“Goddam invasive species!” Florida Man shouted, firing several more rounds into the python that had just strangled his goat. “Fuck you right in your… do pythons have asses or just a single opening?” Several of his minions looked at one in particular. What was his name? DeWayne? DeWitt? Whatever his name was, he was apparently into snakes. Sexually.
“No, boss, they just got one opening. Its got a reallll good squeeze if you know what I mean.”
How in the hell could he ever rule Florida, driving the old and the tourists before him, making the Seminole tribal wealth his own, establishing the seat of his power at the top of the phallic Capitol with minions like this? Florida Man shot DeWhatever until the slide locked. The minion twitched, kicked, and gurgled for a ridiculously long time. Some of these minions were harder to kill than a palmetto bug. Probably the fact that some of those guys couldn’t possibly have a functioning brain. It was like watching Paul Reubens die in Buffy.
The goat being dead was a problem. A Santeria priest was supposed to sacrifice that goat in the dark of the new moon to remove any curses from Florida Man’s soul. That goat. Not another one. He’d already lost two minions to chupacabra duty (or maybe a hungry Skunk Ape — there wasn’t much left of the minions or the animal — hard to believe anything would like the taste of that weary keyboard warrior) and killed another who thought it was dinner on the hoof. And now a damned python had strangled it. Fuck!
Pulling his cellphone from his utility belt, Florida Man called the priest’s 900 number. Papa Voudoun was the most in demand curse-lifter in Southern Florida. Weirdly, sometimes Papa Voudoun sounded Haitian and sometimes Hayseed. Like maybe he was possessed or something.
“Papa Voudon, Florida Man.
“No, no. THE Florida Man! Right! Yes.
“Listen, I have some… news about that goat I was supposed to get you… It got strangled by a python…
“I know… They totally should have an open season.
“Absolutely… Criminal that our delicate ecosystem is being raped by these invaders…
“Like the boys from the Islands? I thought you… Ohhh. Right. Yeah. Those Puerto Ricans…
“So about that goat…
“Wait, it transferred its power to the python? But I shot the python!
“The curse is worse?! How do I get it removed?
“A new goat and a $5000 pair of cayman-skin boots size 11EE?
“Papa Voudoun! Did the police just knock at your door? Anthony Jefferson?! That ain’t no voodoo name!
“Medicare fraud? You… Monster!”
Florida Man turned to two of his minions. “Get yourselves down to Miami. Punch a cop. Get arrested. I want you to find Anthony Jefferson in the jail and see if he really knows voodoo. Beat him until he curses you and see if you die badly. Go.”
Florida Man jumped on his airboat. He’d heard stories of a more aggressive Nile crocodile in the swamps. Fake voodoo priests! He’d feed that fake priest to an invasive crocodile and then kill it and have boots made. And then give them to a Puerto Rican! Maybe that would break the curse.
