Lawyer still trick or treating at age 45.

 I have a sweet tooth the size of Alaska. That’s why when Halloween rolls around I break out the shopping bags and go begging.

Some people may say I suffer from a case of arrested development, but where on the law books is there a statute of limitations on trick-or-treating? I should know—I’m a lawyer.

At forty-five, it’s not easy to pretend I’m a kid. I’m five-ten and two hundred-plus pounds. In addition, I have the beginnings of a bald spot on the top of my head and a case of five o’clock shadow that’s impossible to disguise.

But I’m nothing if not ingenious. Last year I taped wrapping paper and ribbon around some cardboard boxes and went as a stack of Christmas presents. All you could see of me were my baby blues through the eye holes. The optical illusion created by my arrangement of presents made it impossible to figure out my true height. I netted thirty pounds of candy after tossing out the fruit and related junk.

One advantage of trick-or-treating at my age is that I have a longer stride and can cover more ground than the typical nine-year-old. Plus I keep an up-to-date database on the best and worst neighborhoods for candy that includes the number of lit and unlit porch lights, pumpkin sizes, types of treats and so on. Each year, I eliminate homes that have been declining in two or more categories and upload the results to my computer.

I couldn’t pull off a successful night of begging without it. For instance, there’s a rich financier a few blocks away who always has full-size Hershey Bars. Consulting my computer before going out, I’m reminded that the financier’s maid and butler alternate at the door. Knowing this allows me to hit the house twice, if I time it right.

As far as getting caught, the closest I ever came was three years ago at my parents’ house. My mother seemed to recognize my voice when I yelled “trick-or-treat!” But she’s elderly, so I just grabbed and ran before she could put it all together. Boy, were my underarms wet.

But the best part of Halloween for me is the rest of the year. I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to offer a client candy from the Wedgwood jar on my desk, then pop some into my own mouth. With only me knowing my Halloween secret.   

As told to Doc Paranormal

Adjunct Professor-At-Large

Edgar Allan Poe Community College

Revealed! Secret Ways Carnival Games Are Rigged.

  Ever wonder why you leave the carnival midway with no prizes in your arms—and no money left in your wallet? Well, it’s no accident that you didn’t win that stuffed bear or Dale Earnhardt Jr. t-shirt.

     
I worked carnival games for several years of my misspent youth. A friend’s dad owned a traveling show. I joined up and did pretty well, netting, in commissions, anywhere from $300 to $500 per day (inflation adjusted). And all I did was apply the same middle-class worth ethic that had earned me lots of As and membership in Mensa.

     
Carnival hucksters aren’t stupid. They’ve got street smarts and years of experience hoodwinking ‘rubes’ into believing they can win something for nothing. And the games they entice you to play always give them the advantage.

   
Not every carnival game is rigged. But all of them are created to give the carnie the house advantage—and leave you with empty hands.

     
Here are insider secrets that could prevent you from getting f****d over on classic carnival games:

     GUESS YOUR WEIGHT GAME: The secret to this game is that the carnie doesn’t care whether he guesses your weight correctly or not. With rare exceptions, the prize you win when he makes a ‘mistake’ cost him less than what you paid to play!

     Bonus if you have a bad body image: the carnie will always flatter you by dramatically underestimating your weight. 

     BASKETBALL THROW: There are many tricks to this game. The hoop is often a touch too small, the backboard is not regulation height and the ball is either over or under inflated.

     If you love the sight of dejected high school jocks, watch from the sidelines.

     MILK BOTTLE THROW: The three milk bottles you need to knock down with a softball are not all the same weight. Often, the bottom bottles are weighted down with lead, making them difficult to topple.

     But of course, you already knew that. I hope.

     CATS ON A SHELF: This throwing game requires you to knock sawdust-stuffed ‘cats’ off a shelf with a baseball. In extreme cases, the carnie controls a hydraulic lever that can extend the width of the shelf, making it impossible for the ‘cat’ to fall completely off the shelf.

     I paid for my college education with this one. Of course, I had to dodge a few baseballs thrown at my head.

     BALLOON DART: When the player pops a balloon with a dart, he wins the prize described on a tag that’s revealed. Unscrupulous carnies simply ‘palm’ any tag that awards the player a major prize, replacing it with one awarding an insignificant prize.

      A great game for teaching children that life is not fair.

     BUSHEL BASKET: To win this deceptively simple game, the player needs only to toss a softball into a common bushel basket so that the ball remains inside. However, a shifty carnie can secretly tighten the tension on the bottom of the bushel, causing the ball to pop out—and the player to lose.

    

     DIME TOSS or GLASS PITCH: People who play this game win a piece of tableware when the dime they toss into the center ring remains in one of the plates, glasses or bowls spread out before them. The only “fix” here is that it is very difficult to throw a dime in a way that it doesn’t skip out of the plate.

     Otherwise known as a “grind store.”

     CRANE GAME or “DIGGER”: This game asks the player to operate a scale-model crane in a glass case filled with prizes. The player wins as many prizes as he can scoop up with the shovel. Difficult to begin with, the game can be made even harder by a carnie who uses a screwdriver to tamper with the claws on the shovel, causing the prize to fall out.  

     Last week, I spotted one of these in a grocery store lobby.

     ANY GAME RUN BY A GUY WHO DOESN’T LOOK LIKE A CARNIE: I specialized in these. Too varied and complicated to go into here—let’s just say they’re adult games like the Razzle, where an individual can lose a few hundred $$ before he or she knows it. Typically the suckers are sophisticates who think they’re too smart to get taken on a carnival game. Like lawyers and M.F.A.s. I wrote about the thrill and anxiety I experienced running one in a memoir published by Simon & Schuster, Eyeing the Flash: The Making of a Carnival Con Artist.

     CARNIVAL FOOD: You pay the true price for eating this sh*t about two hours after leaving the midway.

America desperately needs more PSYCHIC immigrants, illegal or otherwise.

 

Recently, there has been a lot of hubbub about the type of people immigrating to the United States Most of the talk is about who we shouldn’t let in. I’m here to tell you who we should welcome.

Plain and simple, we need to encourage more people with psychic powers to come to America. According to studies I have seen, we are not producing enough psychics domestically to meet 21^st century demands. Soon, other nations that value paranormal powers, like Russia, Nigeria and Romania, will surpass us in the number of psychically talented citizens they possess.

And that scares the hell out of me.

The solution? We need to encourage foreigners with mystical abilities to move here A.S.A.P., to make up for our domestic shortfall. America needs to do this in order to maintain a leadership role in UFO research, fortune-telling, ghost-hunting, ESP and other vital endeavors. This is a national security issue of the highest order. We must take action now, to keep our beloved nation safe from a surprise psychic attack launched from foreign shores.

What the incentive should be, I leave to persons more knowledgeable about such things. Perhaps it should be on a graduated scale depending on the psychic ability under question. For example, overseas UFO experts might receive a $10,000 bonus to move here, while crystal ball readers only get $2,000 cash, because we already have a sizable number of European gypsies in run-down urban strip malls.

Above all, psychic immigrants should receive instant U.S. citizenship, without the usual red tape. Case in point: right now hundreds of experienced South American Chupacabra fighters now languish in border camps, when they could be gainfully employed preventing the hideous night beasts from infesting U.S. soil.

IMHO this is an emergency situation. Lady Liberty needs to welcome foreign psychics with open arms, whether they arrive here via land, sea, air or the astral plane.

I’m afraid that we face total destruction in a psychic Pearl Harbor or 9/11 if we do not act.

And, regardless of race, creed, color or political persuasion, that is frightening for us all.

Signed,

A Reader in Massachusetts

President Biden to create 60,000 "family wage" ghost hunter jobs.

President Biden is preparing to stimulate the American economy by paying living wage salaries to 60,000 ghost hunters across the nation.

An insider told me, “It’s high time these volunteer ghost trackers are rewarded for their selfless duties. Most now hunt spirits in their spare time, often forced to spend entire nights away from their families in their noble quest to reduce the nation’s growing plague of restless ghosts.

“America’s volunteer ghost hunters are working under dangerous conditions in derelict mental hospitals and abandoned 5-star hotels. Yet, they have nothing to show for their labors but strained marriages and angry bosses when caught napping on their day jobs.

“It’s also a tremendous financial burden for them to purchase the necessary tools of their trade, including EMF meters, EVP devices, thermal devices and cool-looking black t-shirts.

“President Biden is well aware of these heroes’ plight. Therefore, he is funding 60,000 family wage ghost-hunting jobs. Money to lease Class A office space, new uniforms and vehicles is included. In other words, the taxpayer dollars given to these first responders will be immediately spent, stimulating the economy at large.

“In order to keep the price tag reasonable, the President has also ordered the Secret Service, DoD and ATF to donate every black Chevy Suburban they can spare, along with surplus flashlights and batteries.

Reported by Doc Paranormal

Tree sitter: my wonderful, horrible night in an enchanted forest.

 Dear Doc Paranormal:

I swear what I’m about to tell you really happened, even though I was alone at the time, one hundred and fifty feet above the forest floor. Holding on for dear life to a massive Douglas fir.

I’m a tree-sitter. You know, the kind of crazy person who climbs a big tree and stays put in order to protect the old-growth forest. Crazy, at least in the eyes of a general public that thinks clinging to the branches of an immense fir in order to save it is insane.

I’d never considered tree-sitting until I lost my publishing job in San Francisco. Living costs there are, of course, sky-high. A deal-breaker when you’re unemployed. So when I read about a protest at a proposed logging site (which I’m not going to identify, for reasons you’ll soon understand), I figured, “What the hell.” It was a good excuse to escape a hectic town I could no longer afford anyway.

I left all my possessions with a friend. Half a day later, I was in a world of giant trees and happy people. The dramatic change was a kind of high—a hit of Mother Nature’s Ecstasy, you might say. Before I knew it, I was being roped up to a platform one hundred fifty feet high in the branches of a grand, distinguished fir.

The protester I was replacing greeted me with glazed eyes and a beatific grin. But a shiver went through me when she tried to speak and only spittle emerged.

Little did I know I’d soon be struck dumb myself.

My first hours alone in the canopy were a wonder of soft breezes and swaying limbs. I had never before felt so serene. But as twilight fell and the stars came out, I got paranoid. Crippled with stress, I’d roll off my tiny wooden platform when I fell asleep. Only after roping myself against the massive trunk in a perpetual hug was I able to relax and close my eyes.

Two hours later, I awoke with a start. The tree’s limbs groaned. The wind had picked up, I thought. Thank god I’d tied myself down.

Then I screamed. The disturbance was actually a phosphorescent stream swiftly traveling up the tree, over my body and into the night sky. I was petrified. I wanted down. But I was teetering one hundred and fifty feet above the forest floor, with no help from below until first light arrived. I had to gut this out on my own.

I took a deep breath only to be startled again. The phosphorescent stream was composed of recognizable beings—rabbits, bears, owls, even insects! Thousands upon thousands of them were shooting past me to the treetop and the twinkling infinity above.

Slowly, imperceptibly, terror turned to wonder. I started to blubber and cry. Yes! I had been granted a privilege few before me had ever experienced. A lucky few, like the tree-sitter I’d replaced—the young woman who’d been rendered speechless by the magnificence she’d beheld.

I was being overwhelmed by the spirits of deceased forest creatures, heading skywards to their Next Destination. I had entered the bloodstream of the life cycle itself.

I now stock shelves in a grocery store in a small Oregon town. Don’t talk (can’t really). Smile a lot. My co-workers call me The Mute. But I don’t mind. My only ambition is to put together enough money so I can return to the Enchanted Forest.

Because its towering pines offer deceased wild animals’ safe passage to the world beyond ours, where they cavort to their hearts’ content, free from the encroachment of man.

Cut down the old growth and we slam the door on their highway to the Other Side.   

Sincerely,

Anarki      

   

I accidently sprayed my guardian angels with RAID!

To Doc Paranormal

From: PN in TN

This all started in late March when my husband Bob and I began using our back porch for barbeques—and even a bracing breakfast or two.

We live on a lake in east Tennessee and we both love fresh air—although I must confess to being squeamish about bugs. That’s why we have a screened porch instead of a cedar deck.

Anyway, we were relaxing one night after a meal of grilled tri-tips and Bush’s baked beans when an unusually persistent swarm of bugs began assaulting the screen. It was dark and hard to tell what they were through the screen.

My heart skipped a beat because they didn’t seem to be flying at random. It was as if they were aggressively trying to get in, like a hungry dog banging at the door.

And the sound they made wasn’t that of mosquitos, flying beetles or gnats. It was more like a weird kind of singing—the distorted, staticky kind you hear on a distant radio station when a storm is coming your way.

Knowing how much I hate bugs, Bob grabbed two cans of Raid—one in each hand—and began mowing the insects down. That’s when—and I swear this is true—the screaming began.

(Sorry, I need to pause here for a moment to regain my composure…)

…Anyway, I thought Bob would laugh when I said I heard screams.

But his face was white as a sheet.

Trembling, he replied, “You must have been reading my mind. Those were screams. Millions of tiny screams.” He looked with disgust at the cans of Raid still in his hands. He heaved them into a corner.

The night suddenly silent, Bob carefully opened the porch door to examine the creatures he’d just killed. But he found nothing, nothing at all. No carcasses—only a light evening dew on the grass.

Now, I’m going to throw you a curveball. I’d been trying to get pregnant for twelve years when this happened. Bob and I had attempted everything. We were so desperate we’d even flown to Switzerland where I underwent experimental treatment.

But shortly after the tiny creatures visited that night, I felt something stirring inside. I secretly took a pregnancy test and was overjoyed when it was positive. My doctor confirmed it and I gave birth over the holidays.

Bob and I now firmly believe that the buzzing creatures he sprayed with Raid were actually tiny guardian angels. They had arrived in a swarm to bless us with a child.

Thankfully, a few of them were able to fly through the poisonous cloud, although Bob made a back-of-the-envelope calculation that he had caused several hundred thousand guardian angels to die a horrible death.

Bob’s been diagnosed with PTSD. He whimpers in his sleep.

I can’t watch a Raid commercial today without weeping uncontrollably.

We gained a baby and lost our souls.

Note from Doc Paranormal;

While the veracity of this tale has yet to be determined, caution should be exercised when using insect spray during the Spring and Summer bug seasons. The risk of collateral damage to unknown entities outweighs the benefit of a mosquito-free picnic, IMHO.

 

 

Imaginary friends saved their marriage.

 

Once upon a time there was a couple named Jack and Jill (names have been changed to protect privacy).

Jack and Jill had been married for 10 years and their relationship had become a bit dull. They had grown tired of each other's company and were finding it harder and harder to find things to talk about.

One day, while out on a walk, they decided to liven things up by including a pair of imaginary friends.

Jack's imaginary friend was named Bob and he was a wise-cracking trouble-maker. Jill's imaginary friend was named Sue and she was a sweet and nurturing old soul. While similar in age and attractiveness to Jack and Jill, Bob and Sue were each two feet taller.

At first, Jack and Jill were a bit skeptical about their new companions, but soon they found that their imaginary friends had breathed new life into their relationship. They found themselves laughing and having fun together again, all thanks to Bob and Sue.

They would go on adventures with their imaginary friends and would even have them join them on date nights. They would tell each other about the things that Bob and Sue did and said and it brought them closer together.

Bob and Sue were always by Jack and Jill’s side, making sure that the spark in their relationship never died out.

One would think that at this point Jack and Jill’s marriage was saved and they lived happily ever after. Instead, conflict arose on multiple fronts:

*Jealousy: Jack and Jill's imaginary friends were always around, and they were starting to get jealous of the attention they were receiving. They felt like they were being replaced by their own creations.

*Different interests: Bob and Sue had different interests and personalities, which led to conflicts between Jack and Jill. Bob loved to go out and party while Sue loved to stay home and read. Jack and Jill found it hard to compromise and make plans together.

*Secrets: Bob and Sue were privy to Jack and Jill’s inner thoughts and feelings, which led to some secrets being kept between them and their imaginary friends. This led to trust issues and arguments between Jack and Jill.

*Dependence: Over time, Jack and Jill became increasingly dependent on their imaginary friends for companionship and entertainment. This led to them neglecting their responsibilities and relationships in the real world.

*Imaginary Friends’ Agenda: Bob and Sue had their own agenda and sometimes it conflicted with Jack and Jill’s plans and goals. This increased tensions and disagreements between them.

*Reality vs. Imagination: Jack and Jill found themselves struggling to differentiate between what was real and what was imagined. This led to confusion and frustration in their relationship.

*Acceptance from others: Jack and Jill’s friends and family had a hard time accepting the idea of their imaginary friends, which led to isolation and alienation from their loved ones.

*Control: Jack and Jill found it hard to control their imaginary friends, and they often acted out in ways that Jack and Jill found embarrassing or inappropriate.

The relationship had reached a breaking point. After considerable thought, Jack and Jill decided they needed a time-out from Bob and Sue.

Bob and Sue were initially a bit disappointed. They enjoyed being a part of Jack and Jill's life and didn't want to lose the special connection they had with them.

But as they saw the positive effects the changes had on Jack and Jill, they realized that it was for the best. They understood that Jack and Jill's relationship needed to come first and that they were just a fun addition to it, not a replacement.

As time passed, though, Bob and Sue became increasingly dissatisfied with the new arrangement. They missed the closeness and attention they used to get with Jack and Jill and felt like they were being pushed to the sidelines.

They started to feel neglected and unimportant, and this caused them to become resentful towards Jack and Jill. They began to act out and cause mischief in an attempt to regain their attention. Despite Jack and Jill's attempts to address the couple’s concerns, Bob and Sue couldn't shake off their dissatisfaction. They started to feel like they were no longer needed in Jack and Jill's life and began to look for other ways to fill the void.

Eventually, Bob and Sue decided to move in with Jack and Jill's neighbors, a couple named Tim and Sarah, who were more than happy to have them. Like Jack and Jill, Tim and Sarah had reached a low point in their relationship. Bob and Sue saw an opportunity to fill that void as their imaginary friends.

At first, Jack and Jill were relieved that Bob and Sue had found new pals. They understood that their imaginary friends needed to find their own way and happiness. Furthermore, they realized that their own relationship was strong enough to survive without them.

Yet nothing is ever so simple. As Jack and Jill saw Bob and Sue's cozy new relationship with Tim and Sarah flourish, they couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. They began to resent Tim and Sarah for taking their imaginary friends away from them and started to look for ways to subvert their relationship.

They would often make negative comments about Tim and Sarah when Bob and Sue dropped by for a chat, hoping to plant seeds of doubt in their minds. They also started to compete with Tim and Sarah by trying to outdo them in activities and outings, in an attempt to show Bob and Sue that they were still fun and exciting to be around.

Their efforts were in vain. Bob and Sue were happy in their new relationship and didn't want to be pulled back into the past. They were grateful to Jack and Jill for the time they had spent together but were looking forward to a bright future with Tim and Sarah.

Jack and Jill eventually realized that their jealousy and resentment were only hurting themselves. Recognizing the futility of trying to subvert Bob and Sue's new relationship, Jack and Jill decided to take a different approach in dealing with the loss of their imaginary friends. They decided to "play the bar scene" so to speak and explore the possibility of finding new imaginary friends to fill the void.

They started trying out new activities and hobbies, and meeting new imaginary people.

Through these experiences, Jack and Jill discovered that there were many other imaginary friends out there, just waiting to be discovered. They found that by keeping an open mind and a positive attitude, they were able to connect with a diverse group of imaginary friends, with their own unique personalities and interests.

Jack and Jill started to have fun again and to rediscover the joys of companionship. They also realized that by expanding their social circle, they were also expanding their own horizons and learning new things about themselves and the world around them.

As they moved on, they looked back on their relationship with Bob and Sue with fondness and gratitude. They understood that it had been a special and important chapter in their lives, but that it was time to create new memories with new imaginary friends. 

Reported by:                                                                                                              Dawnlee Hope, Jr.                                                                                                          Grad Student                                                                                                          Paranormal Journalism Program