Voodoo Doughnut
As peurile punks at Peñasco junior high, many of us acquired our first exposure to “VD,” the corporeal corruptor of unprotected men and women of all ages. Being immature teens, the boys guffawed at the dramatic instructional filmstrips that relied heavily on fear tactics, clinical diagrams, and stern warnings about morality and hygiene. Plotlines (if you can call them that) tended to emphasize worst-case scenarios such as permanent physical disfigurement, blindness, or sterility to deter sexual activity. Being young and indestructible, we didn’t think VD could ever happen to us. Valerie, the most gorgeous of our classmates had a last name which began with the letter “D.” Ordinarily anyone with the initials “VD” would be referred to in merciless taunts by those initials, but Valerie was a teenage goddess whom everyone (particularly the boys) wanted to be held in good graces (or just held period). Ah, yes, Valerie was stunning. So unlike Baron Samedi, the powerful and flamboyant head of the Gede family of spirits in Haitian Vodou and Louisiana Voodoo. Had me and my male classmates been magically transported to Voodoo Donuts and espied the tall black man dressed in a black tailcoat and top hat sporting the initials…