have some nudity on your page. It's starting to bore me! I wanna see big fat nurples! J/K. Oh yah, don't underestimate the Voodoo, not only will I paint each one of those soda can tabs, I'll also sell them, make a profit and then throw the cash at you like Mookie did in Do the Right Thing. Biaaaaaaaaatch. Yes, I'm still ghetto. I was bumpin' NWA the night I was preppin' for my dissertation.

The Blog community is pretty large, there are lots of things to read about, and almost everyone's opinion varies from one to the next. My blog goes everywhere, Mista J's does, and it seems NBM has a predilection (You understand that NBM? Big DOCTORAL words! Should I break it down into one syllable words?) for baby stuff...so NBM, feeling the urge to merge? Is that it? Spawn away, I say. I learn a lot from reading these guys' blogs. I find out what's going on in their worlds, and how we all see the same thing in different ways. Mista J is workin' over time thinking about the world and how jacked up it is, I'm thinking about the world as it pertains to shopping, shoes, and education, and NBM is busy scribblin' with his crayons. You go boy. Soon, they'll let you take that big helmet off your head and even let you not wear your chin strap!

My homie for life, Husky Boy, no not Rex, is just starting off his blog life...you can find him at the Heavy Jumbo spot. Me and Husky go back to jeez, 1988 when we first started going to school at UC Freakin D' ya heard. He lived two floors down from me. One night, my roommate, the Iron Cross, said, "Voodoo! There's a Filipino guy downstairs!" You'll have to understand UCD was kinda chalky, no disrespect, my white readers, but I was feelin' the Raisin in the Mayo vibe them days. So we went downstairs, hung out with Husky and Tasto Tasto (a take on Flava Flav), and we're now life long friends. Husky Boy is a former wrestler, and we tested his mettle, Iron Cross and I. He threw us to the ground. It was sad. It was college. It was fun. We read each other's blogs, and it's a nice way for us and the rest of the Voodoo Children world wide to know what's going on in our respective lives. I just also want to let Husky know that I'm going to wail on his ass the next opportunity I can, I've been training for 12 years and I know I can kick his Husky Rump. BRING IT!

I encourage everyone to write, it's a smart thing to do (keep at it NBM), and it's also a way to develop your brain a little. You learn so much from reading other worlds, but I contend that you learn a lot from writing your own. I'm always happy to link a site if you've got some good content. The blog community needs you!

Back to chill mode,
Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 1:27:00 AM

My 1st day as a doctor.

I don't feel any different. I'm not taller. My paycheck is the same. I'm not having tons of guys call me for dates. The sky is still grey. The birds don't chirp any different. My car is still an Altima. My house isn't bigger. I still don't have a couch.

My wallet is still empty. My room is still unkempt. My computer still isn't a G4. My loan payments are still waiting for me in December. My blog doesn't have 80 million readers. The answering machine has a big fat fuckin' "0" blinkin' at me.

Life isn't exciting. No presents, no new emails. Did I mention no guys calling me for dates?

It's funny that everyone has been asking me lately, "So how does it feel?" Well, it doesn't feel any different, to be honest. I guess the world is supposed to be different. I mean, there's no homework to do, but that's cool. You know it's not like I feel like I didn't accomplish something, but it didn't quite hit me yet. Everyone's been calling me Doc too. It's cute, but now people will always expect me to be somewhat "different" or smarter. Whatever.

I'll be back later on for more drama fo yo' mama... And for those lusting after more, peep Mista J's page...he got some craziness that'll back you up! Much love to my nigs, 4 steps down ;-) And no, you can't be on top.

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 4:39:00 PM

That's Doctor Voodoo to You

Yes, finally, after 23 years of schooling, as mentioned in the previous blogger, yes I am a doctor.

This road would not be possible without the close friends who have supported me, given me some space and some love. The reward is not the diploma, but the reward is the process by which we come to arrive at a diploma.

You all know this, but allow me a little liberty to share...THE DAMN YOU LIST.

I realize that some Voodoo Babies may not like the explicit nature of the word FUCK. But DAMN, I think, is far more harsh. You are, in effect, damning someone to eternal hellfire. Isn't that cool?

In the process of getting my education, there are some people who stood in my way. There are people who have brought me nothing but pain and misery, and I want to tell them, DAMN YOU. I made it despite your wack efforts to bring my little brown butt (maybe not so little) down! You can't fade me, I thought you knew this! I am the freakin' SHIZNIT! Back up SON!

To the people who defined me as a "super-intelligent" Asian, DAMN YOU.

To the people who were racists in my classrooms and were threatened by the way I speak and the way I act, DAMN YOU.

To the people who thought I couldn't succeed, DAMN YOU. No, FUCK YOU TOO.

To the people who crossed me, especially those triflin' people who think they're all that like they shit don't stink, DAMN YOU.

To my ex-boyfriends who are missing out on some prime lovin, DAMN YOU. And DAMN YOU.

To my teachers who didn't expect me to go far in life, DAMN YOU.

To all the haters and disrespecters, DAMN YOU.

To the hoes at the club who be thinkin' that I'm swoopin' their man. DAMN YOU. He don't want you anyway.

To the guys who think they're all that (but are really wack), DAMN YOU. Wait, DAMN YOU and your two-minute brother self.

To all the so-called fair-weather friends, DAMN YOU.

And to the Voodoo Child, DAMN YOU for being so damn FOINE. yah right.

DAMN YOU.
Dr. Voodoo

PS: DAMN YOU for not sticking by my side when the shit got hot. You know who you are. What comes around goes around. This is my DAMN YOU list, and you're the #1 spot, trick.

posted by Voodoo Child @ 12:12:00 AM

T minus 10 hours

In 10 short hours, I am going to defend my dissertation. That means that I"m going to go up against a board of people who will attempt to shoot my ass down. No, it's not really like that, it's more like, do your presentation, then get feedback. Dodge the darts!

Like my boy Palma Sutra or whatever I named his ass, says, Fuck the LUCK.

I got it down. Down like 4 flat tires, right Shaq? Suckaaaaaaa.

Anyways, now it comes down to this: 23 years of schooling prepares me for this one hour. This one moment when my shit has to be on point, it has to be ready to fire back. It has to be ON. So the next question is, am I prepared.

Hell no!

I'm workin on it right now, getting the kinks out. My boy, Mista J, sat through my first run through. It was aight. I don't want tomorrow to be the second run through at the day of the performance like a Kasamahan show. (inside joke, freakin FIVE hour cultural night).

So lemme bounce back to the task at hand. Wish me luck. If I pass, I should be drunk like a skunk in 12 hours.

Peace,
Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 1:04:00 AM

Flagellate Me

I won't tell you how, or why, but people seem to think I like to whip others.

I get IMs (yes, you can IM the Voodoo: MsVoodooChild) that ask for routine beatings, shittings, and other wonderful things. My favorite thus far is:

"I sometimes like to simulate dommes and torture myself in the shower. I have soap beads on a string and I have inserted two in my ass so far! What else can I do?"

Well.

You have to stop and think for a second after you get a message like that. Do I encourage him to go for the third? Do I ask him how the hell do soap beads (if you know what those are) get onto strings? Go ahead, put "soap beads string" into any ANY search engine. Do you see soap beads on a rope? I doubt it. Do it on Google and scroll down...ooh, what's that? ANAL BEADS!!! Okaaaaaaaay?

You babies must be wondering what I told him. Well, I told him something akin to, "You need to quit playing around and get a real Domme to stick things in your butt."

Nice, huh. You grinning yet? You should be. That's some coooold shit.

The other day, I got one from "Matthew." He wanted to know if I was a real Domme. (you figure it out). And then he sent me a picture. ooooooh, offerings to the Voodoo Queen! I like it! So I open it and he looks all of 16.

"Why are you sending me pics of you at the prom?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you're sad. You look all of twelve."
"Actually I'm 17."
"How old are you now?"
"18."

Ooooh. I think that deserves a BUDDY LIST ENTRY. With my fucked up luck he's probably sending me pics of his son. He's no doubt some gnarly old man who likes to feast on Voodoolicious. Who could blame him. But the big rule of thumb, Babies, is to send a pic that isn't too young, too old, too fine (ooh, are you REALLY an Abercrombie model? fucker) and mos def, don't send me one of your snatch/cock/ass/pet rodent. Yes, I've amassed a collection of those too.

I love the Internet. I really do. You can do wonderful things with it. You can surf. You can read. You can meet new people. You can also get some freaky shit that you thought never existed. You can BAM! Meet men who are really women, women who are really men (i've found the latter to be more true than the former). You can meet people who live down the street, as I did. You can also have some deep conversations about nothing in particular.

You can be amazed at how illiterate some people are. You can find that idiocy reigns supreme in ONE particular part of the United States. I won't say where, so don't ask. You can steal pics, send them out as yourself. You can talk, chat, watch cams, peek in on private lives, and you can be sneaked on. Wonderful thing, the Internet.

I won't say anything about free speech. You can say whatever you want, but read your content carefully. Don't believe everything that someone tells you. So-called Mister FINE ASS usually got major problems. So-called Hoochie Mama probably is a guy. Whatever. There are some genuinely nice people out there in the world, and no doubt, most of you are. But there are some assholes who just go out there and fuck it up for everyone. Have fun while you're out there, just be careful.

Love from,
The Voodoo

Your Internet Mistress of Voodoology

posted by Voodoo Child @ 8:09:00 PM

How to Spit Game at your Friend's Lady/Man

Now listen up Chirren, it's time for you to gather around the little coffee table, and listen to the story I'm about to tell.

Spitting game, or as the regular people call it "macking", has to be done with the subtlety and smooth approach like fine vodka. You must be able to have your victim or object of affection be so unaware that you're gaming him/her/it that not only until a few minutes later, BAAAM! She's faded/in love. He's buying you things/introducing you to his mama. It's letting you comb its fur/rub its belly. Ahhh, just like that Cosmo I had the other day. Smooth. I drank like a fish. Then BAAAM! I'm on the floor and I don't know where I am.

That, my children, is spitting game.

Now how to apply this technique to your unassuming friends and their significant others. First and foremost, please have a good wingman/woman/puppy. This will disarm the individual, freeing you to homewreck and swoop with the ferocity of a hawk upon the gentle little bunny that is your target. Once the individual is rendered harmless, work your way over to your intended. Do not swoop. Visually, that is. Instead, aloofness is always key. "Oh hey, what are you doing?" Is always better than, "So what's up, you wanna bone?"

The next part is the hard part.

Mackage depends largely on your skill and ability to use your newfound vodka-like abilities to wreak havoc and attain access to the holiest of holies: No, not the Voodoo Child, come on now. Well, the holiest of holies will vary, dependent on your particular kink or twist. Enjoy. Now back to Mackage. The Voodoo recommends that you apply your Mack Ability wisely. DO NOT GIVE OUT THE MACK every five minutes. Are you crazy? Think of the Mack-a-roni as a depletable supply. You only get so many chances. Dole it out little by little. Drop by aching drop. Feeeeeeeel the mackage floooooooow through your boooooooody. Don't just gush all over the place. You'll get a HAND to the face. Then you have to start all over again. Geezus, didn't I teach you anything?!?!

Seep the mackage, then back off. Continue to have the Wingman apply firm pressure to your soon to be bethrothed's ex. Mack again. Back off. Repeat as needed. Do not get any into your eyes.

Get a number. But how?

"Yo, when you ditch the zero, you can get with the hero."
"You wanna turn and burn?"
"Hey you're cool to hang out with...maybe we should hang out again."

Right, stick with the last one.

Get the digits, but dont' be a smuck. Call in a few days. Say what's up, then, hey, I gotta go. See! Leave 'em longin! Yaaaah. Then do the same in a few days. Hang out with your boy/girl/shim for a few days in between. Keep up appearances. Give the obsessee your number. Why don't you call if you got time. I gotta go. BAM!

Answering machine flashes: 3

Ooooooooh.

This technique should only be attempted with full knowledge that macking on one's homie's lady/dude/cat could lead to serious consequences not limited to, but including forced sex change, beatings and behind the back mackage on your mama. This should only be attempted by trained professionals.

Any success stories using the Voodoo Method of How to Spit Game at your Friend's Lady/Man? Report here immediately.

Gitcho groove on.

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 5:37:00 PM

Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting!

I got this from the Drunken Master...it's some cool stuff. And you gotta love the sound effects.

BAM!

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 10:31:00 AM

Hollering Bird Update.

This morning, as I crawled over anonymous, yet handsome, stranger and out of bed, I heard the call of the hollering bird. I was in the bathroom, and I looked out the window (after I finished my business), and there it was. Screeching its little heart out. It's a small bird, brown with white chest with white stripe across its wings. I stared at it whilst it sang. Sounded like a cell phone. No, not that "Take On Me" song that World of Curls has on her cell, but a ringing song. It was smaller than i thought. It flew from telephone to telephone pole, screaming all the way. Amazing.

Home Late Again

I just got home from a night out with some students of mine. We went to excellent Thai food. What's up with that crazy "service charge?" Thai peepo, talk to me! Anyways, after that we went to my office and made books. Had a great time, made stuff that was the wrong size (oops, my bad), but had a great time thinking and talking. I definitely can't wait to defend and get this all done with.

I know this isn't terribly interesting, Voodoo Babies, but that's my life. Every now and then I'll have some fun, but my mind is elsewhere. Funny how I'm almost done with my education, and I don't know what I'm going to do afterwards. Everyone's been asking me, and the closest thing I have to a prospect is NYU, yes, that's right, East Coast, bbbbbbbaaaaaaaby. But I'm going to put that on hold for now, because I really want to see how my life will change after I graduate.

I want to be able to do the things I want, but it seems that somehow I think the world will just bring me the things I need. Life's fucked up like that. hahahah Okay, back to reality.

I'll let you know ;-)

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 12:42:00 AM

The Voodoo Children Make Their Presence Known

Much love and props to the Following Voodoo Children:

Boy Wonder It was great kickin' it with you again, I can't believe you're a real person. I forgot how damn cute you are.
World of Curls Thanks for Dinner, hope the club was ready for YOU, cause I know you're freaky ready for the club.
The Man Stealer Off the market and vibratin'. Nice freakin' ring. You got that boy trained.
Mista J & Chinay Mista J, take care of that ride, homie. And teach the Chinay how to parallel park.

And to all of you for checkin' in.

Not a Voodoo Baby yet?

Tell me in 20 words or less why you feel you should be a Voodoo Baby. Best stories posted here!

posted by Voodoo Child @ 1:37:00 AM

Voodoo Chops it Up for a Crowd

Today I had two presentations to do. One to a group of about 250 parents of expectant USF parents. Another one to a group of students who are just about to start their doctoral studies.

I wound up having to work on a Saturday because my boss has to work on Saturdays, so I get to stand in for him. It's an easy gig, talk a little about the Center, what we do, blah blah blah. I wind up waiting until LAST to talk (dammit), and boy, I tell you...the other departments before me, Residence Life, Public Safety, etc. Wind up going before me. Hello, I'm at a University. Students GO here to STUDY. So I should get to go first, but NO. Fuckers. I wait more than an hour to talk. I get my chance to talk, then I drop the mic. Did I mention I have almost no voice? My cold has taken what little voice I have left. I sound like that wheezy guy on the Godfather. SO I drop the mic, and my first words, "Okay folks, it's been that kind of day..." hahahha Nice, huh. I get onto my speech, and it goes well, then I realize, hey, I'm rambling. Oh goodness. When I speak in public, which happens to be a LOT, I have to find ways to talk to parents or students, or whoever will listen to me, relate to them and have them leave with a positive impression. Dropping the mic, rambling and having a little kid run up the center isle to me then me saying, "Why hello, Frank" to him is not exactly the positive image I wanted to leave, but I did have a lot of parents talk to me. Most of them happened to be Filipino. Cute huh. Yah, you tell your son to talk to me.

Anyways, later that day, I had to talk to some graduate students. I'm about at the dead end of my graduate career. I was asked to talk to some students about what the process was like, and what it entailed, what kind of blood did I have to spill, and what kind of struggles I had. Mind you, I had a LOT of shit to deal with. It was difficult and it was bloody. It was easy and it was cake. I was driven to go to the library. I stayed up late. I did most of it without being strung out on coffee. I was there with two other classmates and we talked to about 15 of our peers. It's funny because you don't really realize that you've done all that work and accumulated all that knowledge until you have to talk about it. It's been tough, but I loved it. I wish that for you all, Voodoo Children. To experience success and be able to pass it on to others. What have you done for them lately?

So, enough for tonight. It's late, I'm out of it, and I have no voice.

But I tell you. The other day, I had a committee co-chair come up to me and show me a document that had my information on it. She asked me, "Is this right?" and held it up for me to see. It said
"Dr. Voodoo Child" (you know what I mean, come on now). I freaked out. And then I realized that it really hadn't hit me yet. But DAYAM.

I gun be a duktur! DEEEEEEEEEEYAM

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 1:33:00 AM

Get Cootified.

Getting sick is sort of like going on a date with someone you don't really like. You feel somewhat queasy, know the point at which you could have avoided the whole situation, don't know how long it will last, and everyone notices that you're not doing well.

Come on, maaaaaaaaaan, don't cover your snout when you see me coming down the hall. I just want to say hi! Hey, why are you running away? What's the hand disinfectant for? Why are you rubbing it all over your body? No hug?

Just jokes. But I tell you, my kids were pretty ruthless today. One pulled his beanie over his eyebrows and his turtleneck over his nose. Another wouldn't come near me unless she covered her mouth with her sleeved hand. I guess it's funny, but we'll see how funny it is when they get sick. I mean, I didn't mean to sneeze on the phone at the desk where they work, really.

Everyone's telling me that I need to get some rest. Rest schmest. As if the rest of the world isn't movin' and groovin'. I could be out there too! And out I will go. Probably hate myself for it later, but I'm going to the sex shop to buy some GEAR for my girl. And maybe something for myself. Want to go Shopping with me? Go ahead, give me your list.

Ciao for now. I've decided that Jill will be updated every Weekend. Make sure you peep it later on, probably Sunday.

Ciao,
Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 6:11:00 PM

Voodoo be Illun'

Why the hell did I get out of bed this morning?

A student came to my office two days ago and started hackin' up a storm. I mean, she covered her mouth and everything, but she had it goin' on. Suffice it to say, I get sick pretty easily, so I went home that day, took a nap and woke up with the icky feeling of being sick. Last night I slept all but three hours. Tossin' and a turnin', and boy, that bird was still singin'. At least more than myself was awake.

I'm the type of person that doesn't like to take medication. I like to sit things out, but at this point, at this JUNCTURE, I just can't afford to be sick. That means that I've got to relax and take some over the counter goodness to make me feel better. Aleve Cold & Sinus didn't kick in like I thought it would, and man I was miserable. Any other meds out there good enough to make a Voodoo feel better? I think a dose of the good lovin' would help. Too bad the Good Lovin' Man ain't around these days. I hate doing things myself.

Today, I will try to infect as many people as possible. I am going to sneeze with my mouf wide open. I will sneeze so that snot particles reach the other side of the center. I will lick the mouthpiece of every phone in the office. How foul is that. Just kidding, I will try hard to not pass this bad boy on. This is a nasty one too. So why exactly did I get out of bed, well, I have some commitments here at work that I wanted to participate in (and I get a free half day off for doing it). And knowing me, I would have moped around the house doing nothing anyway, so might as well do nothing at work!

Welcome back to some of my readers, thanks for checking in again. I appreciate your Voodoo Loyalty, and will reward each and every one of you with a complimentary cold if you do so wish.

Ciao for now, someone upload me some tissue.
Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 9:04:00 AM

Give me a Holodeck NOW!

Voodoo Babies, I implore you, I need a Holodeck.

I know, Holodecks are the most fucked up thing on Star Trek. Always actin' up, messing things up with the crew. Getting fantasy all bent out of shape. It's sad I tell you, but come on, I mean, wouldn't having one be FUN? Anyone, anything and anywhere. It's got to be the top of your list as far as Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa shopping goes. Voila. You can have the man/woman/furry beast of your dreams. Voila again. You can have that bustline/lengthy girthy you always wanted. Voila again two times, and you can be in Tahiti/Hawaii/Motel 6. It's on like Donkey KOOOOOOOOOONG.

But alas, with all dreams usually come a cost. No, not that you'll have to put out some financial reward or anything, but you wind up relying so much on fantasy that you lose grips with reality. You can't hang in real life, so you have to make up a fake one. The person you fall in love with usually can't step past the boundaries of the Holodeck door. For some of us, that is well worth the cost.

My wanton lust for a holodeck is mere jest, but I assure you it is tempting, isn't it. I can have Tyson Beckford/Paul McPherson/Colonel Sanders. I can be in Paris. I can get my nookie on and not have to worry about work or any of those menial things!

Shit. What would you do with your holodeck?

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 9:42:00 PM

What is that chirping?

IN the middle of the night, at the Mansion at East Vista (joke, big joke), there is a bird that chirps its feathered butt off all night. It's a strange comfort to wake up at 2AM, which I have been doing a lot of lately, and hearing this bird goin' off. I give it mad props for singing when no one else is watching. Except me of course. I have been scouring the web looking for such a bird, to no such luck. Any of you who have an idea of what kind of bird this is, you have got to let me know.

Not that it's keeping me up or anything, the little brute. It's that special time of the bird year, yes, they're all ready to get their bird groove on, and I suppose it's calling out for someone, anyone to share bird nookie with. Apparently last night it wasn't chirping all that much, so I assume either it's workin' the springs in its nest bed or it's just plain dead. Voodoo Child would prefer that it be the former.

As the night went on, more chirpage, which either leads me to believe that it wasn't getting any earlier, or it wanted to get more. I would like to think anyone who is near the Mansion is getting an ample supply (except for yours truly) of the good lovin', but who knows. Why am I analyzing bird calls? Why the hell not. Any of you think of it before? I highly doubt it. I don't think there are many ornithologists out there that read the Voodoo Child, but as long as we're at it, folks, might as well make it the Discovery Channel with attitude.

Next time you hear a bird singin', remember, it's goin' for the booty. Maybe I should start singin' too.

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 9:54:00 AM

New Day, New Blog

Well, well, well. Welcome to the New Home of the Voodoo Child. It's a little fancier, no big ugly pics of me, but I assure you, friends, that there will be some pics to be had. Send me some, make yourself famous, if you dare!

At any rate, I don't know exactly how I'm going to work this entire page out, but as always, your very helpful advice keeps me going. Sorry, Mista J, no naked pics for you. By the way, what's that on your neck?

Jill will return, and I think she's actually going to get laid this time. Laid off? Hm. Funny how those things happen. I might have to isolate her in her special page. I have some pics of her daily life that might interest you. But until then just keep checking in here.

The Bald Head of the Month will still be a regular feature, as I do homage to my favorite menfolk from around the globe.

Thanks for coming by to check out the New Crib. Now, on to the good stuff.

Voodoo


In a meanwhile, why don't you stick a pin in there ...

posted by Voodoo Child @ 9:33:00 AM

Congratulations

Yes, children, we now have a new home.

About fuckin' time. Everyone thank WILL.

THANKS WILL.

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 11:23:00 PM