I have a few short stories for Halloween. Here is one:
A Haunting Short Story—Part 3 (Cont’d)

John took the iPhone and looked it over. “You said it was a communication device. Where are the wires? How does it work without wires?”

“It’s wireless. I don’t have time to bring you up to date on all the progress made in 150 years. You just have to accept what I tell you. Okay?”

John nodded. “Okay. What do I do now?”

“Good,” Eston said. “We haunt these things now I’ll show you how to enter the operating system and tell you the type of things you can do there.” Eston spent the next thirty minutes explaining how an iPhone works. Finally, he said. “Most of the apps on the iPhone are paid for by advertisements. These ads pop up here and there; some from the top down, some from the bottom up and some from the sides. They can be very annoying. To drive a person mad, just make ads pop up one after the other.”

John didn’t know what an ‘app’ was but decided to hold his question. “It’s that easy?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. You can also mess with their e-mails.”

This time he had to ask. “What’s an e-mail?

Eston smiled. “It means electronic mail. People use it to send messages to each other. All you do is mess with the addresses. Just change the address to someone else. If the message says something intimate, send it to everyone in their address book. I once sent a bunch of emails from Hillary Clinton to the WikiLeaks.”

“I don’t know who those people are.”

 Eston smiled, “That bring me to sexting.”

“What’s that?”

Eston smiled even wider. “Sexting means taking a naked picture or picture of one’s privates and sending it to a boy or girlfriend.”

“Good. I’m a private. Take my picture.”

Eston laughed. Not that kind of private. It’s a picture of your… you know… your thing.”

John blushed. “I would never do that.”

“Not your thing. People…live people do that.” Eston saw that this news puzzled John. “Don’t ask me why, they just do, and we can haunt that.”

“How do I do that?” John asked.

“Simple. Whenever you see someone sexting, you change the address to someone else. I like to use a parent, if I know it, but just about anyone will do.”

“And that works?”

“Oh, yeah,” answered Eston. “You should see what I did to Anthony Weiner. But the best haunting is with selfies.”

“What are selfies?” John asked.

“People now days, especially, young ones, like to take pictures of themselves alone or with someone and send to other people. When you see that they’re about to take a selfie, you jump into the background and manifest yourself in true ghostly fashion. We call it photobombing, and it will freak them out.”

John had seen only one camera in his entire life, but at least he knew what a photograph was. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? There are a million ways to possess a cellphone. One of my favorites uses the GPS.”

John sighed. “And what, pray tell is a ‘GPS’?”

“It stands for Global Positioning System. It uses satellites to triangulate the position of a cellphone.”
John had no idea what ‘satellites’ were or what it meant to’ triangulate’, but he was overwhelmed and let it pass. “So, what do you do to the GPS?”

“Whenever someone asks for directions, you change them. You know, send them the wrong way on a one-way street or take them miles out of the way. It drives people crazy.”

“Anything else? I can’t handle much more.”

“Okay, one more and you’ll love it. Some cellphones use artificial intelligence and an artificial voice. People can talk to them and they talk back. Two popular ones are Siri and Cortana. All you do is take over the voice and talk in a creepy, voice and maybe with a hideous laugh. It will freak people out.”
John laughed. “Now I like that. I’ll try it.”

“Well, that’s enough for now. That’s the basics. “Oh, before I forget, Halloween is October 31. All the ghosts in the city get together and ride the subways all night. I’ll come to get you after sundown. Happy haunting and welcome to New York City”

John said, “Thanks.”
​
THE END

I have a few short stories for Halloween. Here is one:

A Haunting Short Story—Part 2 (Cont’d)

“I was killed during the Battle of Antietam in Maryland when a Confederate sniper shot me.”

“In the head, I presume.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Yes, how’d you know?”

Eston poked a finger through the hole in John’s head.
John laughed. “Yeah, lucky shot.”

“So, what have you been up to the last 150 plus years?” 

“I stayed on the battlefield marching in solemn formations every night for visitors at the Antietam National Battlefield.”

Eston shook his head. “That must have been boring.”

“Not for the first one hundred years. To tell the truth, each time I thought maybe this time we’ll win. But it was the same results every time.”

Eston laughed. “So, you finally asked for a transfer?”

“Yeah. Now can you tell me what’s going on. I can’t seem to scare anyone.”

“That’s because everyone is looking at their iPhones; playing games, reading emails or sending pictures,” Eston answered.

“Wait, wait. An eye phone? What’s an eye phone?”

Eston smiled. “Not that kind of ‘eye’. It’s a communication device, like a telephone.”

John shook his head which would have fallen again if he hadn’t held on to it. “What’s a telephone?”

“Wow,” Eston answered. “What war were you in?”

“The Civil War. I was killed in Sharpsburg, Maryland, on September 17, 1862. A sniper shot me at the Sunken Road during the Battle of Antietam.”
​
“Wow,” Eston said. “So that’s what, over 150 years ago? There’s been a lot of progress since then. We haunt things differently now days. I’ll show you how.” Eston looked around. As the next guy passed, he entered through his back and snatched the iPhone out of his hands. He brought it over to John.  “This is an iPhone.” The man stopped and started looking for his iPhone. When he saw Eston talking to John, he screamed and ran away. 

A Haunting Short Story

I have a few short stories for Halloween. Here is one:

A Haunting Short Story—Part 1
 
John Hunter was stunned as he stood in Times Square. This was not the New York City he remembered from his youth. Of course, that was over 150 years ago. John was a ‘young-old ghost’ as the spirit community liked to call ghosts that died young a long time ago. Most ghosts are “ancient-old ghosts”, having died at an old age a long time ago. John decided to make the best of his situation and to start haunting. Haunting a city was certainly more interesting that haunting a Civil War battlefield and with a hole in his head, John figured he could still provide a good scare. 

He waited until a group of people approached him on the sidewalk. They were walking with their heads down as if praying. No matter, John decided to scare the hell out of them. He waited until they were just a few feet in front of him and then he manifested himself and yell “boo.”

No one even noticed. The closest person walked right through him without stopping or even looking up. John decided he needed to up his game. When the next group of people approached him, he removed his head and threw it at the closest person. Nothing happened. His head sailed right through the person, bounced down the street and rolled down the steps of a subway entrance.
John, or at least his head, lay on the subway platform wondering how in the world he was going to find the rest of his body when he heard laughter. He glanced over and saw a young man, a young ghost really, laughing at him. Finally, the young ghost walked over and picked up John’s head and held it up so they were eye to eye.

“What are you laughing at?” John asked, irritated.

“Why, you, of course. Let’s go find your body.” The young ghost carried John’s head under his arm and up the stairs to the street level. John’s body wasn’t hard to find; pedestrians were oblivious to it. They walked through it, not even bothering to lift their feet. The young ghost lifted John’s body and placed his head squaring on his neck. John looked down at his body. His head was backwards. He reached up and turned his head around. Then he looked around, found his kepis cap and placed it on his head.

“Oh,” exclaimed the young ghost. “You’re a soldier.”

John snapped to attention and saluted. “Private John Hunter, 22nd New York Volunteer Infantry at your service.”

The young ghost stuck out his hand. “Please to meet you, John. My name is Eston Morschauser.”
John shook Eston’s hand. “You’re young like me.”

“Well, I died young just last year. I guess I’m a ‘recent-young’ ghost as they say.”

“Maybe you can tell me what’s going on,” John said. “I tried to scare these people, but they just ignored me. They keep looking at their hands. What’s going on?”
​
Eston laughed. “You’re way behind the times. Where have you been?” 

A while back I read with interest an item on my newsfeed (Life Style) from Brides Magazine, “The 7 Phrases That Are Ruining Your Relationship.” Now I’ve been married twice, so I can speak from experience when I say, “Not even close.” The article listed these phases:
1. "I'm sorry, but ..." There’s always a “but” isn’t there?
2. "Yeah? Well, you ..." We men know our only defense is to say, “I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”
3. "You always ..."
4. "I'm fine."
5. "I told you ..."
6. "You're just like ..."
7. "You're overreacting."
 
All true but not all that damaging. Here are the other phrase/sentences, based on my experience, that will ruin your relationship:

1. If you’re a man – “I think your best friend/mother/ sister/daughter is hot.” For a woman – “I think your best friend/father/brother/son is hot.”
2. “Can I wear your panties and bra?”
3. “I think the condoms I used have been recalled.”
4. “The voices in your head are starting to annoy me.”
5. “Have you seen my pet cobra?”
6. “Did you take my pipe bombs?”
7. “My coffee tastes like antifreeze.”
8. “Let’s play Russian Roulette.”
9. “My parole officer would like to meet you.”
10. “Did I mention that my divorce isn’t final yet?”

 
Trust me – these comments will sabotage your relationship.

A while back I read an article on my Lifestyle news feed by Emily Wallace of Penn State U, “7 Reasons Americans Might Want to Stop Drinking Milk”. She wrote about the inhumane living condition and abuse of cattle, milk beyond infancy is unnatural, the hormonal risks, how milk is bad for your bones, environmental destruction caused by dairy farming and the fact that there are plenty of alternatives.
 
Once again, I think she missed a few more reasons. Here they are:

1. Milk is coming out of your nose.
2. You start mooing.
3. You come down with hoof and mouth disease.
4. Your hair is beginning to look like cow hide.
5. You start giving yourself milk injections.
6. Your skin turns milk white.
7. You begin growing udders, a tail or horns.
8. Your breasts become huge.
9. Your bowel movements also become huge.
10. You start dating only farmers.
11. Bulls or heifers start looking appealing to you.
12. Your favorite song becomes Farmer in the Dell.
13. You start putting grass on your cereal.
14. You start eating a lot more grains.
15. You want to adopt a calf.
16. Your friends say you’re getting beefy.

If you see any of these signs, you should cut back on your milk consumption.

A while back, I read an article in the AARP Bulletin, titled “50 Great Ways to Live Longer.” Right away I knew I had to change my unhealthy ways and calculate my new longevity. My father lived to be 80 years old, so I always figured I’d live that long at least. I did the math below:
 
If I cut back on my pain pills, I would decrease my chances of heart attack or stroke by 10%. That adds 8 years (don’t get caught up in the details) to my life. That brings my life expectancy to 88 years.
 
If I get less than six hours of sleep, my chances of dying increases by 12%. Therefore, if I can get in more than six hours of sleep, my life expectancy will increase to 98.5 years. Looking good so far.
 
If I can stay married, I have a 46% lower risk of death compared to never married men. My life expectancy increases to 143+ years (1.46* 98.5). This might be a tough one.
 
By drinking coffee, I add another 15% to my life, bring my life expectancy to 165 years (143*1.15). I already drink coffee, so no biggy.
 
Eating three or more servings of whole grains per day, reduces my death by 20%. Now my life expectancy is up to 198 (165*1.20). I may start to moo.
 
Eating hot peppers reduces the death rate by 13%, bringing my expectancy to 223+ years. I’m on a roll here.
 
Drinking whole milk can add eight to ten years to my life. My life expectancy now increases to 233 years (223 + 10).
 
Switching to a vegetarian diet can deduce my death rate by 12%. As much as I love meat, this switch would add 28 years to my life. Life expectancy is now 261 years (233 + 28).
 
Stopping smoking reduces mortality by 15% or more. Now I expect to live to 300 (261*1.15%). Since I don’t smoke anymore, this is also an easy one.
 
Loneliness increases the risk of early death by 45%. Therefore, if I stay social, I can add 135 years (300*.45%) to my life. I may live for 435 years.
 
My new plan to live to be over 400 is simple -- cut back on pain pills, sleep six hours, stay married, drink coffee, eat three servings of whole grains per day, eat hot peppers, drink whole milk, switch to a vegetarian diet, continue not to smoke, and stay social. You can’t argue with math. See you in 400 years.

I’m starting a new novel. It’s a SiFi story in the near future. Here’s what I have so far.

​Junk Yard dog

Junk Yard Dog wasn’t a very space-oriented name for a spaceship, but it was descriptive of it’s mission. The Junk Yard Dog was a spaceship built and commissioned to clean up the space junk orbiting the earth since the beginning of the space program. Space junk consists of over a million pieces of objects ranging from paint flecks to much larger decades-old, inoperative spacecraft. When it became impossible to avoid a collision with space junk, governments began commissioning contractors to start collecting and removing the space junk.

Commander Zoe Simonson owned the Junk Yard Dog. She was one of the first to get a government contract for space junk removal. Now she has plenty of competitors. The Dog was equipped with four Canadarms or Remote Manipulator Systems or RMS, a series of robotic arms and claws used to capture space junk. One pair was mounted on the front and a second pair was inside the payload bay. Everyone just called them arms.

What’s our payload now?” Zoe asked the Arm Operator, Walt Stawski.

“The cargo bay is nearly full, Commander.” Walt replied. “We can head back to the space barrage any time. The barrage is three quarters full.”

“Any how much is that at current market prices?”

“We’re just shy of the $10M we need to break even,” Walt answered.

“Let’s keep at it for a while,” Zoe said. “We need to make a profit. Where is my science officer, Rudy?”

“Rudy is working in the bay cutting up junk to make more room.”

“Tell him to get back inside,” Zoe commanded. “We’re going hunting. Cyril, find me something valuable.”

“Yes, Commander,” Cyril the pilot answered. Thirty minutes later something caught Cyril’s eye. “Commander, I think I found a satellite.”

“Great. Pull it up on the screen,” Zoe answered. Everyone looked at the satellite on the screen. “It looks kinda small.”

‘Yea, it’s only about fifteen inches in diameter,” Cyril answered.

“Is Rudy inside?” Zoe asked.

“I’m right here, Commander,” Rudy answered. “I’m checking this satellite against all registered satellites.” No one spoke for a few minutes. “Nothing is coming up so far. It could be unregistered because it was launched prior to registration being required or it may be a spy satellite.”
​
“I don’t think it’s a spy,” suggested Zoe. “Spy satellites usually are much bigger and covered in antennae. This looks like a basketball—smooth as a baby bottom. Okay, let’s snag it. Cyril, take us in closer slowly. Walt, get ready to grip it with the front arms.”

A couple of years ago, I read an article from the Motley Fool written by Maurie Backman. She wrote about the three mistakes you might make during your working years that will haunt you in retirement. She listed: thinking you'll fall back on Social Security, not saving from an early age and playing it safe with investments. Now I’m no financial wiz, but I think she missed the mark by a long shot.

Here some regrets she didn’t mention:
Loaning money to your brother-in-law.
Not paying off your debt to a loan shark.
Sending money to some guy in Nigeria.
Not having a prenup with your first wife.
Not paying your taxes.
Betting your nest egg on a hot tip at the racetrack.
Taking all your money out of Apple and investing in Eastern Airlines stock.
Throwing away the winning lottery ticket before checking the numbers.
Starting as an Uber driver with a rickshaw.
Stealing the identity of a person on the FBI ten most wanted list.
​
I’m sure there are many more regrets, but time and space doesn’t permit me to list them all.

In honor of National Coffee Day, I would like to post this public service message.

A couple of years ago, I read on my news feed the “7 Signs You’re Drinking Too Much Coffee”. The article listed such symptoms as: you feel anxious, your stomach hurts, your heart is racing, you have diarrhea, you can’t sleep, you've got the jitters and you get headaches.
​
As usual, these types of lists always omit some symptoms. Here’s what the list omitted:

1. You buy coffee colors shirts, so the stains don’t show.
2. You plant coffee beans in your garden.
3. Your Starbuck’s bill is more than your electric bill.
4. You sprinkle ground coffee on your omelets.
5. You start carrying instant coffee and spoon for a quick pick-me-up instead of a snack.
6. You start looking for coffee flavoring in all your food.
7. You can smell a coffee shop one mile away.
8. Your teeth turn brown.
9. Use start using a needle to inject the coffee directly into your blood stream.
10. You think hospital coffee tastes good.
11. You prefer coffee flavoring over pumpkin spice.

If you have any of these symptoms, you may need an intervention.

It seems there’s a news item two or three times a week about road rage. I don’t think road rage can be stopped, but it can be controlled. Data gathered by SafeMotorist.com indicates that 66% of recent traffic fatalities can be linked to aggressive driving. Of course, not all aggressive driving is a result of road rage. However, 37% of those fatalities were found to be caused by a firearm. According to a study by the AAA nearly 80% of drivers expressed significant anger, aggression or road rage while driving at least once in the past year. Not all anger ends up in road rage.
 
 Anger is a is a natural emotion, a common response to frustrating or threatening experiences or when a person thinks he has been injured or mistreated. Mix anger, driving and maybe alcohol and you have a dangerous cocktail. However, it can be controlled. Instead of stopping road rage, we can render it less harmless. I think I have found the perfect control mechanism—paint balls.
 
Every driver, on a volunteer basis, of course, would be issued a paint ball gun with a special color of paint. If we use the colors found in a crayon box minus white, there are 63 colors. Remove black and white and that leaves 61. When a driver feels road rage, the driver can shoot the offending driver who may or may not shoot back. If the car is the same color as the paint, the driver will have to aim for a tire or window. When the police see a car with more than five colors, they would issue a citation for reckless driving.
 
We should try this out in cities like Los Angeles or New York City for a beta trial. If all goes well, the technique can be adopted nationwide.