Geez, this last week I’ve just felt… off.  Like something’s missing.

For the past week I’ve just been kind of moping around my apartment, bored and lonely and horny.  Not necessarily in that order.

I haven’t even been writing much, most of my recent posts were all written in the whirlwind after my five days with Ann and then scheduled to go up in order.  Since then, I’ve hardly been inspired.


Ann and I are back to our long, long, long distance relationship but that can’t be causing these problems.  I refuse to believe this is some kind of mopey, sad-puppy-dog-eyes, lonely-heart syndrome caused by missing Ann.  No way.  It’s simply not possible.  I haven’t been capable of those kind of sappy, co-dependent attachment issues for the past decade.  I’m not a teenager anymore, I have far too much control over myself to go all heart-eyed over a woman.  It’s just not possible.  No.  Fucking.  Way.

So, really there’s only one other possible alternative:

Somewhere out there in the blogosphere Ann has a stalker.  That stalker is so upset over all the writing I’ve been doing about Ann, and the time we spent together, that he’s hired a voodoo priestess to cast a spell on me.  Probably some kind of estrogen-laced cocktail designed to sap my mother fucking mojo.

That’s the only possible explanation.

This priestess found some toad testicles and tied them to a little voodoo doll that’s been threaded with my pubic hair.  I’m not sure how the stalker got my pubic hair but it you can find pretty much anything on Ebay (like sex toys).  Or maybe the stalker works for an intelligence agency, he could have tracked down the hotel we stayed at and gotten samples from the bed.  Hell, he could probably have cloned me a few thousand times with all the DNA I left on those sheets.

He provided the samples and what must have been a large sum of money to the priestess, who used them and those toad testicles, newt brains and voodoo dolls to fuck with my head, my balls and my mother fucking mojo.  What kind of sick, sadistic bastard must he be?

Not cool.  Not cool at all.

So, the only thing I can do is pray to my own voodoo spirit, Mojo-jojo-jojo, to see if he will undo this horrific spell.

mojojojo s

(Mojo-jojo-jojo is also the spirit that helps men survive blue-balls)

Oh, Mojo-jojo-jojo!  Please release me from this evil spell that was unjustly cast upon me by a jealous douche bag!  This evil, horrible spell that screws with my head, makes me bored, lonely and horny as fuck with no possibility of release!  Oh, Mojo-jojo-jojo, to win your favor I will now sacrifice these three chickens, two goats and drink the blood from a vampire bat.  Hopefully my sacrifices will please you and you will show pity for me and my plight.  Amen!

I’ll give it another five or ten minutes.

Hmm…  I’m not feeling any different.

Oh, is that it?  No, that’s just gas from drinking the vampire bat blood.

Shit.  Maybe I’ll feel better in the morning.

If this doesn’t work I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I mean, I could step up the sacrifices to a couple young virgins… but they wouldn’t be virgins for very long in my company right now.

Maybe I’m just screwed.  Sigh.


3 thoughts on “Mojo-jojo-jojo

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