“
A Mini-Model means that the Property Manager does not have the resources to create a Model out of the Display Apartment but she wants to do something with it, so she places these evocatively domestic knickknacks randomly about—like an empty cookie tin on the floor in the corner, or a lunchbox on the kitchen counter. Magnets and fake crayon drawings on the fridge. It is all absurd, but you will not laugh because it is not funny in something like the way that jokes about handicapped people are not funny. Oh and a Mini-Model utilizes a simple symbolic system whereby a throw pillow and a thin faded blanket on the carpet represent a bed. The result is that the apartment looks emptier and way sadder than if it were just empty. It looks burgled or abandoned or repossessed. The virtual tour photographer will come to hate the Mini-Model for failing so spectacularly to misrepresent itself, for, in fact, representing itself so perfectly and accurately in its attempt to deceive. Get in, get out. Do not linger, your tripod is no talisman.

- from Chris Bachelder’s Lessons in Virtual Tour Photography

There are people who have known about this book since George W. Bush’s first term. There are others, like me, who have known about it since yesterday.

The book is now — and apparently always has been — a free, downloadable PDF from McSweeney’s (see link above).

It is possible to oversell a piece of writing, so I will not reveal whether laughter has played any role in causing me to double over and almost spit out my drink during the reading of this book. No representations made here should be construed as guarantees that Bachelder’s writing will cause you to experience mirth, severe gastrointestinal pain, or any other common trigger for doubling over and/or almost spitting out a beverage.

The book is solidly in the “not for everyone” category. With that in mind, here’s one more instructional passage to win you over or warn you away:

b. … See the lone man in a booth who actually says grace  before setting upon his pecan waffle with knife and fork. His eyes  are closed. His lips move. Among the things he cannot possibly be  thankful for:

1. a nice car (the parking lot is all rust and duct tape)

2. a handsome profile

3. a good razor

4. a delicious and nutritious dinner

5. the company of a beautiful woman

6. the company of any woman

7. the company of a monkey

8. any company at all

c.   Sit in your booth. Ingest the food. Stare at the man. Now imagine  that Ridicule and Envy get into a shoving match in the poorly lit  saloon of your Soul. Imagine that Indifference comes along and  breaks it up. What a bully.

One last thing: I’m only on page 45 of 160, but there’s a growing poignancy to the story that seems likely to end with the book easily transcending mere jokiness.