Why I am terrified of Snoop Dogg

When I saw that Snoop Dogg was playing at the Pozo Saloon, my first reaction was to text my best friend. She texted me back three seconds later with "OMG WE'RE GOING." We live close enough to Pozo that to miss an opportunity like this would be idiotic. (And by close, I mean as close as anyone can live to Pozo, which is over an hour away.)

Still, I am determined to go, not because I am a fan of Snoop Dogg, but because I am a firm believer in facing your fears, and on my list of fears, Snoop Dogg is pretty high up there.

Right after potato bugs...

Now, you might be saying, "Vicki, you have truly out-crazied yourself here. Snoop Dogg is chill. He's always high and stuff." I know. That's exactly what my co-worker told me when I confessed my phobia to him.

(He also said, "Hey, why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella? Answer: Fo drizzle!" I promptly hit him over the head.)

But you misunderstand my phobia. It's not so much fear of Snoop Dogg himself, but fear of his voice from which I suffer. His voice, so smooth and velvety and mesmerizing. It's the kind of voice hypnotists have. If he wanted to, I'm pretty sure he could tell me to do anything, ANYTHING and I would do it.

Oh, you want me to get naked? Cool. You want me to shoot heroine? Sure. You want me to kill my mom with this vase? No problem. You want me to dress up as a smurf and propose to fat people in Walmart? I'll get right on it.

Look at those beady eyes. He knows the power he wields.

He's even the GPS voice, now! He knows how to give directions!

If the government were really smart, they'd hire Snoop Dogg to help them brainwash sleeper cells and stuff like that, Manchurian Candidate-style (the old one, the new one kind of sucks by comparison).

Even in typing this, I know I'm leaving myself vulnerable. But I'm going to hope Snoop Dogg doesn't also hold dominion over the internet, and won't ever read this, and when I go to his concert, I'll bring earplugs along, in case I start to feel my willpower weakening.