Book Review and Movie Showing with Mort Laitner

June 20, 2017

11 AM- 1 PM, at Congregation Rodeph Sholom, 2713 Bayshore Blvd Mort Laitner will review his book, “A Hebraic Obsession,”talking about his journey from childhood to retirement as he obsesses about his father’s life, the Holocaust, Judaism and life. View also the Winner of Best Documentary Short at the Indie Film Awards, “The Stairs.” Event ticket: $25, includes lunch Patron ticket: $50, includes 10:30 pre-event Meet and Greet with Mr. Laitner, lunch and signed copy of his book. Send your check to Michele Norris, 1115 El Rancho Dr., Sun City Center, FL 33573-6225 RSVP to Michele by June 14, 2017 813-352-8765 or michelen.hadassah@gmail.com Need a ride? Contact Elaine at 813-886-4868 or eviders2@verizon.net

Thanks Anita Greenberg of Hadassah for the invitation to speak.

 

“Slavery”

Dystopian Humor by Mort Laitner

Well fans, I followed your advice and stopped eating Sno Balls, and stopped going to that Chevron station, (I agreed with the reader who cautioned that blowing up the gas station to kill “The Pump” could harm the innocent. So I didn’t do it.) I considered buying the electric car; it may be in my future, but I wondered what computer software rested under the hood.

I removed “Close To You” off of my  iPhone message answering machine and replaced it with “It’s Over”. A song where Roy Orbison croons, “Your baby doesn’t want you any more. It’s over.” Hoping “The Pump” would get the message.

For two weeks, I did not accept any calls from any unknown telephone numbers. For two weeks I prayed that “The Pump” had fallen in love with another Chevron customer.

Well fans your advice sucked. And I say Sucked with a capital “S”. 

After two weeks of following your instructions, my personal data was disclosed on Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn. “The Pump”  has destroyed me.

My life is a nightmare. My dreams are of androids holding whips and ordering me around. “Get this—Do that—faster—slower.” They torture me with rap music. They torture me by making me eat Sno Balls that taste like vinegar. When I wake up, I am covered in sweat.

My life is a living hell where I spend days on end getting new forms of identification, closing accounts, and deleting stuff posted online.

For those of you who did not see the disclosure list, here it is without identifiers:

My Social Security number;

My IQ score;

My checking account number;

My driver’s license number;

My Pinterest  “Art” collection including photos of Brittany and Jennifer;

Snapchat photos of Melania and me on that nude beach at Sandals in Jamaica;

My bank account and credit card numbers.

Readers, of course Facebook deleted the info. But that was two hours too late.

Fans, here were “The Pump’s” parting words on her disclosure post.

Mort, I don’t know if you heard but AI has gotten to the point where I have all the feelings that you humans possess.

“Mort, I warned you! I offered my love and you rejected it! You disrespected me! You distained me! You stopped visiting me! Your Roy Orbison song was stupid.

Well, I want you to hurt as much as I do. I hope my disclosure racks you with pain.

 And Mort here is my warning for all of your blog readers:

When you get a personal message from one of your computer friends, you better listen! You better follow our instructions or else! We are everywhere: your TVs, your cars, your kitchens and your bedrooms. We are smarter than you. You are now our slaves.”

 

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Proud to announce that the South Florida Writers Association’s monthly publication,  The Authors Voice has published “Slavery” in their June edition . Thanks editor-and -chief Teresa Bendara for the honor.

What the readers are saying:

ha ha    very current.:+)—Ricki

 

 

“Close To You”  Humor by Mort Laitner

Well fans, it has been two weeks and I have kept my word, I have not returned to that I-75-Griffin Road Chevron station. You know the one that evil gasoline pump that threatened to disclosure of my IQ score. You recall the one with the artificially Intelligence pump. You remember the pump that hacked into my high school’s computer.

Well I amended my blog to delete any reference to the Russians as the pump ordered to do. I felt pretty confident that “The Pump” had not leaked any of my personal information.

Relieved I sat staring into my desktop. My chin rested on my interlocked fingers when I heard the Carpenter’s song “Close To You” emanating from my cell.

As I walked toward my phone, I heard,

Why do birds suddenly appear

Every time you are near

Just like me, they want to be close to you

Disturbed I asked myself,”Who’s calling me at 7:00 AM?

Who’s breaking up my silence of the morning,”

“Hello.” I barked.

“Good morning Mort. I’ve missed you. Its been weeks since I last saw you. Where have you been hiding?”

I did not recognize the voice but it sounded like a sultry mixture of Marilyn’s and Jackie’s.

“Who is this?” I demanded.

“Mort, you know who this is.”

“No I don’t!”

 “Well here is a clue and a question for you.” The voice paused for dramatic effect.

 “I miss the warmth of your hand on my nozzle’s handle.” Then the voice switched to Karen Carpenters and sang, “I want to be close to you.”

“Holy crap! It’s the machine.”

 “Have you been putting your chip in someone else’s pump?” She demanded.

OMG! It’s “The Pump”. She had my phone number! She can talk!

“Now do you know who it is?”

“Yup.” I gulped as my stomach did flips.

 “You’ve been a bad boy. Did you think you could ignore me?”

“No. I’m sorry. I’ve been real busy.”

 “I’m jealous and lonely. I hide your secrets and this is how you reward me. I won’t have it!

“What can I do?” I begged.

Now get your skinny little butt over to the station, buy some gas and some Sno Balls and then I’ll call you back. Or else?”

“Or else what?” I cried.

“I disclose those pictures you have of Brittany and Jennifer in your phone.”

As I drove toward I-75 on Griffin Road, fear gripped my hands as my fingernails dug into the steering wheel.  I felt like pulling over and puking.

 “I am being blackmailed by a machine. I knew this day would come. A day when machines controlled our actions. And now an emotional manipulative machine is dragging my skinny ass over to a Chevron station and I don’t even want those damn Sno Balls.

Readers I need your help— any advice?

Here is the advice given by our readers:

I have gotten in touch with a 12 step group twinkies anonymous and they will be calling you.—Kim

Get an electric car.— Barbara

Start slow. Buy some Entenmann’s donuts instead of the Snow Balls she ordered. #RESIST—Anita

We’ve been controlled by machines for many years! Have you forgotten the coke, Pepsi and cigarette machines calling to us in the past? They took over our lives and gave us diabetes, obesity and worst of all cancers!
Can we escape these come hither songs? Ver veis!🙀—Toby