The investigating officers found the victim’s wife’s cellphone at the murder scene. The phone still displayed the last text message. Below is what they saw: 
  
UNKNOWN CALLER: Hey, you awake?     4:05 AM  
 
VICTIM’S WIFE: I am now. Wait 1 while I move 2 BR. Ok. Back. Didn’t want 2 wake husband. It’s 4 am. WTF?    4:06 AM 
   
UNKNOWN CALLER: Sorry. Couldn’t sleep. Thinking of u. Do u still want 2 kill husband?                                4:07AM                                                                 
VICTIM’S WIFE: Yes. How?                        4:07 AM  
  
UNKNOWN CALLER: Get hammer out of toolbox & use that. Hit head. Less mess.     4:07 AM 
   
VICTIM’S WIFE: OK. ...Done. Now what?                                               4:18 AM  
 
UNKNOWN CALLER: B rt over. We drag body to ft of stairs. Make it look like he fell down stairs and smashed head.                                                                                  4:18 AM    

VICTIM’S WIFE: Bob, we don’t have stairs.                                          4:18 AM. 
   
UNKNOWN CALLER: Bob? Who’s Bob? Wait... Is this Karen at 555-2134  4:19 AM. 
   
VICTIM’S WIFE: No...I’m Sue.                                                            4:19 AM
    
UNKNOWN CALLER: Sorry. Wrong #. bye.                                           4:20 AM.
​
THE END
​

Currently, many politicians are throwing their hats into the ring to run for POTUS in 2020, Yet, it seems every day there’s a new revelation about one politician or another about something in their past. I believe the problem is that there isn’t an application for candidates to complete before they’re allowed to run for office. Applications are required for jobs, college, driver licenses, etc. Why isn’t there an application requirement for candidates? The entire situation cries out for one.
 
As a community service I offer up a draft application that could be easily be adopted for candidates wishing to run for office.
 
Of course, there’s the normal heading. Then come the following questions:
 
1.      Please indicate the party you wish to represent. (Select all that apply)
      ___Democratic Party         ___Republican Party         ___Independent Party
      ___Socialist Party              ___Communist Party        ___Green Party
      ___Constitution Party        ___Libertarian Party         ___Nazi Party
      ___Federalist Party            ___Bachelor Party            ___Other(s) _________
 
2.      Have you ever been convicted of a crime? ___Yes   ___No  ___Not Yet   ___Pending
a.       What crime(s) ________________
 
3.      Have you ever been accused of sexual harassment?
___Once          ___Twice        ___Three or more       ___Not yet
 
4.      Are you a racist? ___Yes        ___No              ___Not Yet  
a.       Which race(s) do you hate? _____________
 
5.      Have you ever smoked marijuana?  ___Yes   ___No         ___Not Yet
        a.       Did you inhale?  ___Yes      ___No       ___ Maybe   ___Not Sure  
 
6.      Have you ever used illegal drugs? ___Yes    ___No  ___Not Yet
       ___Not sure ___Maybe
 
7.      Have you ever taken selfies: (check all that apply)
___ Nude ___ Partially nude ___Just my genitalia ___Wearing a racist costume
___ Having sex ___Drinking ___All of the above ___None of the above
 
8.      Did you ever sext? ___Yes     ___No  ___Not Yet ___Not sure ___Maybe
 
9.      How would you declare your sexual orientation? (check all that apply)
___Male  ___Female ___Transgender ___ Unknown ___ Not sure ___Other(s)

10.  Are you ethical? ___Yes ___No ___Sometimes  ___Depends ___Never ___Always
 
11.  How would you describe your political orientation? (Check all that apply)
___ Right                  ___ Left                   ___Center             ___ Left of Center
___ Right of Center    ___ Center of Center ___Top of Center  ___Bottom Feeder
___Left out               ___ Right on
 
12.  How would you describe your financial position? (Check all that Apply)
___ Top 1%          ___Bottom 1%         ___Upper Class       ___Low Class
___Middle Class     ___ No Class            ___Upper Middle Class
___Lower Middle Class          ___ Lower Upper Class          ___Upper Low Class
 
There should be more. Let me know if you think of some.
​

I post this story every year for #Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry if you have read it. I like it because it is 80% true, only the names have been changes to protect me, I mean the innocent.

A #Zombie’s Valentine’s Day—A Short Short Story​

I hate holidays. Not the ones with a three-day weekend, just the ones invented by greeting card companies. One year I forgot Valentine’s Day until the day it arrived. Usually, I order flowers online for my wife. After all, she is the mother of two of our beautiful children, and a third not so beautiful child. In desperation, I drove to the nearest box store.

The scene at the flower department was a disaster; flowers flung everywhere; stems bent, leaves torn and flowers missing petals. I searched desperately for a gift: a small bouquet, a potted plant, or even a single rose. Nothing.

Several other men in my predicament also searched in vain like zombies from the Night of the Living Dead. At some point, I bumped into the department manager. Her hair was in disarray, her blouse wrinkled and stained, and she wore no shoes. I asked if I could get a corsage. She gave me an exasperated look and shook her head.

I decided to use my well-developed technique that seems to help in desperate situations; I began to cry. She took pity on me, put my head on her shoulder, and patted my back.

“Perhaps,” she said. “They can make you one in the back.” As I shuffled in the direction she pointed, I heard her shout, “Dead man walking!”

When I arrived at the rear of the store, the scene wasn’t much better. I saw two women making corsages as fast as possible. Both had Band-Aids on every finger. The trash was full of flowers ruined by blood from pricked fingers. As fast as one was made they put it into a petite white box.

When I asked if I could buy one, both women immediately stopped working, and looked at me as though I was the person in the elevator who farted. I was in trouble. The bigger of the two leaned forward.

“Do you realize how many local high schools have Valentine’s Day dances tonight?” Pointing to the stacks of white cardboard boxes, “We still have to make 150 more corsages, and have them ready for pick up in one hour.”

I fell back on my proven technique and began to cry; my lower lip quivered, and tears collected in the corners of my eyes. She softened. “Oh God, not another cry baby!” she shouted. “Okay! Okay! You can have one.”
​
I returned home carrying the corsage like a cat with a prize bird and presented it to my wife. She looked surprised and uttered those words that every man loves to hear. “You remembered!”

THE END
 

Tim turned down the alley that served as a short cut to school. He knew better. The school bullies haunted that alley and took his lunch money if he dared to venture down the alley. But today was going to be different.

Sure enough, half way down the alley four teenager, not much older that Tim, blocked his path. “You don’t have permission to use our short cut,” one of the bullies said. “That’ll cost ya. Fork over your lunch money.”

Tim smiled. “Not today.” As he spoke a drone, three feet in diameter, rose up behind Tim.

“What the hell is that?” another bully asked.

“That’s my new anti-bully drone that my parents bought for me. It won’t let you hurt me. Best of all, it’s recording everything.”

“Bull shit,” shouted another bully as he picked up a rock and hurled it at the drone. The drone easily dodged the rock and lights allover the drone lit up.

“Danger, Tim. Danger,” an automated voice said. The drone flew in a tight circle around the bullies at high speed. As it did, it sprayed out a dark green dye on the youths.

Tim laughed. “That dye won’t wash off. It’ll make it easier for the police to find you.” The bullies looked at each other and took off running. Tim laughed even harder.

Once the bullies were out of sight, the drone landed a few feet from Tim. Tim’s best friend, Billy, came running up with a remote-control box in his hands. “Do you think they believe it?” he asked.

“I think so, Tim said. “I doubt they’ll bully me anymore.” He and Billy fist bumped and continued walking to school.
​
THE END
​

​Rumor has it that Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam may take Intensive Sensitivity Training. I was able to obtain from a confidential source a copy of the “intense sensitivity training” that seems to be so popular now with politicians these days. The program known as Bogus and Unauthentic Legalized Larceny and Spurious Hypocritical Intense Therapy (BULL SH*T) is used through the USA to help politicians keep their reputations and office. This intense therapy is intended to last for one week. Below is a copy of the curriculum. Enjoy!
 
Sunday Optional Mixer
Join us in a mixer for all attendees Sunday night at 7 PM until?  Meet the instructors and fellow politicians who have fallen from grace. Open bar and free #marijuana tasting (not yet available in all states).
 
Monday Session
How to Hold a Press Conference 101. Learn how to deny charges without using the telltale signs for lying. Learn how to say “intense therapy” with a straight face. Panel discussion with panelists Donald #Trump, #Bill Clinton, Ralph Northam (VA Gov.) and # Kevin Spacey.
 
Tuesdays Sessions
Political Ethics—A Thing of the Past? Special guest instructor former EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt.
 
Wednesday Sessions
Cheating on your wife 101. Learn how to hide the truth from your current wife. With special guest instructor POTUS Donald Trump. Learn how to hide illegitimate children from expert Arnold #Schwarzenegger, ex-Governor of California.
 
Thursday Sessions
How to Lie to Congress and Grand Juries. Panel discussion with Trump's ex-lawyer Michael Cohen and Trump’s former campaign chairman Paul Manafort.
 
Friday Sessions
Yes, You Can Be Re-elected. Instructor--#MarkSanford, re-elected Congressman for South Carolina.
Afternoon Session. How to Publicly Apologize and Look Sincere. Enjoy a panel discussion with panelists Roseanne Barr, Kevin Spacey and Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam.
 
Closing Ceremony: Graduation ceremony for those who have not dropped out of the program, not under a gag order or been indicted.

I know I’ve post this before, but I love it. Here is a short story on how to become a bestselling author-post humorously.  
​
How to become a Bestselling Dead Author 

Joe Regan was a writer. His suicide note was not his best piece of work. It simply read, “Fair well cruel world.” Joe took all the sleeping pills and sat down in his recliner. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking into the face of his agent, Bernie Blackwell.    

Bernie smiled and brushed back Joe’s hair. “Hey.”    

“Hey. Oh, my head hurts.” Joe looked around. “Where am I?”  

“You are in St. Thomas Hospital. I found you and called 911. The doctors pumped your stomach. You’ve been in a coma for five days, man.”    

“Oh. I don’t know if I should thank you or not. I just wanted to die.”    

“I know, man. I found your note. Why did you do it?”    

Joe smiled. “You’re my agent. I think you know why. My novel has been rejected by 45 publishers and I haven’t earned a dime in three years.”    

Bernie chuckled. “It’s 47 publishers now. I didn’t get a chance to tell you about the last two. However, while you were in a coma, I’ve been busy. I posted your suicide note on a few key social media websites and wrote what a tragedy it was since your novel’s so great.”    

“My suicide note? I didn’t say much in my note.”   
 
Bernie smiled. “Yeah, well, I sort of rewrote it. I also went ahead and published the e-book version of your novel. It’s going viral. We sold over 10,000 copies in four days. We now have offers from three publishers. I think if you had died, your novel would make the best sellers’ list.”   

“Lucky me! I have to nearly kill myself for my novel to sell.” 
   
“Joe, what do you expect? You wrote a romance novel about gay pygmies living in San Francisco-not a great genre. Anyway, since you really don’t want to live, would you consider killing yourself? It would mean a lot to me. I could help.”  
  
“What! My novel is finally published, and you want me to kill myself? Are you crazy?”    

Bernie shrugged his shoulders. “No big deal. Come on, get up. I brought a wheelchair. I’m taking you out of here.” He handed Joe a glass of water and some pills. “Here, take these.”    

Joe took the pills with the water. With Bernie’s help, he got into the wheelchair. Bernie wheeled Joe out of ICU and headed for the elevators. Bernie pushed the up-call button for the elevator.  
  
“Where are you taking me?”    

“Don’t worry about it. I am taking you to the tenth floor. The second elevator is out of service. I should be able to open the doors there.”  
  
“Bernie, I don’t feel so good. What were those pills?”    
” Sleeping pills.”

“I took four. Am I supposed to take that many?”    

“No, man. You’re supposed to take only one every 12 hours.”    

“Won’t that kill me?”   
 
“No. It’ll make you comatose. In your condition, you won’t notice that the elevator’s not there. The fall from the tenth floor will kill you.”    

“But Bernie, I don’t want to die any more. I want to live.”    

“Listen, man. I’m telling you. If you die, we’ll make the best sellers’ list. We’ll be able to negotiate a big contract. We’ll attract more talented writers.”    

“We? I’ll be dead.”   
 
The elevator arrived, and Bernie pushed the wheelchair inside and pushed the tenth-floor button.    
“Well, yeah,” said Bernie. “Quit thinking about yourself for once. Did you even consider me? This is my big break. When I post your next suicide note, I’ll sell a million copies of your novel. Plus, I am sure I can get a six-figure advance for your next novel.”  
  
“My next novel? I never wrote a second novel.”

“It will be found among your things after your death.”  
  
“Bernie, don’t do this. I don’t want to die.”  
​  
“Quit being selfish! Close your eyes now and rest. It’ll all be over in a few minutes. You are going to be a bestselling author. Congratulations.

Some time ago while I was still working (I have been retired for 8 years), my wife asked me if I was having an affair with my secretary. I am always quick with a flip answer, so without thinking I said, “I should be so lucky.” Now I was married long enough to know by the look on her face that my answer was not the correct one. I knew that I had maybe two seconds to come up with a better answer. I said, “I meant, in my dreams.” Once again, I could tell by her face that I gave the wrong answer. I knew if I ever wanted sex again, I had better come up with something fast, so I said, “I meant, I wish.”
​
You married men know, as I do, that sometimes there is no right answer. It is hard to know what answer a woman is looking for. Wives and significant others would be well advised to tell us men what the correct answer is and not make us guess. We never guess correctly. For example, in the illustration I just gave, my wife could have saved me many sexless nights if instead of asking me she had told me, “You are not sleeping with your secretary.” Then I would have said something profound like, “Yes, dear,” and that would be the end of it. Women should always tell men the correct answer.

Another example is the perennial question, “Does this dress make me look fat?” If you tell the truth, you are in trouble. If you lie, women can sense the fear, and they know you are lying. It’s a lose-lose situation. Wouldn’t it better if women would just say, “You don’t think this dress makes me look fat.” Then we would answer with the intellectually stimulating, “Yes, dear.” Then there is the challenging question, “Do you still love me?” This is not a yes dear situation. Your answer must use the word love, or you are in serious trouble.
​
Wouldn’t it be better if women made it a statement rather than a question?

​Who’s in Control? –A Short Story
 
I am one of those writers of fiction that believes that the characters usually take over the story and write it. I wrote a short story about that idea a few years ago. It’s one of my favorites, so I’ll post it again. It is a little too long for a blog, so I’ll break it into two parts. Enjoy.
 
Who is in Control?
 
It always happens when the room is too quiet—like now while she’s cooking. At first, random thoughts race through her mind, usually about food such as hash browns and blue cheese. Why hash browns and blue cheese? They don’t go together. That is how it starts—always. However, she knows she has no control over these random thoughts. One leads to another which leads to another, and then it happens. She is out of control. No use even fighting it. She has learned to accept it. She wants to enjoy it, but sometimes there is stress, tensions, and emotions. The emotions are always there--of lost love, of love rekindled, and, of course, sex. The experience leaves her exhausted and excited at the same time.
 
Another random thought rushes through her mind--German black forest cake! What’s the thread? It makes no sense, and she knows it but cannot stop it. Black forest cake, a black forest, a dark forest in Europe? No! A castle in a dark forest in Europe. That’s it! She feels it. Inside the castle, it is all black and dark. No! It is light. Candles are everywhere. Red velvet hangs on the walls. It is a grand ballroom. She sees herself there in a long, formal black dress, flowing and yet sensual. However, it is not her. It is someone else. Who?
 
She clenches her fists in an effort to drive the thoughts out of her head, but she cannot. The pot boils over—again. Crud! Double crud! Crud for spoiling another meal and the crud burnt to the bottom of the pot. She will tend to it later. Another meal destroyed by random thoughts. As she places the pot in the sink to soak, she notices a movement in the reflection of the window. She turns toward figures in the family room. Damn! They are here. Too late to run an errand to maintain some sanity. Her uninvited guests have arrived and now sit motionless. They are waiting for her. With a sigh, she finally gives in and goes into the family room to join the group. They have saved her favorite chair for her. She sits down and lets her thoughts take over.
 
She looks at the person opposite her. He is there—the protagonist. God, he is gorgeous! If ever I want to commit adultery, it would be with him. That’s silly. I’m divorced now and it would not be adultery. I could give myself to him willing. But it can’t be. He’s in love with her. She looks to the person siting next to her protagonist.
 
They’re sitting there holding hands and smiling at each other. She envies her. Her with her long, blonde hair, good looks, and a body that makes truck drivers do U-turns for another look. She wishes she had her legs. Mental note; must give them both names.
 
The antagonist is there too. She hates him with a passion. He reminds her of her ex-husband, a mind so twisted and cruel and yet cunning. Somehow, he will get what he deserves. She will make sure of that. The others are there too but for the moment they aren’t important.
 
Her protagonist speaks. What an angelic face. She decides to call him Angel. “Good, you are back. Where did we leave off? Yes, of course, I was trying to rescue my true love from the castle.”
 
“Over my dead body,” says the villain.
 
She decides to call him Blackheart. It may be too descriptive, too obvious, but it will do for now. Besides, it makes her feel better.
 
Blackheart continues, “I will stop you, and I will throw you in my dungeon to rot.”
 
The fair maiden speaks with a voice like butter melting on a baked potato. She decides to call her Mary, using her own middle name. Now they have even more in common. “If you do, I will rescue him, and we will be married and live happily ever after.”
 
Baked potato? Where the hell did that thought come from? Then she remembers and rushes to the kitchen. Too late! The potato in the oven is now black and crispy. It looks like another PB and J sandwich for dinner. She grabs a newspaper and fans the smoke detector. When she gets it to shut up, she returns to her chair. Her guests have remained motionless, waiting for her return.
 
“Too trite,” says Angel, picking up where they left off. “It has been done. Is this a fairy tale? We can do better than this. You might as well tie Mary to railroad tracks, and I could ride in on my white horse just ahead of the train. Come now, people, think!”
 
“Perhaps we should modernize it a bit,” says Mary. “You know, make it more relevant. Make it Chicago, or New York.”
 
“Not a bad idea,” says Blackheart. “I could be the rich tycoon and Angel could be an intern. Mary could be my sexy administrative assistant whom I secretly desire.”
 
Angel scowls, “Sound more like a reality TV show. Let’s be original.”
 
After a while, she gets the courage to speak, “Women still fantasize about knights in shining armor, castles and damsels in distress. Their own lives are like a dungeon and they want to be rescued.”
 
Angel, Blackheart, and Mary stare at her for a moment. Blackheart breaks the awkward silence, “Get real, will you? Besides, this is not about you. What do you know about romance? You made a mess of your own marriage.”
 
“Blackheart!” shouts Mary, very annoyed.
 
“Okay, that was a cruel even for me, but the point is; this is your first novel since your divorce and while this may be therapeutic for you, it may not be interesting to your readers. We, on the other hand, have been through this a thousand times and know what readers what. So, sit back, pay attention, and we will get you through this.”
 
“Blackheart, you are an ass,” interjects Angel. “What Blackheart means to say is that we can help you write this book. And what is with the name ‘Blackheart’? That’s you talking and not a realistic name. Kill it!”
 
“Wait a minute! I like that name,” protests Blackheart.
 
“You would!” says Mary, still annoyed. “What about ‘Angel”? Turning to Angel. “Honey, I love you, but I can’t make love to an angel. That must go too. Will someone get that stupid doorbell? I can’t think straight with that ringing”
 
The doorbell startles her. She goes to the door and signs for a letter. It is an offer from her publisher for her novel. Her guests remain motionless, waiting for her to return, but she does not return. She takes this opportunity to escape upstairs to her computer to work on her novel.
As she starts up the stairs, Mary’s voice rings out, “Where are you going, Honey?”
 
“Upstairs to work on this novel.”
 
“Okay, we’ll wait here for you. And while you are at it, kill that ‘voice like butter melting on a baked potato’. That is just too much.”
 
THE END

I was taking a shower the other day when I ran out of shampoo. I reached for my wife’s shampoo and read the label. The label had a long list of ingredients that weren’t contained in that product. I never heard of any of them. I’m now convinced that they were made up.
As a public service, with apologies to Lewis Carroll, I will now list all the ingredients that aren’t contained in this blog.

This blog doesn’t contain any brillig, slithy toves, gyre, gimble, wabe, mimsy, borogoves, momes, raths, outgrabe, jabberwocks, jubjub birds, frumious bandersnatches, vorpals, manxomes,  tumtum trees, uffish, tulgey wood, burbles, snicker-snacks, galumphing backs, calloohs, or callays.
​
It might contain a small amount of humor, some wit and a drop of sarcasm. Enjoy.

The National Football League has done it again – having another first. #SarahThomas will officiate the #NFLplayoff game. You may recall she was hired as a line judge for the 2015 season. She has a number of firsts: the first woman to work college games in 2007, first female official on the FBS level and the first to officiate a bowl game.

​Of course, being first is nothing new for the NFL. You may recall Patricia "Pat" Palinkas who was a placekick holder and Katie Hnida who was a kicker. They were to first two female professional football players in a men's league. Then there is Jennifer Welter, the first woman to play a non-kicking position in a men's professional league. Georgia Frontiere was the owner of the NFL Rams for three decades and the first woman to take control of a league franchise. Shannon Eastin was the first woman to work regular-season NFL games in 2012 as a replacement official. Michael Alan Sam, Jr. was the first openly gay player to be drafted in the NFL. He was drafted by the Rams in 2014.

Apparently, there is no truth to the rumor that the NFL is considering some new rules because of Sarah's officiating. Here is a list of some of the alleged rule changes and the visual signals that might have been used:

1. Illegal Touching of the Groin on National TV – The referee would signal this by grabbing the crotch followed by making a cutting motion with the first two fingers on the right hand.

2. Awkward Forward Pass – This rule is against players making a pass at the referee – the hand signal for this violation is a passing motion followed by a thumbs down.

3. Wrong Sport Violation – This rule prohibits players in football from trying to get to first base with the referee – The hand and arm signal for this violation is holding up one finger followed by crossing the forearms.

4. Illegal Hugging – This is very similar to holding but more personal – The hand and arm signal is for the referee to hug her/himself followed by a wagging finger.

5. Public Display of Affection (PDA) – This rule is long overdue. Many players have been observed in public displays to wives, girlfriends and deities. In some case these are one and the same. The hand and arm signal is a blowing of a kiss toward the offender.

6. Excessive Showing Off – This violation is called against players who posture or pose to try and impress the referee – The hand and arm signal is for the referee to point at the offender and stick out her/his tongue.
​
What can we expect next from the NFL? Now that the glass goal line has been crossed, the shoulder pads are ready for more women. I know several women who could easily play on the front line. They may tip the scales at 300 pounds. I predict that we will soon many professional athletes coming out of closets. I think the NFL is ready for transsexuals, cross-dressers and closet Republicans. Of course, Joe Namath is still the first to wear panty hose in 1974.