Voodoo Magic Zamboni

“Zombé! Zumbai! Zombini! Zamboni!” The words I was hearing from the other room were not making sense. I walked over and opened the door to my roommate’s bedroom. To my utter horror, I bore witness to an ANCIENT VOODOO RITUAL. I was aghast, that’s for darn sure, but I was far from speechless. “Now Gregory,” I asked, “just what do you think you’re doing?” Gregory stared back at me impishly. He knew the rules were clear on this matter, however. There was to be no voodoo magic in this household. Landlord’s orders.

“Oh goodness! Why Jonathan, I didn’t know you were home! I...” he started to say after the brief pause. I would hear none of it. “I will not entertain your excuses any longer, Gregory! Voodoo magic is illegal in the United States. You know that!” I said. Tears welled up in his eyes, it was clear he was hurt. Was I too harsh? Before I could apologize he started to speak. “Jon, I will never do it again. I promise,” Gregory said. Unconsciously, my frown turned to a gentle smile. His personal appeal had worked. “Oh Greg, I could never stay mad at you. Come on, let’s go get some sausage. My treat!” I told him. The tears stopped immediately and we hopped into my Inferno Red 2009 Chrysler Sebring convertible, only one previous owner. Gregory popped his favorite new wave CD into the dash and we drove off.

Soon we arrived at the Smokehouse Big Johnson’s on 5th and Washington. Just for your information, Smokehouse Big Johnson Sausage Novelty Sausage Company has some of the finest sausages in all of St. Louis. They sell nearly every flavor of sausage imaginable and the Smokehouse Vegan Delights are to die for, but I digress. Gregory and I went in, sat down, and ordered the usual -- Vegan Delights with extra meat. Gosh darn it they were delicious! The sausages were firm, yet chewy, and had just the right amount of that Smokehouse flavor we had grown to love. We were just having a good time up until Gregory excused himself to go to the restroom.

I waited for nearly a half hour as Gregory did his business. It was a long time undoubtedly, but lengthy bathroom excursions are not abnormal for Gregory. He was one to enjoy his defections... especially when he had to go “real bad.” In fact, even the explosive noises I was hearing from the men’s restroom were not surprising in the least. Whenever Gregory eats at Smokehouse Big Johnson’s things do tend to get a bit “combustive.” So there I sat alone for around twenty more minutes. Smokehouse Big Johnson’s was now empty and my sausages were getting cold. Now there’s nothing I hate more than a room temperature sausage, so I began to lose my cool. “This defecation has gone on long enough!” I shouted as I stood up to ask for a carryout box. Then the unimaginable happened.

The door to the men’s room shook violently as smoke poured out from below. “What is this treachery?” I said aloud. A thin, wiry man crawled out. There was a look of pure bewilderment upon his elderly visage. “Who are you and what did you do with Gregory?” I asked.
“Why I just plum don’t know this Gregory you speak of. Why I’m the Voodoo Magic Zamboni!” he said with a raspy, effeminate voice. I decided that his story checked out, so I went back to the table and finished my sausage.

“Wait a second,” I thought, “ voodoo magicians don’t live in restrooms!” Gregory must have transformed into Voodoo Magic Zamboni! It was then I knew that he must be stopped. I dashed out of the door and hopped into my Sebring. Golly I was sure glad that I had invested in a convertible, otherwise jumping into the car would have hurt! As I smugly sat there and pondered my wise purchasing decisions, I could see Voodoo Magic Zamboni in the distance and he was clearly not being a nice guy.

I backed out of the parking spot carefully, ensuring not to scratch the shiny new pearl coat of my sedan, and floored it out of the parking lot. Zamboni was now stealing pocket change from an impoverished child, most likely just to be a dick. “Stop you fiend!” I yelled out as I sped towards him. Zamboni was no fool, however. He ripped off his ill-fitting shirt and blinded me with his incredible pallor. His emaciated pectorals had atrophied to the point where they created a flat, reflective surface -- almost like a mirror of sorts, and he used it to reflect the sunlight directly into my eyes. Zamboni’s chest was brighter than a thousand suns and its sheer brilliance caused me to lose control of my car and collide into the cart of a nearby travelling minstrel. I was able to walk away from the accident, but the Sebring wasn’t so lucky. The car that had once been my true friend and companion was now totalled. “If only it could have been me,” I thought as a single tear slid down my cheek. This was not the time for tears, however. Zamboni had just made things personal and I would stop him.

I took off in a full sprint quickly overcame him. His frail frame was not suited for speed, nor was it prepared for my impending tackle. “Where’s your voodoo magic now?” I said. Suddenly there was a flash of red light. “It’s right here!” he said as he cast the voodoo magic all over me. I blacked out.

No longer was I in good old St. Louis. When I awoke, I was somewhere completely different. It was dark, loud. The air had a thick haze and smelled of old cigarettes. Then I heard the telltale chanting in the distance. Zamboni was near. I snuck up behind him, ready to pounce and avenge the death of my Sebring. Then he turned around.

“I’ve been waiting for you Jonathan.” Zamboni said. “Here, take a seat.” I tossed the dirty clothes off of a nearby rocking chair and sat down as he asked. Zamboni then reached into his pocket. I wondered what voodoo magic he was attempting and prepared for the worst. However, I was relieved when I realized that the pocket only contained a tenor saxophone. As he caressed the instrument gently, I couldn’t help to notice the serial number: 125571. “Wait a second,” I said. “You’re John Coltrane!”

“Why yes I am, boy, and now it’s time to make some music.”

As we played our instruments deep into the night I forgot about Gregory and Voodoo Magic Zamboni. It was just me and Mr. Coltrane... just two nice guys making music in a cold cold world. :workout: