The Voodoo That I Do

I met Papa Legba in Haiti in 1975.

I was a guest of the Duvaliers, but I snuck out one night to spend time with "the people".

Good Lord, there is nothing sexier than a mulatto woman in a psychic frenzy.

Bouncier than a Vegas showgirl on cocaine who just won the jackpot.

Anyway, one of the gentlemen became possessed, and after some jabbering, his eyes settled on me.

He came over and told me how much he loved my version of Mr. Tambourine Man.

We were halfway to a bar to have some drinks when the spirit left him and he fell to the ground.

Passersby thought I'd knocked him out and starting beating me.

I had a small pouch to ward of evil spirits, and I shook it in their faces. Cheap garbage. Nothing happened.

Luckily, Baby Doc's troops pulled up just in time and shot about 14 people before they took me back to my room.

Luxurious place. Had a bidet and everything.
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