yodel-le-he-who?

As individuals, Franz, Frans, and Hans looked like your average lederhosen-donning Swedes. 

Place them together on a mountaintop however, and, well, you had yourselves Smörgåsbord- the hottest, hunkiest, latest contemporary yodeling trio to take European social network flüügbook by storm. And with the double-platinum success of their most recent album "Yo, ja?",  they were causing an international avalanche up and down the Alps wherever they went.

This troubadourian triumvirate had become so popular in fact, they couldn't travel anywhere below the treeline without being flocked by tweens and berated with autograph requests from aroused mothers. Above the treeline, they couldn't hike ten feet without being spotted by paparazzi, because, alas, above the treeline there is no place to hide.

It didn't matter what the conditions were on the mountaintop on which they performed, they always received rave reviews. It didn't matter which mountain they performed on, they always performed to a sold out, standing-room only crowd, because, alas, there were was often no place to sit.

Because they were good. Real good. 

It was safe to say, Smörgåsbord had made it to the top of the European contemporary yodeling scene.

They made it to the top, and they planned on staying there for awhile. And so did their socks. Because they wore Esquire socks. 

Esquire socks. Stay up. Keep it up.

September 1972

Abram's apple

Abram and his wife Miriam relaxed comfortably on the beach quilt that Miriam's mother had made them the past winter.

Abram had his nose in a piece of fiction. An actual book. Not one of those electronic readers, mind you. Those gave the devil a clear passageway into your soul, through your eyes.

Miriam was busying herself with a game of solitaire. Not on her smartphone, mind you twice. Smartphones gave the devil a clear passageway into your soul through your eyes and your ear.

Nevertheless, Abram and Miriam were enjoying the weather on this fine summer's day. They sipped casually on some spirits that Abram had secretly traded for earlier that day in exchange for a sturdy bedside table that he had constructed. Abram had mixed the spirits with some apple juice for a cocktail he liked to call "Abram's Apple."

They clinked their glasses together. The Amish life wasn't so bad. 

aviators read playboy

20,000 feet up in the atmosphere, Captain Daniels sat up in the pilot's seat and adjusted his aviators. He cleared his voice and reached for the microphone.

"Good afternoon gentlemen and ladies," he began cooly, and with a sensual emphasis on the latter. "This is your captain speaking. It is truly a pleasure to be flying with you all today. We are currently cruising at approximately 25,000 feet, and mmm, it feels so good, don't you agree? I think I'ma keep us up here for a bit, mmm yeah." he crooned.

He licked his thumb and index finger, and smoothed both of his eyebrows in one fluid motion. "For all you men back there, if you have any requests while we're flying, please ask one of the lovely flight attendants, and she'll treat you right." He paused. "Trust me, I've flown with these beauties before, they are quite capable." He paused again momentarily so that the uniformed women could blush. "And for all you ladies flying with us today, if you have any requests, you march right up here and ask me yourself, mmm yeah. You gonna enjoy yourself on this flight, oh yes you will, that's the Captain's orders."

With this, the captain concluded his introduction and leaned back in his seat. He squirmed uncomfortably. It seemed like he always had this feeling beneath the belt when he was miles above the ground.

Daniels reviewed the names of the flight attendants on duty. He wondered which one would be the luck lady today. 

There was Janice, she certainly looked like she was up for it, but he wasn't sure if she was experienced enough. There was Susan.. but those glasses... He decided against Susan. There was Beverly.. yes! Beverly! Beverly was young and spry and well built. Beverly will do just fine, Captain Daniels thought to himself excitedly.

He held the microphone up to his mouth, "Beverly, please report up front to the cockpit, captain's orders."

Moments later, the young lass slid out from behind the curtain that hid the cockpit, her eyes glistened with anticipation. "Yes, cap'n?" she chirped.

"Hello sweetie, here's the deal," he turned and looked into her eyes. He lowered his sunglasses. "In just a moment, I'm going to go into the bathroom."

She looked at him with bated breath and nodded. She smelled his cool cologne. The captain continued. 

"I'm going to sneak into the bathroom, and I want you to-"

"Yes?" She interrupted excitedly.

"And I want you to fly this here plane for me for a bit. Is that going to be a problem?"

Without giving her a chance to respond, he stood up, put his captain's hat on the girl's head. He sat her down in the pilots seat, "Just steer clear of the sun," he joked and tussled her hair. He grabbed an issue of Playboy off of the cockpit floor and shut the curtain behind him.

That airport burrito was not sitting well with him. Bad decision, he thought to himself.

He locked the bathroom door, and opened the magazine. Beverly was a good choice, he decided. She must have experience, he smiled.

Captain Daniels was the type of man who read Playboy.