Slightly Off the Mark

Funny Money Fax for Fast Cash

We received a very nice fax at work one day (remember the fax?), from Mrs. Nazek Audi Hariri. I’m sure you’ve heard of her husband, Rafik Baha al-din Hariri. Or at least, it’s possible you once raised a din while driving your Audi in Baha.

Mrs. Audi Hariri offered to give us 20% of 36 million dollars.

I thought to myself, “Well, we’re all getting raises this year!

It seems her husband, a respected businessman and politician in Lebanon, was killed in an explosion on Valentines Day. Tragic, right? Afterward, Mrs. Hariri was contacted by a European security firm, which held a trunk that belonged to her husband – a trunk containing the aforementioned three dozen million bucks, all in cash. This no doubt cushioned the lady’s grief, and provided a nice little Valentine gift.

Apparently the money came from business associates, and was meant to for Mr. Hariri’s next election campaign. I’m guessing the campaign finance laws work a little differently in Lebanon.

This is believed to be the spare bathroom toilet for Rafik Baha al-din Hariri, but since the explosion demolished it we can't be certain; there's nothing to go on.

20%, amounts to, um, let me do some quick math … seven million bucks. Give or take--at that point do a few hundred more bucks really matter? I could buy a lot of ramen noodles with a seven and six ones.

Here’s where things get a bit fuzzy: The reason Mrs. Hairy sent this fax is because a person receiving it, identified by her as “you”, is one of her husband’s business partners. But the fax came to my work, and anyone working there who had enough money to contribute toward a multi-million dollar campaign fund would NOT be working there.

Mrs. Heshe explained it all in this clear and concise sentence:

“The part of services the diplomat is required to render is to assist you in claiming the consignments from the terminal of the security company and to set up a transit domiciliary account in your name in one of the prime bank he has contacts to carry out the exercise through the back door.”

Oh. Well, when you put it that way, it all makes sense.

I checked into the story. There really was a Lebanese Prime Minister Rafik Hariri, who really was killed in an explosion, and he really was estimated to be worth billions. Which is like millions, only more. He even has a son named Baha:

“What are you going to name your son?”

“Baha.”

“Well, what happens in California stays in California. Where are you vacationing next year?”

“Saadeddine.”

“Oh boy.”

For some reason, people who want to send you lots of money never want to end up in a courthouse.

I called Mrs. Hibijibi's contact person, a diplomat in London named Mark Johnson. “I’d like to help with the Audi Hariri Funny Honey Money Fund,” I told him.

“You would?” I couldn’t figure out why he was so surprised. After all, 20% of 36 million is so much money I’ll never have to do math again.

“I sure do. I mean, the poor lady’s so oppressed that she has to go through the back door! If this keeps up, they’ll take her names away, one by one. First she won’t have an Audi, then she won’t be Hariri any more, and next thing you know she’ll never get to go to Baha again.”

“Ah, yes …” He seemed a little uncertain about whether I was for real – after all, people do crazy things for money. “Well, with this much cash flow involved, you must understand that certain guarantees will be needed, certain, ah, capital assistance to provide for the transference of funds.”

“I live in the capital of Noble County. Does that help?”

“What I’m saying is, a certain amount of financial incentive on your part will be needed to assist in the transference of cash into your account.”

“Are you saying I need to send you money in order to get money? So in return for services, you need a financial contribution?”

“Well … yes.”

“So you’re like the federal government?”

“Um –“

“Look, here’s the thing. Mrs. Hihickey obviously needs our help, so what if you bring the money over yourself? It just so happens that we have a place near my job where you can stay while we get this all sorted out. You’ll get a nice bed, three square meals a day, entertainment, and even people who’ll stay with you and help you acclimate into our society.”

“Really? Where would that be?”

“The Noble County Jail. Now, if you’ll just give me your –“

That’s when Mr. Mark Johnson hung up, and he wouldn’t answer my return calls. Honestly, I’m beginning to suspect he wasn’t on the level.

You can send us 30 million dollars--or more likely less--to buy our books here:

· Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

· Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

· Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

· Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

· Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

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· Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

· Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

· Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

· Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

· Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter

· Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

· Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

· Audible: https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

Remember: You don't have to blow anyone up to get a good book.

You Say You Don't Want a Revolution?

It seems like no one wants to face challenges or work for their dreams, anymore--they just seem to want everything handed to them. That made me wonder, what would have happened if Americans shared that attitude back at the time of the Revolution?

The Boston Tea Party:

“We’re being taxed on that tea without representation! We should dress up as Indians, sneak about the ship, and throw all those crates of tea overboard!”

“Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how much it costs to rent an Indian costume? And that war paint is terrible on my complexion. Besides, those tomahawks are dangerous, and don’t you think it’s insulting to our Native American friends? Why don’t we just write a letter, instead?”

The Battle of Lexington and Concord:

“Paul Revere, ride out and warn the Minutemen the British are coming!”

“I’m kind of busy doing engravings right now; are you sure they’re coming?”

“There’s a lantern in the church steeple!”

“I can’t remember if it’s one if by land and two if by sea, or the other way around. I’d hate to make a mistake; can’t you get Samuel Adams to do it?”

“But you’ve got the fastest horse!”

“Upkeep is a killer. She throws a shoe every other day, and it’s a pain taking care of all that leather, and she only gets about three miles to the bale. If I’m going to keep doing this, I’m really going to need some kind of financial assistance.”

The Battle of Bunker Hill:

“As long as the ammunition holds out, we can fight the British off for days!”

“Um, about that, sir: We’re out of ammunition.”

“What?”

“Well, the New Jersey guys were supposed to bring some, but they forgot; and the Virginia boys were willing to sell us some, but they wouldn’t take our Massachusetts money; and the Rhode Island guys say theirs all got wet on the way over, because hey--island.”

“But--"

“The New York fellas didn’t think their bullets would be compatible, and the guys from the Carolinas didn’t show up at all. We had supplies still left at Lexington, but Paul Revere wouldn’t lend us his horse.”

“Oh, never mind. I just found out we’re on the wrong hill, anyway. Let’s call it a day and sample some of that beer Sam Adams is so proud of.”

Not historically accurate: It should have 50 Continental soldiers and about a thousand British.

George Washington:

“George, the Congress wants you to take over the army and beat the British.”

“Say what?”

“Now, I know they’ve got a large, well trained, disciplined, and well supplied army of experienced soldiers, and you’ve got farmers and merchants who’ve never shot at anything bigger than a turkey, but--"

“If you’re trying to convince me, you need to take lessons.”

John Paul Jones:

“As you know, Captain Jones, we’re fighting the most powerful navy in the world, and our navy consists of two barrels we borrowed from Sam Adams. Still, we’d like you to take a ship out there and give ‘em a good fight!”

“No way. Sam Adams doesn’t have enough beer in all of Boston to get me that drunk. I’m changing my name to John Paul Smith.”

Trenton:

“Dear Diary: We were supposed to cross the Delaware and attack the Hessians today, but we couldn’t get anybody to lend us boats. Then our feet got cold, and besides, we were a little hung over from all that beer Sam Adams sent over on Christmas. Besides, Hessians aren’t even British – what did the Germans ever do to us?”

There's been a flag on the play.

Valley Forge:

“To the Continental Congress: We are suffering under one of the worst winters in history, and we lack clothing, housing, firewood, food, and medical supplies. This is the greatest challenge my army has ever faced.

“I’m going back to Virginia. It’s warm there, and Martha makes a great stew.

“Sincerely, George Washington.”

And finally, the Declaration of Independence:

“Um, guys, I really don’t feel up to writing this.”

“But Tom, you’re our best writer!”

“Yeah, but … you want me to put all our causes and reasoning, and justify the first revolution of a British colony ever, in one little document? That would be hard.”

“But you’ve got that neat portable desk, and the copy machine you invented, and a really cool quill pen.”

“My wrist has been hurting. I think I’m getting carpel tunnel.”

“Look, this is important. We’re dedicating our lives, fortunes and sacred honor to this fight.”

“Yeah, about that. Is that such a good idea? I can let go of a little sacred honor, but that life and fortune stuff … I mean, my name would be on this thing.”

“If it makes you feel better, we’ll get John Hancock to sign his name in great big letters, so he’ll be the one they arrest.”

“Hey --!”

“Sorry, John, you wanted to be President of Congress. Come on now, Tom. Do it in
rhyme. We’ll call it the rappin’ revolution, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know … don’t you think people will be bothered that a slave owner wrote a declaration of freedom?”

“We’ll call it a declaration of independence. Semantics, Tom! It’s all in the wording.”

“Well, all right … but I’m not paying for all that ink.”

All the photos I've taken of fireworks, and only one came out.

You're free to find our books here:

· Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

· Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

· Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

· Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

· Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

· Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

· Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

· Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

· Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

· Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

· Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter

· Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

· Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

· Audible: https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

Remember: the documents that made us free are worth nothing if no one reads them.

You CAN Judge a Book When It's Covered

History Press finally matched our upcoming book with its cover! It might not seem like a big deal, but it was a bit unnerving to see Haunted Noble County, Indiana up for preorder everywhere, but without a cover to ... well, cover it.

But wait--there's more. I decided to Google the book so I could give you all the links to it, and discovered Google is now giving AI overviews to anything you search. I can't say I'm thrilled. I'd much rather dig the info up by myself, but I bow to our future computer overlords so, just for fun, here's what artificial intelligence had to say about the book:

AI Overview

"Noble County, Indiana, has its share of ghost stories and haunted locations, including Albion's Rose Hill Cemetery, the Cromwell Library, and the Strand Theatre in Kendallville, according to a local author. A book titled "Haunted Noble County, Indiana" by Mark R. Hunter and Emily Jane Hunter details these and other spooky tales.

Specific Haunted Locations:

Rose Hill Cemetery (Albion): Known for the restless spirit of Adam Hoffman, who was robbed and murdered in 1897.

Cromwell Library: Some believe a friendly ghost greets patrons.

Strand Theatre (Kendallville): Reportedly haunted by a figure seen in the old projection room.

Sand Hill: One of the highest points in Indiana, rumored to be haunted, according to a book about the area.

Another High Hill: Said to be haunted due to a hanging or a murder immortalized by a poet.

Additional Information:

Mark R. Hunter, a local author, has extensively researched and documented Noble County's haunted history.

The book "Haunted Noble County, Indiana" is part of the "Haunted America" series.

A Haunted Noble County Facebook group exists for sharing information and stories.

Limberlost Souls, a haunted trail in Noble County, is a popular attraction during the Halloween season, according to Visit Noble County."

Okay, so a couple of notes. First of all, there is no Haunted Noble County Facebook group. I already have three FB pages: My main one, my author page, and the one for Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights that I never merged into the Mark R. Hunter author page. Plus the page I run for the Albion Fire Department. I never even considered creating a group.

Hm. Maybe a group for all our books?

Second, "theatre"? Is the AI British? That's where "1984" came from, after all.

Third, "another high hill"? It found all those other details, but couldn't be bothered to identify Diamond Lake Hill? Also, the poem takes place on Sand Hill.

Diamond Lake hill, also known as Diamond Hill. See? I found it.

Well, any publicity is good publicity, I suppose. Anyway, you can now see the cover and preorder the book at places including:

https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/products/9781467156066

https://www.amazon.com/Haunted-Noble-County-Indiana-America/dp/146715606X

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/haunted-noble-county-indiana-mark-r-hunter/1146986091

https://www.target.com/p/haunted-noble-county-indiana-haunted-america-by-mark-r-hunter-emily-jane-hunter-paperback/-/A-1003560620

https://www.kulturkaufhaus.de/en/detail/ISBN-9781467156066/Hunter-Mark-R/Haunted-Noble-County-Indiana (Is this ... German?)

https://www.indigo.ca/en-ca/haunted-noble-county-indiana/9781467156066.html (Wait, the cover's not on this one yet.)

https://portbooknews.com/book/9781467156066

https://www.adlibris.com/se/bok/haunted-noble-county-indiana-9781467156066

https://bookmarksnc.org/search?q=Haunted%2BNoble%2BCounty%252C%2BIndiana

https://www.najlacnejsie-knihy.sk/kniha/haunted-noble-county-indiana_48112352.html (I have no idea where this one's located, but they've decided Emily wrote the book solo.)

https://www.sanmin.com.tw/product/index/014337159 (Um ....?)

https://www.eslite.com/product/1001294888483751 (More um ...?)

Haunted Noble County, Indiana book by Emily Jane Hunter

Haunted Noble County, Indiana (Haunted America) (Paperback) | Forever Books

I kept finding more and it was getting ridiculous, so I gave up. Sometimes I found some of our other books, including some of our self-published ones in places they should never have gotten to, but who am I to complain?

I assume that, like our book Images of America: Albion and Noble County, the new one will be available in e-book and hardcover. At the moment an audio book isn't in the cards, but don't you want to see the photos? Sure you do.

Speak of the Devil: All Hail The Infernal Summer

Speak of the Devil: All Hail The Infernal Summer: Summer arrives this week, and I will be glad to see it end. At any rate, I have an image blog for the occasion.

Don't Sweat Air Conditioner Problems

I'm rerunning my blog about hot weather from several years ago because, honestly, it's too hot to write.

We had an unusually cool spring, but we noticed a problem during the first heat wave of the year: Our big window air conditioner blew air just fine, but that air wasn't conditioned.

I don't know when the problem actually begun. These things are always found at the worst possible time, like when your furnace breaks down during a blizzard, or your sewer backs up during colonoscopy prep.

And I can't complain, because the air conditioner came with the house--which I bought 35 years ago. In fact, we did an internet search for the model, Sears Coldspot, and learned they stopped making it in the 70s. Our air conditioner survived over forty Indiana summers, and that's remarkable.

I was still in my teens when that thing was made! I wish I'd held up nearly as well.

One final indignity: The box for the new air conditioner ended up on the old air conditioner.

My house doesn't have central air, or central anything. I suppose we could pump cold water through the hot water radiators and cool the house that way, but ... say, maybe that's something to try. Although the furnace is also over forty years old, so best leave well enough alone.

The air conditioner was set into a window, at one corner of the house, but the thing was huge. It was powerful enough to cool the entire downstairs, as long as you set up three fans to blow the air from room to room, in a windy circle that ended with the kitchen air being pumped right back to the conditioner. If you set it up just right, walking through a room can feel like being Jim Cantore reporting for The Weather Channel.

The upstairs is on its own. We bought a small unit for the bedroom, and left the smaller room upstairs to swelter in the summer. In the winter, the smaller room is used as a backup fridge. Old house problems.

When the downstairs air conditioner, which had its own electrical shutoff and a special plug, stopped cooling the house, Emily went outside and laid her hand against the side of it. Then she came back inside and placed her hand in a stream of cold water until the burning stopped.

At least a fire would have taken care of that ugly wallpaper.

Yes, there was definitely something wrong, of the "play Taps at its grave" variety.

Anyone who knows my history will not be surprised to learn I saved up for the next big home repair job. After that, it was a simple process of taking the old air conditioner out and replacing it.

It's usually when the word "simple" appears that we run into trouble.

The old unit had been permanently installed in that #@%& window. It had been screwed, hammered, molded, glued, foam-sprayed, and caulked into place. It was as if in addition to stopping air leaks, they wanted to stop burglaries, alien invasions, and Godzilla.

Eventually we freed it, using two screwdrivers, a hammer, chisel, crowbar, power saw, and two sticks of dynamite. (Luckily it was close enough to Independence Day that nobody noticed the noise.) Preparing to install the new air conditioner, I tried to raise the window further.

The window wouldn't raise. It wouldn't raise because it had been installed at the same time as the air conditioner, and was fitted to its exact specifications.

The new unit did not, of course, meet those specifications. But you knew that.

That wrapping on top of the new air conditioner contains ... a remote control. Unless both my legs are broken, I have no idea when I'd use it.

Keep in mind that Emily and I were doing this work on a day when the temperature was 88 degrees (at 6 p.m.) and the humidity was 107%. How this is possible I don't know, but after an hour we looked like we'd stepped into a shower fully clothed. Oddly enough, the dog didn't seem at all bothered by this--if anything, he seemed happy to have a new window to look out of.

When we finished, I left the pried out metal, the hunks of insulation and piles of screws, the broken drill bits, right where they fell, and simply taped over the areas the new unit didn't cover. Then I tried to plug it in.

Which wouldn't work. The new unit didn't have a special plug.

Some things you should check first. Luckily, there was a more normal plug a few feet on the other side; we turned the new unit on and went out to get a pizza while it was working.

No way were we cooking inside that house. I mean, any more than we already had.

Old Grocery Store, New Secrets

A small town needs certain things to stay alive. A post office; a gas station; apparently a dollar store, considering they're springing up like Marvel movies. The one strange guy who walks around at night talking/singing to himself. One or two people who loudly complain about everything.

And a grocery store. My home town of Albion lost its grocery store, which isn't a huge deal compared to bigger problems, like the constant threat of the reality TV. Still, ghost towns across the country attest to what happens when a community's base disappears.

Most of us didn't know until after the store closed that the family that ran it for forty-some years were not the same people who owned the building. I didn't, even though I worked there when they took over from the former business owner.

I'm the cute one. Okay--I'm the one in the center.

Rumors ran rampant about what would happen to the former grocery store building. It was originally built by Vikings who wandered into the area around 1021 AD, so many thought the owners might tear it down, replacing it with, say, an airport. The site's right next to the railroad tracks, so no one would even notice the extra noise.

One rumor was that it would become one of those Dollar General Markets, a mini-grocery store where you could also buy everything from clothes to dolls to doll clothes. But there are already two dollar stores in town, built directly beside each other because that makes sense. Granted, they're on the other side of town from the old grocery store, but there's not that much town.

And then: Construction crews moved in and started overhauling the old building, top to bottom.

It's being done by Amish workers, the best builders in this part of the galactic arm. If you gave them a blueprint they could build a starship, even if their faith prevented them from piloting it.

So what will the new building be?

Nobody knows.

Oh, there are rumors, but for some reason no one involved is willing to tell. It's their choice, of course: It's private property. Still, it's quite the mystery: If you were going to open a business, wouldn't you want people to know what it will be? It's just ... strange.

So I declared on social media that it was going to be a Galactic Empire shooting range. Those storm troopers, they really need the practice.

Maybe if they tried to, I don't know, aim.

I quickly realized this is exactly why the new occupancy is so secret: Because it's secret. So I came up with some possibilities. If you know but can't say, blink your left eye three times.

* Nuclear waste transfer depot. This is where the waste is transferred from truck to train. I mean, the tracks are right there. We might not like the idea now, but I'm sure in no time we'll all be just glowing.

* Vice-Presidential Museum. Indiana has produced the second largest number of U.S. Vice Presidents. Only New York has more, and they've been around for three decades longer. Part of S.R. 9, which runs through Albion, is officially The Highway of the Vice Presidents, as it connects some of their former homes. We're Number Two!

* Big box store in a little box. Groceries upstairs, clothes in the basement, everything else on the roof. If you catch someone trying to shoplift a power tool, just shove them over the side. This one needs thought: I'll workshop it.

* Experimental indoor farm. Many towns don't allow farm animals because of the noise, and the smell. If the workers install soundproofing and a filtering system, we may be looking at the future of agriculture. Worried about cows contributing to climate change? No problem: Now all the animal farts are captured, and used to power the indoor field sunlamps.

You know, that started as a joke, but I think I might be on to something.

* CIA regional office. That explains everything. I mean, everything except why it would be in Albion. All I know is, ever since I started writing this there's been a black SUV with tinted windows parked across the street.

* Secret archeology site. Who knows what's under the ground there? A mastodon? Prehistoric giant skeletons? Godzilla's smaller cousin, Joezilla? There's a reason why Dr. Jones goes by "Indiana".

And finally:

* Nuclear missile silo. Look on the bright side: If WWIII breaks out, we'll be the first to know.