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Jack is a graduate of Rutgers University where he majored in history. His career in the life and health insurance industry involved medical risk selection and brokerage management. Retired in Florida for over two decades after many years in NJ and NY, he occasionally writes, paints, plays poker, participates in play readings and is catching up on Shakespeare, Melville and Joyce, etc.

Monday, October 24, 2022

10-24-2022 - Voting Reminder plus Two Halloween Stories, Assault Rifles, Evil Thinkers, and Some Statistics

 

Fifteen Days to Election Day! 

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It matters not if you vote by mail, at an early voting location or on Election Day. The important thing is that you … 

                                                                            Vote


Please Forward this Blog posting to your friends, relatives, and neighbors, or direct them to visit https://jackspotpourri.blogspot.com. 
 
As I have repeatedly pointed out, there are many important things at stake in this election:   
1. The right of women to choose an abortion, 
2. Keeping military-type weapons out of civilian hands, 
3. Guaranteeing voting rights to all Americans, and most of all, 
4. the preservation of American democracy!  

Democratic majorities in both Houses of Congress are needed.  Your votes are crucial!  The votes of women and persons of color may decide the future direction of America.  Vote!
JL

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TWO GHOST STORIES FOR HALLOWEEN


With Halloween coming up, it’s time for ‘horror stories.’  Here’s one I wrote a dozen years ago that is set in the ‘over 55’ community in which I live in Floriduh.








Sergeant O’Toole

Jack Lippman

“Sarge, it’s the middle of fall already, and up north, we call weather like this the ‘dog days of summer.’ It’s August weather at the end of October! Boy, I’m hot and itchy.”

The lanky sergeant looked disdainfully at his companion on the wagon as it bumped its way, pulled by four tired mules, along the old military trail that ran down the east coast of Florida. It was 1903, five years after the Spanish-American War, but the government still felt the forts running up and down the Florida peninsula had to be maintained and supplied, to protect the country’s southern flank.

“Sarge,” the young soldier continued. “When are we going to get to Fort Lauderdale? I sure could use a real bed for a change instead of camping in the woods along here every night, with all of the bugs and snakes and things out there.”

“Shut up, soldier,” the obviously irritated sergeant replied. “We’re going to camp around here tonight, clean up the wagon, rest the mules and maybe get to Lauderdale tomorrow. Now shut your damn mouth and stop your bitching about everything. We might as well stop right now, so you can get started feeding them mules and tying down the cargo. Move it, soldier. And stop calling me ‘Sarge’! You call me Sergeant O’Toole, you hear, none of this ‘Sarge’ crap, anymore.”

And as he pulled the wagon to a stop, Sergeant O’Toole raised his bullwhip, usually reserved for use with the mules, and flicked its lash out across the young soldier’s back, as he was dismounting. The soldier screamed with pain and turned to face the sergeant.

“You dumb bastard! Why did you do that? Get down from the wagon, Sarge, and fight like a man, if you are one.”

The infuriated sergeant raised the bullwhip again and sent it screaming through the air, wrapping its lash around the soldier’s arm and shoulder, throwing him to the ground.

“That’ll teach you to give me some respect, soldier,” he called out as he climbed down from the wagon. But he never saw the soldier rise, turn, and aim his Springfield rifle directly at his stomach, which, as the fiery round of steel tore into it, spurt forth blood and innards in several directions simultaneously.

The mules bolted and tore off into the woods, dragging the wagon behind them. The soldier dug a shallow hole and buried the still warm body of Sergeant Timothy O’Toole in the sandy Florida soil, and hiked eastward, eventually reaching the ocean near the village of Boynton, where he found a job and settled down, quite correctly figuring the Army would never find him.

A century later, Sue and Sam Pincus were lying awake in bed in their Cascade Lakes home.

“Sam,” Sue asked. “Do you feel … I don’t know … sort of funny tonight? You know I’ve gotten up about three times already and looked through the house. I’ve been hearing, I think, noises. Almost as if we had a break-in and someone is in here with us, but everything is locked and the alarm didn’t go off. Sam, I swear something is wrong, but I don’t know what.”

Raising himself up on his elbows, he muttered, “Then, it’s not just me. I can’t sleep either. I can’t put my finger on it, but something weird is going on. Feel my hands, honey.”

“They’re ice cold,” she replied, “but mine are too. Let’s get up and see if we can find out what’s the matter. I’ll make some coffee.”

But they didn’t have time to get out of the bedroom. Bursting through the bedroom doorway, in filthy, dirt-covered rags, with disheveled hair flying in all directions, came a ponderous hulk, which because it had a head, arms and legs, appeared to be a man. And in its mid-section, a gaping wound, still spewing gore, dripped blood onto the rug. In his right hand was a bullwhip, which the creature was swinging around the room in whistling ellipses. And from his throat, there came a rasping moan.

“A hundred years, and Sergeant O'Toole ain’t dead yet, despite this hole in my guts … but at least I was at rest where that bastard buried me alive … until you put this damn house on top of where I lay. For years I crawled from my grave at night to get what to eat, and you covered it all with a concrete slab. Have you no respect for me? A hundred years, and Sergeant O’Toole ain’t dead yet!”

With that he snapped the whip again, its tongue curling painfully around Sam’s leg. The pain was excruciating.

Sam screamed, and sat up in bed. Sue screamed too, and grabbed her husband and held him, as the first rays of morning sun crept into the house.

“Hold me close, Sam, I’m frightened.”

“There’s no one here to be frightened of anymore, Sue. I must have had a nightmare,” he said.

“Come off of it, Sam,” Sue said. “Let me look at your leg, because I think we were both having the same nightmare. And you’re right. Whoever, or whatever was here is gone now. I can feel it.”

The red welt around Sam’s ankle was clearly visible.

“I must have tied my shoelaces too tightly yesterday,” he said. Let’s leave it at that, Sue. Okay”?

“Sam, all you ever wear are loafers! But all right, Sam, we’ll leave it at that.”

Two weeks later, the real estate agent told them they could get a great price for their house, looked at them curiously and suggested that they had better get the bloodstains off of the rug in the bedroom before she brought any prospective buyers around.

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And now that the mood is set, here’s another for your ‘Halloween’ enjoyment.  It’s a bit ‘educational’ (read the footnotes) but it does indeed involve a ghost.

 

A Ghost of a Chance   (With Apologies to Bill Shakespeare)

Jack Lippman

It’s fine with me, but there are consequences,” she responded to Claude’s1 suggestion.

They had been lovers on the sly for years.  It had started shortly after she married his older brother and realized, after only a few months, that she had made a great mistake in her choice of which one of the King2 brothers to marry.

“Gertie3, I hate him as much as you do.  But believe me, if anything happened to him, no one would ever suspect us.  We’re his family!  What are you worrying about? In fact, let me tell you why I came to see you today. It’s about our plan and what I have to say may make you feel a little better about it.  I’ve gotten my hands on some new kind of poison that is absolutely undetectable and untraceable.  Something the CIA developed, but even they’re hesitant to use.  My source guarantees that even the latest autopsy techniques will confirm that he died of a sudden heart attack. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Wonderful, but even if no one suspects that something rotten4 went on, won’t we have it on our consciences forever … what we did I mean?”

Claude smiled at her.  “Come on, Gertie.  Did you ever lose any sleep over what we did in his bed every time he went out of town?  Why are you so worried, anyway?”

“The kid,” she answered.  He loves his Dad. Hamilton5 and his father are much closer than he is toward me, what with Little League, camping trips, teaching him how to hunt and all that kind of stuff.  With that father-son bonding, I just don’t know how he’ll take his best pal’s sudden death.  I really don’t want to hurt him, and this will.”

“Don’t worry about it.  He’s young.  He’ll get over it.”

“I hope so, but he’s such a sensitive boy.  He dreams6 a lot.”

“But he’s a big boy now, Gertie.  Away at college now, anyway.  When we call him with the sad news, he’ll come running home.  In fact, the shock may wake him up to the realities of life and turn him into a better man.  And as for him suspecting anything, I don’t think there’s a ghost7 of a chance of that happening.”

So they did it, and it worked out just as Claude had envisioned it.  The family mourned appropriately, some more sincerely than others. The couple were married a year later, and although they were not Jewish, what they did was not unlike the ancient Hebrew tradition of an unmarried brother being obligated to wed his deceased brother’s widow.

Hamilton graduated from college, receiving a Bachelors’ degree in theatre arts, and then went into the Army with an ROTC commission.  One evening about a year later while he was home on leave, he had joined his mother and stepfather for dinner.

After coffee and danish8, he took a deep breath and asked, “Do you guys have any plans for this Saturday evening?”

They didn’t and they told him so.

“Great,” he said.  “A buddy of mine from school has written a play9 and it’s running right now and getting some really nice reviews at an off-Broadway theatre.   He’s given me three front row tickets for Saturday evening.  It’s kind of spooky7, but still you might enjoy it.  We can all go, the three of us.  Okay?”

Gertie and Claude were quick to agree. Hamilton kissed them both, embracing his mother with unusual warmth, and left. 

“Ah, yes,” he thought as he walked down the steps of their East Side brownstone, “I hope that I’m wrong, but I can’t wait to see what they think of the play I wrote.” 

On Saturday evening, an ashen-faced Claude stalked out of the theatre in the middle of the first act, with Gertie following closely behind him.  The hollowness in her eyes, which she took pains to avert from her son’s view, made words unnecessary. 

Within a few weeks, Hamilton had avenged his father’s murder, but most sadly, in doing so, lost his own life as well.

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The following footnotes are intended for those who may not be familiar with the plot of “Hamlet.”

1     Claude = Claudius, King of Denmark

2     King brothers – They were indeed a “royal” family

3     Gertie = Gertrude, Queen of Denmark and Hamlet’s mother

4     Something “rotten” went on – “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark” (Act 1, Scene 4)

5     Hamilton = Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

6     Hamlet was indeed a dreamer.  See his soliloquy. “To sleep, perchance to dream: Ay, there’s the rub” (Act 3, Scene 1)

7     “Ghost of a chance” and “kind of spooky” comments allude to when his father’s ghost tells Hamlet of the murder (Act 1, Scene 5)

8     What else would the royal family of Denmark have for dessert?  

9. “Written a play” comment alludes to the play Hamlet staged for Claudius and Gertrude, duplicating the ghost’s description of the murder.  “The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King” are the concluding words of Act 2.   

   JL

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Shame on Evil Thinkers

The  motto surrounding the emblem of England’s order of the Garter reads ‘Honni soit que mal y pense.’  That translates from the French as ‘Shame on those who think evil of it.’  That motto should be affixed, at least in our minds, to the Declaration of Independence and to the Preamble to the Constitution of the United States.  This might move the Supreme Court to think carefully about how it interprets the Constitution and its Amendments.

JL

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Please Forward this Blog posting to your friends, relatives, and neighbors, or direct them to visit https://jackspotpourri.blogspot.com

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Statistical Report

I alert about 55 email recipients whenever I send out a new posting of Jackspotpourri.  With luck, perhaps 25 bother the check out the new posting.  (I am a realist.)   Each of those that do is asked to forward the posting to others.  Most do not, but some do.  The week before last was a typical week, during which approximately 197 people in the United States checked out Jackspotpourri. 

While a few ended up there in the course of a google search, most accessed it as a result of my emails.  Here is a summary of last week’s ‘hits’ on the blog.

First of all, for some strange reason, 243 of them were from computers located in Vietnam.  This has never happened before and probably will not happen again.  Things like this occasionally happen.  Discounting them, along with about 60 ‘hits’ from other locations outside of the United States, notably including 21 from Russia, leaves about 190 ‘hits’ in the United States resulting from the two postings of the blog during that period.  These numbers, provided by Google, may not be precise, but they are pretty accurate.

I conclude that perhaps 50 of them are from those alerted to the postings by my emails twice during this period.  That means that about 140 are the result of their forwarding the blog directly to others or directing them to https://jackspotpourri.blogspot.com to read it.  Some these 140 may be the result of those to whom you might have forwarded it, sending it on to others!

Thank you all for helping to get my messages out.  Considering that the blog is usually posted twice a week, it could mean that a significant number of newer readers are accessing it, many who got there by it having been forwarded to them!  That’s all I ask.  And your help in accomplishing that is truly appreciated.  Thank you.

JL

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Please Forward this Blog posting to your friends, relatives, and neighbors, or direct them to visit https://jackspotpourri.blogspot.com

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Two Good Reasons to Buy Assault Rifles 

and Two Bad ones

There are four reasons for a civilian to purchase an assault rifle, be in an AR15 or version of it.  These weapons are not intended for hunting nor for self-defense, unless one is hunting an entire herd of game or whose home is being attacked by a regiment.  They are intended for military use, the word ‘assault’ being self-descriptive.

A civilian might want one if (1) they are a collector of weapons, as some people collect stamps, (2) they intend to shoot it at targets at a legitimate target shooting range, (3) they intend to use it in an attempt to overthrow our government, or (4) they intend to use it to murder as many innocent people as possible as quickly as possible.

Only two of these reasons are legitimate.  The other two are criminal.  The Second Amendment was not intended to benefit such criminals despite the misguided opinions of a Supreme Court that chooses to ignore its first thirteen words, reducing its credibility tremendously and making it complicit in many murders carried out with such weapons.   

JL

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Okay, To How Many People Have You Forwarded This Blog Posting? 

 

    That’s Not Enough!

    https://jackspotpourri.blogspot.com

Go for a half dozen more!

 

 


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