“Goodnight, hon. Love you.” Judy went through her nightly routine that always ended by her saying goodnight to her husband of fifty-two years.

“Love you too, babe,” answered Bob, as usual before turning out the light. He fell asleep quickly. In mid-dream he was awakened by extreme pain. What the frick! He opened his eyes. Okay, that hurts. My left arm must have fallen asleep. Ow! Ow! That hurts. What time is it?

He tried to raise his head to see the clock. Ow! Ow! My neck. Can't raise my head. He lay still for a minute, but the pain only intensified. It must be around two in the morning.

Gotta wake Judy. Bob opened his mouth but could not draw a breath. Something's on my chest. Can't breathe. Ow! Ow! Ah! Ah! An elephant is sitting on me. He tried to raise his arms, but the effort only increased the pain. Shit! I'm having a heart attack. Damn that hurts. Need to wake Judy. He tried to kick off his covers but, again, the pain stopped him.

Maybe it will pass.  He waited. That was his last thought.

Later that same day – the doorbell rang, and Judy answered the door. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying all morning.

“Oh Judy. I'm so sorry. I just heard about Bob.” It was Mary, the neighbor and best friend from next door. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm okay, I guess. I'm just... just numb.”

“I know, dear.” Mary hugged Judy. “What happened?”

“Heart attack said the doctor. He seemed fine yesterday. This morning when I went in to wake him, he was gone. Died in his sleep. He looked so peaceful.”

“Died in his sleep,” repeated Mary. “That's the way to go. Just close your eyes and don't wake up.”

“Thank God, he didn't suffer. He didn't feel any pain.”

​The End

Hackers Rule Television—A Short Short Story
​
Sometimes I get irritated at the TV programs that show how geeks can hack into anything in no time flat. It takes me forever to find anything on the internet and to download a program. Maybe hackers are that fast, but I think the screenwriters exaggerate. Here a little script to demonstrate what I mean.

SUPERCOP: Someone just tried to break into Fort Knox and steal all the gold.
SUPERGEEK: Any clues?
SUPERCOP: No, not really. He was stopped at the gate. He dropped this when he ran. Not sure what it is.
SUPERGEEK (Takes the item and examines it under a microscope): It appears to be a garage door opener. This is great. We can track him with this.
SUPERCOP: What? How?
SUPERGEEK: Well, all remote garage door openers operate on a radio frequency. All I need to do is reprogram the opener, and I can hack into his computer using his Wi-Fi freq.
SUPERCOP: But don’t you need to know the frequency of the remote?
SUPERGEEK: No problem. Remotes have a limited number of frequencies; ten or twelve. I’ll just try them all until I find the right one.
SUPERCOP: But if the remote is so common, there must be millions of them.
SUPERGEEK: 25 million of this brand and model, to be exact, but we know he just was at Fort Knox, so he must live in a 200-mile radius.
SUPERCOP: Even so, you’re going to hack into thousands of home computers. That will take hours.
SUPERGEEK: Not so. I just search for key words on all computers. Words like crime, Fort Knox, robbery, etc.
SUPERCOP: But won’t that take hours?
SUPERGEEK: No. There, I’m done. There’s your guy. (hands Supercop a printout.) He used map program to get directions. I just reversed the directions. Here you go. Go get him, Tiger. Oh, you may want to call the news. I may have opened all the overhead doors in a 250-mile radius.
​
The End

I have a story to tell. It burns inside my blood like acid trying to get out of every pour of my body. My brain boils when I think about it. It consumes me. It keeps me tossing and turning at night. It haunts my waking moments. However, I am a newbie, and I know it. I have a lot to learn about being a writer. Therefore, I decided to learn as much as I can about my new profession and to do so as quickly as I can. I don’t have the patience nor the time to take a writing class, so I decided to read magazines and explore the internet.

First, I subscribed to Writers’ Digest and The Writer magazines. I read every issue, cover to cover; even the article on poetry, which I don’t understand. In one issue, I read an article about the 101 best websites for writers. I checked out each one. If it had a newsletter, I signed up. If it had a blog, I subscribed to it. If it was on Twitter or Face Book, I followed it. I followed the treads of conversation and wrote witty and creative comments. Then I read an article about the 10 best blogs for writers. I registered for all of them and read every issue. Now, every day I get several newsletters, blogs, and prompts on writing and fill my day writing. I get absorbed at times and write late into the night.

The magazines recommended the Master of Fine Arts for writing program. It sounded good and I could even take the courses online, so I signed up for one. It was so much fun, that I started a second one. The magazines also recommended that I write everyday regardless of how much time I had. I needed prompts so I signed up for several websites that provide writing prompts every day. I write something daily on each prompt. I even started my own website where I can post my own stories once I write them. I also started a blog for my followers, if I ever get any. Meanwhile, I follow every author that I can on Twitter, Linked In, and Face Book.

I find that I no longer have time to write the story that was burning in my soul, but it doesn't matter, because I forgot what I wanted to write.

The End

​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?” I did not. 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

If you were waiting for my blog yesterday, I apologize. I had a medical appointment in NYC, an 8 hour round trip. So, here’s my blog a day late. Enjoy.

Subtle Signs That You May Have Screwed Up

Sometimes we need help to tell us when we screw up. As a public service, here's a list of some of the indicators that you may have screwed something up:

1. Your pet gives you the silent treatment.
2. Your mother unfriends you on Facebook.
3. You GPS tells you, “Get lost.”
4. Your boss starts calling you Mr. or Ms. plus your last name.
5. Your dad cuts you out of his will even though he doesn’t have anything.
6. Your kids send you an e-mail stating that they found a sibling that they never knew they had.
7. You wake up and you’re not sure what town you are in.
8. HR wants to talk to you about your secretary.
9. The sex video you made is no longer on your computer.
10. The IRS left a message on your voice mail.
11. Your lawyer won’t return your calls.
12. The CFO wants to talk with you about your business trip to Vegas.
13. Your boss now calls you “Stupid.”
14. Some guy named Slasher leaves a message that the Don wants to talk to you.
15. The FBI would like to talk to you.
16. When you come home, your house is covered with crime scene tape.
17. You find a group of reporters waiting for you when you arrive at work.
18. Your car explodes in the parking lot.
19. You realize that you are being followed by a drone.
20. All your credit cards are declined.
21. Your computer is no longer user friendly.
22. Key to the executive restroom no longer works.
232. Your significant other called and said they can’t find your secret stash.

These less than subtle signs should tell you that there is trouble brewing ahead.
 

 
 
 
 
 

Chris turned off his vibrating cellphone. He had allowed himself a couple of hours of sleep by putting his cellphone on vibrate and holding it in his hand. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. All his senses were alert now: listening, watching, smelling and feeling for the slightest indication that he was not alone. The house was silent. All the occupants were probably asleep by now. Chris sat up and adjusted his ski mask sand checked his trench knife. The first phase of his mission was completed without incident. Slowly, quietly, Chris stood and pressed his body up against the wall. The door to the hallway was only a few feet away. He reached the door and peeked around the door frame and down the hall. It was empty.
 
Slipping down to all fours, Chris used the alligator crawl technique to move down the hallway. It was a moonless night, so he didn’t need to worry about illumination coming from outside. From the kitchen door, he peered inside. No one was there. Using the Alabama high-stepper technique to avoid trip wires and obstacles, he entered the kitchen. He held his breath for nearly a minute as he listened for any unusual noise. There was none. The target was there on the counter top. In one smooth motion, he removed his trench knife and slid over to his target.
 
Suddenly, the kitchen light came on and a voice from the doorway asked, “Chris, what the hell are you doing?”
 
Chris froze. “I, I, I just wanted a piece of cake.”
 
His wife put her hands on her hips. “You’re a diabetic. Cake will raise your blood sugar. Besides, the doctor said you have to lose weight. Now put that knife down before you hurt yourself and take off that ski mask. You look ridiculous. Come back to bed.
 
Rats, ambushed. Abort mission, Chris thought. Tomorrow is another night.

THE END
​

Judy was impressed by the restaurant Chris choose for their date. He has good taste, she thought. His belt and shoes matched which was a plus. He opened her car door for her – another plus. The fact that he could still drive was a major plus. So far, Judy like everything about him. She wasn’t sure if he was ready for what she was going to tell him, but she had made up her mind. Chris asked for a table in a more secluded part of the restaurant; a little more private. Judy smiled in agreement.

The server arrived, explained the evening’s specials and asked if they would like drinks. Chris asked, “Shall I order the wine for us?”

Judy smiled. “I think I would like some Champagne. I feel like celebrating.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “And what are we celebrating?”

“I’ll get to that. Go ahead and order.”

Chris ordered Champagne and the appetizer special. They both started reading the menu. “Would you like me to order for both of us?” he asked. “I hear the prime rib is to die for.”

“Make mine petit. I probably won’t be able to finish it.”

Judy nervously fiddled with her napkin while Chris busied himself with rearranging the cutlery. The server returned with their Champagne and took their orders.

Chris raised his glass. “Here’s to us then.” They clicked glasses. “Now what are we celebrating?”

Judy smiled and touched her hair, tucking an imagery strand behind her ear. “We’re celebrating us. Your toast was spot on. This’s our third date. You know what they say.”

Chris shook his head. “No, what do they say?”

Judy lowered her voice and leaned forward. “They say if you like someone you should sleep with them by the third date. I want to sleep with you.”

Chris sat up straighter. “Sleep?”

Judy waved her hand at him. “Don’t tease. You know what I mean.”

Chris leaned back in his chair. “Oh, wow. I didn’t see that coming. I mean, yes, I thought about it, but… I didn’t want to push it. Yes, I really like you too, and I’d like that... I mean raising our relationship to the next level.”

Judy chuckled. “Well, we’re not exactly like a couple of twenty-year olds who can just jump into the sack anytime. Things changes as we get older. I think we should discuss the logistics.” She paused as the waiter brought their appetizer.

Chris waited until the waiter was out of hearing range. “Oh… logistics.” Chris looked around the dining room. “You mean right here? Now?”

Judy laughed. “No one can hear us.” She moved to the seat next to Chris. She placed her hand on top of his hand and lowered her voice. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I think we should do it tonight after diner. I’d like you sleep over at my place. It would be easier for me. I’ve all my meds, make up and clothes there. I’ll feel more comfortable there.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “Yes, of course. That’s fine with me. If fact, for breakfast I’ll make my famous pancakes. We’ll have breakfast in bed.”

Judy chuckled. “I haven’t had breakfast in bed in years. That sounds promising, but I’m a diabetic. Pancakes raise my blood sugar.”

“Okay. Then I’ll make an omelet with bacon and toast.”

Judy shook her head. “Skip the bacon. If I eat the prime rib, that’ll be enough red meat for me to last a week.”
 
“An omelet with toast it is.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to a great night and breakfast in bed.” They clicked glasses again. “We’ll drive over to my place after this to pick up my meds and clothes. Then we’ll stop to buy eggs and bread.”

“Do you have condoms?”

Chris sat back in his chair. “Well, no… I guess we’ll have to buy some.”

Judy smiled. “No, that’s okay. I have some.”

Chris raised one eyebrow this time. “You do?”

Judy cocked her head to one side. “We agreed not to mention our previous relationships, remember? Yes, I have condoms. I like to be prepared. You said you had a heart condition. Has your doctor cleared you for sex?”

Chris smiled. “Oh, yeah, my doctor cleared me after my heart attack as long as I don't raise my pulse past 110. In fact, he gave me Viagra.”

Judy leaned forward again. “Did you bring some?”
 
“I’ll take a pill when we get to my place. How about you? Is your doctor okay with this?”

“Well, I didn’t specially ask her about tonight, but yeah, I’m okay as long as I take my angina medication." Judy paused for a moment and lowered her eyes. Then she said, “I’ve a problem with dryness, but she gave me a cream for that.”

The server arrived with their prime rib. Chris took a bite. “Mmmmm. That’s good. While we’re talking about medical condition, I should tell you that I have sleep apnea. I’ll have to bring my breathing machine.”

Judy laughed nervously. “Then I guess I should tell you I snore. If it bothers you, just wake me and tell me to turn on my side.”

“It won’t bother me. Once I remove my hearing aids, I won’t hear a thing.”

Judy laughed. “We seem so compatible, don’t we? Chris, I don’t know what your expectations are, but I have arthritis. I’m not as flexible as I once was. I can’t do some things.”

“Judy, my expectations for our date tonight were to have a good meal with a beautiful woman and maybe go out for some ice cream afterwards. Besides, I have a bad back.” Chris instinctively put his hand on his back. “We won’t be doing anything too strenuous. In fact, I would prefer if you were on top.”

“Oh, I prefer the top. Thank you.”

As they continued to eat, Chris spoke up. “I should warn you that sometimes one of my ex-wives calls me.”

“One? How many ex-wives do you have?” Chris raised one eyebrow, and Judy backed down. “Sorry. It just slipped out. Why does she call?”

Chris sighed. “To answer your question, I’ve two ex-wives, but only the first one feels the need to call me at odd hours. She’s insecure. My second ex-wife hates my guts and never calls.”

Judy sat still for a moment and stopped smiling. She gazed into his eyes and then sighed.

Chris put down his fork. “What is it? What are you thinking?”

Judy shook her head. “Nothing really.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking. It’s okay. We’re in this together. Are you having second thoughts?”
Judy nodded her head. “Yeah, I guess. I didn’t realize sleeping together at our age required so much logistics.”

Chris smiled and placed his hand over Judy’s hand. “What do you say we go out for ice cream after diner, and then call it a night? I can come over tomorrow and make omelets.”

Judy laughed nervously and patted his hand. “That sounds like a good plan.”
​
THE END