Batter-Splattered: power of voodoo

You remind me of the babe

What babe?

the babe with the power

What power?

power of voodoo

Who do?

you do

Do what?

remind me of the babe

David Bowie rocks. Didn't Cary Grant and Shirley Temple sing that song too, or some version of it, when she was teenager-ish?

Hey guess what? When I was in Portland I made a trip to Voodoo Donut on a Saturday morning, a hallowed place revered by those in the know -- a source of Swahili lessons, weddings by ordained ministers beneath a Holy Doughnut sign and a velvet painting of Isaac Hayes, and best of all, donuts with names like Grape Apes, Butter Fingering, Triple Chocolate Penetration, and glazed with things like nyquil and filled with pepto-bismol (if only the FDA would let them continue making those particular drug-laden delicacies) (but I don't think it'll happen anytime soon considering you need a DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION to get Advil Cold and Sinus in Oregon -- a lesson I learned the hard way when stricken by spring allergies because everything but everything was blooming there) (sweet, sweet Advil Cold and Sinus. I will battle the meth-heads to the death for my right to pop your sinus-clearing, non-drowsy formula. Don't ever change, my sweet).

But where was I?

Voodoo.

It was awesome.

My friend and I shared a maple bacon bar and a voodoo donut -- it only seemed right to order the signature donut.

While standing out front wolfing them down, my friends were trading tales of people trying to steal the voodoo signs and a girl who worked there was standing about on a break and she happily regaled us with tales of sign stealing escapades including one, if I heard right, by a person dressed as Homer Simpson. I think that's what she said. I was so consumed with consuming my maple bacon bar that I only listened with half an ear. Sometimes my tastebuds take over and my other senses suffer for it, if only temporarily.

I thought it was funny that every young guy in line wanted the cock and balls donut. Just because of the name. There was lots of young-guy-snickering happening in that line. According to the website, that one's also popular by the box for bachelorette parties.

I think I'm gonna try to make my own maple bacon bars using storebought maple bars and cooked-just-till-crispy strips of bacon. I'm so far away from the real thing but maybe my own creations will do. Till I can get back to Portland to have the real thing.

Jump magic, jump (jump magic, jump)

Jump magic, jump (jump magic, jump)

Put that magic jump on me

Slap that baby, make him free