Mein Summer Kampf

By D. Scott Apel

The most common response I get to that title is: "You think that’s funny?" The answer I'd really like to give you is the Joe Pesci answer: "Funny how? I mean, funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you?" But the answer I will give you (and Joe) is: Yes, I do, or I wouldn’t have made it the title of this collection of short humorous essays, ludicrous lists, satirical stories and even (shudder) a couple parodic poems. Yes, the answer is Yes. There is only one other word I'd like to say about this collection: subtle. And that is the last time you will ever hear that word used in connection with this material. An ex-girlfriend once told me that I was like a 1,000 watt light bulb: very bright, but a little obnoxious. And I’ve been informed that my humor has a certain "je ne sais merde." I prefer to believe, however, that, like the blind man whose other senses are heightened to compensate for his lack of sight, my total lack of common sense or any sense of common decency has allowed my sense of to humor expand...occasionally so far as to exceed the boundaries of comprehension or appreciation of those poor souls born without a humor gland. Of course that is not you, despite what they all say about you behind your back. So, what the hell. Take a chance. Prove them wrong. You might just LYAO. What have you got to lose? Besides a couple hours of your valuable time. You know you'd just waste it watching TV anyway.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Scott Apel
• Release date: Nov 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781886404090

Book preview

Congratulations on and/or thank you for your purchase of Mein Summer Kampf (Version 5.0) by D. Scott Apel. We’re sure you won’t regret your choice of the patented (patent-pending) Apel brand of humor. In order to enhance your enjoyment of Mein Summer Kampf, we recommend that you RTFM (Read This Funny Manual) before attempting to operate this volume.

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INTRODUCTION

Hi. I’m Scott. Nice to meet you.

INTRODUCTION II:

The Sequel

Playboy. New Yorker. Esquire. Rolling Stone. These are a few of the publications in which these short humor pieces first appeared, if we define first as never.

I will now ask you the question I am frequently asked following one of my half-witty quips or mal mots: You think that’s funny? My answer: Yes, I do, or I wouldn’t have put it in this book.

I have only one word I’d like to say concerning the material in this collection: subtle. And that is the last time you will hear that word used in connection with this book.

I’ve been informed that my humor has a certain je ne sais merde. I prefer to believe, however, that, like the blind man whose other senses are heightened to compensate for his lack of sight, my total lack of common sense or any sense of common decency has allowed my sense of humor to become inflated ... occasionally so far as to exceed the boundaries of comprehension or appreciation of those poor souls born without a humor gland.

Nevertheless I will carry on, since I’m a survivor, and we’re a dying breed. Appreciated or not, I will always give one hundred and crazy percent while continuing to deform words to form puns, to forge original material, and to shuck the corn.

I’m funny that way.

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Victoria’s Real Secret

We’ve got a new postal carrier on our route—a second carrier, actually, whose sole assignment is to deliver, twice daily, the latest edition of America’s most popular men’s magazine, the full-color, photo-filled Victoria’s Secret catalog. I got on their mailing list because once, many years ago, I ordered a pair of hose for my wife. I calculate that my minor purchase has to date cost Victoria approximately 1,000 times her profit in catalog mailings.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I love men’s magazines. When I first began receiving Victoria’s Secret, I was delighted. All it is, is photos, photos, photos—no messy text taking up valuable cheesecake space.

But I soon became disillusioned. Sure, the photo layouts in Victoria’s Secret begin the same way they do in Playboy, Penthouse, and many other popular men’s magazines: beautiful women lounging around in titillating lingerie. The difference is that in Playboy, when you turn the page, they’ve removed the lingerie. In Victoria’s Secret, when you turn the page, they’re merely wearing different underwear. Sometimes when you turn the page the models are fully dressed, as though they were finished with you and were leaving for work (where they’ll just get undressed again, I guess).

I have other problems with Victoria’s Secret magazine as well. For one, it’s not always strictly truthful. Yesterday’s cover boldly announced All bras and panties half off, yet the models remained fully clothed throughout.

There seems to be some sort of sinister concession at work here. On the one hand, while Victoria’s Secret magazine has done away with the pretext of text, the editors have also eliminated the nudity. This, to me, is not a fair tradeoff. I began to suspect that this entire magazine was little more than an attempt to sell underwear.

I also have reason to believe that Victoria’s Secret might actually be some sort of kinky underground fetish publication. Most photos reveal the model’s midriff, and in a suspiciously high percentage of photos in which the models are wearing shirts, they are posed with one hand raising the shirt to expose their belly button. For those to whom the navel rates as a high-priority sex organ, Victoria’s Secret must rank among the most pornographic publications on the planet.

Of the dozen or so women regularly featured in Victoria’s Secret, there are only about twelve whom I really desire. I gaze fondly upon page after page of their familiar faces and feet and knees and navels. For years we were treated to the occasional mystery appearance of supermodel Elle MacPherson. At first I was confused by her infrequent photos. I thought, perhaps, that I was only fantasizing her face on other women’s bodies—much like during actual sex. But I now believe that her one-off appearances were more like Where’s Waldo? for adult men (well, post-prepubescent men, anyway.) To this day, whenever I spot Elle I know exactly where my waldo is.

Although I know that my chance of ever getting close to one of these ideal females is a figure so statistically insignificant from zero as to be indistinguishable from zero, they are still seductive sirens, teasing mercilessly without fulfillment. There’s a name for women like this: unobtainable. I content myself with believing that these picture perfect femmes must spend so much time each day posing and changing that they have no time to date any men, not just not me. And I’ll bet they can’t wait to go home after a tough lingerie day, scrape off their makeup, and slip into some thick, bulky, shapeless clothes. So maybe I’m not missing all that much after all.

These models are also a source of mystery. Each issue contains hundreds of photos of the same handful of women—excuse me; the same few women—always in different lingerie. And the number of issues is legion. Where do they find the time to pose for all these photos? When do they find the time to change into all those outfits? (And where are those photos?)

Of course the solution to who these women are and how they accomplish the multitude of modeling tasks they do is obvious. Like Playboy Playmates and Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, they don’t actually exist in real life—they exist only as digital images, and thus have more in common with Jessica Rabbit than with Playboy bunnies. This solely digital existence explains 1.) Why they always look better than anyone ever could in real life; b.) How they can pose for thousands of perfect pictures every month; and iii.) How they can pose on beaches throughout the world without ever getting wet, burned or sandy. (If they are indeed just digital images, this is all the more reason for the U.S. Government to begin a crash program in 3D printers or full sensory virtual reality. This research could perhaps be funded from profits generated by the Post Office catalog delivery department.)

I have more thoughts on this subject (although thought is probably too strong a word for what I’m doing here), but I’m falling behind in my reading. And I think I hear the mailman coming...

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201* Slogans You’ll Never See

on a T-Shirt or Bumper Sticker**

* (actual count may vary)

** (or a button, if this was 1980, or a trucker cap, if this was 1990)

21st Century Love Story: Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy clones girl.

A miss is as good as 1.6 kilometers

A penny saved is a cent

A tramp a week, that’s all I ask

A word to the wise is a word

Advice President

All fucked up and nowhere to go

All I want from life is fast cars, fast women and fast food

All I want is more than my fair share