YO! Nookie! It’s me, the Banana here. What the heck were you thinking—sending me to that idiot Swami’s house? That woman is seriously f*cked up! I mean, I barely got out of there intact! Anyway—here’s my usual report. Sorry it’s a little late but I needed some mental recovery time and a warm bath.
I knew I was in trouble from the minute the nice USPS guy dropped me off at Swami’s door. I mean, look at this place!
Who would live in such a tiny, dilapidated shack? But my mission is to bring OT peeps together, no matter how different their lifestyles may be. I am not judgmental. I suck it up & decide to give this Swami the benefit of the doubt. I knock on the door before shrinking back into my box.
Like everyone else, she is all excited to see me. Brings me inside, all laughing & stuff, then puts me down to look for some scissors. That’s when I do my famous Amazing Banana Trick and spring out of the box like a hooker from a party cake. I swell up, stand tall and become 42” of hunky hunky banana love. This usually wows ‘em, especially in the Midwest where people don’t get out much.
But this Swami? Takes one look and says, “Oh.” *pause* “I thought you would be bigger. But that’s okay! Size isn’t everything.”
WTF!?! I tell you, I almost deflate right then and there.
It gets worse too. That cat in the photo? Nasty. It comes at me like a Devil Cat. Now you know, as an Inflated Being, I fear claws. One little puncture and I’m a runaway balloon, a puddle of vinyl. My life flashes before my eyes. But Swami comes through, snatches me off the floor and takes this pic of us together.
Look at her eye. Can’t you tell she is seriously demented? Plus, she’s a lousy photographer. I am much better looking than I appear here.
Anyway she doesn’t offer me a drink or a bathroom break or anything, just snatches me up and swings into her pathetic sob story. She lives on the end of a dirt road in the sticks. She has no RL friends, only imaginary ones. Her husband works like 100 hours a week and is never there. Her daughter’s boyfriend is fat. Her dog ran away. She has squirrels in her attic. On and on it goes. Like I care. Sheesh!
Then she says, “I’m supposed to meet up with TiggerTramp today!”
I’m thinking, okay! Maybe this TiggerTramp will be more normal than Swami is! We’ll all go to lunch somewhere nice and have a good time. Then Swami continues “But TT’s Grinchy bosses are making her work allll weekend, so it’s just you and me, Big Guy. But don’t worry! I’ll show you all the local sights. Are you ready for a road trip? Huh?”
Okay. Whatever. I’m an optimistic banana, after all. Maybe Swami at least has a nice car? There were a few pretty new cars parked outside the big houses I saw on the mailman’s route!
No such luck. Swami takes me out back and sticks me into a vehicle so old it has sunk right into the ground. This woman really doesn’t get out much! She plops me in the driver’s seat and takes this photo
I feel like Jed Clampett, only more yellow.
And off we go, bouncing down a one-lane dirt road. I see trees. I see corn fields. Maybe a couple of scrawny cows. Stray dogs. More corn. That’s it. Weltek took me to a fancy hotel, you know. A really classy joint! I revel in the memories, trying to keep my sanity alive in the middle of Bumfvck, Nowhere. Beside me, Swami babbles on…
“There’s lots to see in my pretty valley. Look how green it is!”
I flash on Graham Greene, and hope that things work out better for me than they did for the people in his valley. Swami is still babbling…
“I know! We can go to Scandia and find some Swedes to party with! Swedes are party animals and they really know how to do it! Besides,” she looks at me sideways, “I Am Curious (You Are Yellow).” Then she gives a dirty little snicker. I swear, I do not understand this woman at all.
And off we go to look for Swedes in Scandia. First we go to a local restaurant.
But it looks deserted. No Swedes to be found. Eventually we find a couple of Norwegians and a Canadian, waiting for Big Lake to freeze so they can go fishing. They don’t want to party with us. And in case you think I’m just making this all up? Here’s me with the ‘Welcome to Scandia’ sign.
Then Swami decides we should go shopping. I’m hoping for the Mall of America, maybe the Galleria, Marshall Field’s. For Gawd’s sake—I’d even settle for K-Mart! Please, please! I just want to get back to civilization!
*sigh*
We are going pumpkin shopping. Country bumpkins looking for country pumpkins. My life is Hell.
The first pumpkins we see are all warty & lumpy. Diseased-like.
Then we find some pumpkins grown outside the nuclear (or is that nucyular?) reactor in Monticello. They’re all white & mushy. We don’t buy them either.
For some reason, Minnesota pumpkins are all too small this year. Also? They think a 42” banana is funny looking. They laugh at me. I mean, really! Even the pumpkins are rude in Minnesota!
Then Swami says, “I know! We can swing up to Brainard and buy a pumpkin. Paul Bunyon used to live in Brainard. Things grow really big up there.”
Oh yeah. We find a big one all right…
But I’m kinda scared. It’s looking at me funny and I think it’s hungry.
We head for home. My nightmare day is over. Hopefully, Swami will send me on to my next stop in the morning. I am so done with Minnesota!
Turns out? There is more in store for me. Swami says, “Tomorrow, we are going to Mandy’s house!” Only she pronounces it ‘Mmmandy’. Or maybe ‘Mmmmmmmmmandy’. Doesn’t that sound just yummy? Mmmmmmandy. I’m thinking maybe this Mandy will be my salvation. Plus? Mmmmandy lives over the river in Wisconsin. I like Wisconsin. They have hotels there. And cheese.
Back at Swami’s, she apologizes for how small her house is. There is no guest room. The best she has to offer is a Flower Bed out back. It’s kind of rustic, but comfortable. I fall asleep and dream of Mandy.
Mmmmmandy…
Mmmmmmmmmandy…..
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmma…
zzz
The next morning, I get waked up by the automatic sprinkler system! This is such a f*cked up visit! Nookie? I wanna go to the next place!
And then?
It gets worse. Swami says Mandy can’t meet up. Something about she has to wash her hair. I roll my eyes. Puh-leeze. But Swami is clueless. ‘You stupid fvcktard!’ I want to yell at her. ‘Can’t you see that no. one. wants to meet you! You are too seriously weird!!!’
I ask to be sent on to tjstein. Tjstein is such a nice name. I bet she’s a normal person. A kind person. I ask real polite-like to be put back in my box and sent on my merry way.
But Swami gets a weird gleam in her eye. “I’m not done with you yet!” she cries. “I have plans! I have needs!”
“We’re going to play Dress-Up, and you are going to be all the Peeps of OT! Moonie and Lightsie and everybody!”
Then before I know what’s happening, she grabs me and sticks a lightbulb in my mouth! Jams it right down my throat and nearly chokes me. She sticks a lightbulb into her mouth too, and somehow talks right around it…
“We’re Fester! Bald Fester! And we’re gonna have fun!” She laughs like a wild thing and I pee my pants. Fortunately, I’m already yellow so it barely shows.
I decide to just lay back and let it all happen. This blitch Swami? Seriously fvcked up.
“First thing we have to do is honor the Blues,” she proclaims.
I’m thinking baseball? Louis Armstrong?
This is what she does…
Swami starts to sing, Devil With a Blue Dress, Devil With a Blue Dress, Devil With a Blue Dress On.
I am so going to die at the hands of this crazed blitch…
“You can be AyaK!” she yells. I get really scared. When AyaK spells his name the long way he’s a pretty scary guy, ya know? She dresses me like this…
“See?” she says. “You’re getting prepped to make one of those long, erudite posts of yours, with all the big words and stuff.” Then she snickers. “But if I pull the dust jacket off the dictionary—why looky what’s underneath!” Then she dresses me like this…
For some reason Swami thinks this is really funny. Did you know she snorts like a pig when she laughs? No wonder she has no friends.
She wraps a black scarf around her face and giggles. I don’t get it, but I am starting to hope she will get banned before my humiliation becomes complete. I mean, really! Blitch is fvcking with some serious power here! People don’t mess with AyaK and live.
It gets worse.
“Webby!” she cries. “Oh Webby, I thought it was just a nickname! Who knew?” Then she dresses me like this…
OMG! Has this woman gone completely mad!?!
I wait for The Plug to get pulled.
For the sky to roll back.
For The End to come.
Still waiting…
Oh crap. There’s more... I’m a monkey! I’m a tiger! I’m a seahorse! I’m a unicorn, a bug, a gorgeous redhead, a babe with cheese on her head! Now I’m a weasel in a hat! A schoolgirl with a towel on her head! I’m severed legs for god’s sake! A horny rhinoceros! A hamster! A skunk! Will my humiliation never end? My head starts to spin.
And then? She does this to me. Oh, the inhumanity…
I? am 42” of phallic glory.
Blitch? has dressed me in a coconut bra and grass skirt. My humiliation is now complete.
Or not.
“Dance with me!” Swami yells. “Come on, shake those hips you loopy, uptight fruit!” Then she starts to sing “Coconut, and a Banana.” Yes, this woman is old enough to remember Harry Belafonte!! I don’t dance, of course. First of all, that song has a Calypso beat, and you do not hula to a calyspso beat. Second? I am commando under this grass skirt, and there’s a whole lot of banana in here ifyouknowwhatImean.
Then she starts singing ‘Moon Over Manhattan” and plunks me down next to this…
Oh! Hey! This isn’t so bad. I’m a guy again and I’m on a date with the beautiful Moon. Whoa, mama—is Moon hot or what? I sidle up close and make kissy faces at da Moon. You know, I think I might even have scored but this dang grey cat kept biting my ankles and throwing my timing off. What the hell was that about?
Anyway, while I’m putting moves on the Moon, Swami suddenly starts crying. “Nobody luvs me,” she sobs. “I don’t get Whacks. I don’t get Headbutts. And I don’t even know what Smooshes are! My imaginary friends are so, so… so imaginary!”
Like I care.
“Banana,” she says, “it’s all up to you now. Pretend with me. Pretend… pretend we’re at an OT tea party, and everyone is there! I mean here! Everyone is here. They’re at my house and we’re having tea together, and everyone is so happy.
Then she jerks me away from da Moon and lays out a pathetic tableau of OT peeps.
I almost start to feel sorry for her but then she gets that sick, evil gleam in her eyes again. Remember those evil eyes?
“What’s the matter, ‘nana?” she asks. OT isn’t good enough for you? You think you can just jump over the Moon and live happily ever after like that cow?”
I’m thinking, cow? What cow? Oh Lord, save me from whacked out blitches!
Then Swami grabs me and throws me down on her sofa. “You know,” she says, “most OT peeps are cats. As the Official OT banana, you must serve The Cats.”
This? Is pathetic beyond words.
Nipples. My humiliation is now complete. I sob quietly and attempt to lactate.
‘Nookie! Nookie where are you! Save me!’ And then I remember. *gasp* Nookie is a cat!!!. Humiliation, thy name is Cat. I will never be just one of the bunch again.
Now see, if this story were a tragedy it would end right here. But there is one peep, one favorite peep who has yet to make his appearance. Swami luvs him. She reveres him. Because he is way smart, way witty, way funny, way sexy, and—quite frankly—much too good for her. Can you say Landru?
“Llllllandru. Lllllllllllllandru.” Swami intones. Banana, you can be my Llllandru!”
Then before I have a chance to flee, she slaps a red devil face onto me and hustles me off to her bedroom. Before I can say “Ahhhh!” I am hanging from a hook in her bedroom ceiling.
“See Landru,” Swami says, “you thought I was just kidding about the hook. But it’s real! Oh so ree-ul…” Then she starts to tighten the ratchet. *crick* *crick* *crick* Just thinking about the ratchet makes me break out in brown spots. *crick* *crick* *crick*
After a while, I start to like it.
She cuts me down.
“Landru,” she says, “It’s time to drop our masks and pretentions, and really get to know each other the old fashioned way.
‘Is that Code for something?’ I ask. The blitch still hasn’t offered me a drink, and while I’m not a big fan of Old Fashioneds at this point I would drink just about anything. Even koolaid sounds good.
“No.” Swami says. “I don’t understand all that Code talk. And I’m not Navaho, remember?”
I have no idea what she is talking about.
Swami punches a button on her bedside CD player and suddenly Deborah Kerr is singing in my ear. Getting to know you, getting to know all about you… What is it with chicks and old movies? I close my eyes and think of England. Okay, I think of English governesses—really, really strict ones with poofy red hair and poofy skirts and poofy oobies. Eventually, I poof.
Well, I guess this is better than another night in that dam flower bed. I gotta remember to ask Nookie who this Landru guy is. Chicks really dig him, I guess.
Nookie? Are you still there? This concludes my report.
Now the disclaimers:1. No fruit were actually violated in the weaving of this thread. It was all done with smoke, mirrors and digital insertions.
2. TT really did have to work.
3. Mandy had to cancel at the last minute for reasons unrelated to washing her hair, but she does have gorgeous hair you know!
4. Landru said I could hang him from my ceiling & do anything I wanted with him. So I did.
5. Since I didn’t have a real meet-up to write about, I just made up a story to go with my photos. Well? I had the OT banana! The banana made me do it!
6. Dressing the banana like OT peeps & the Blues seemed like a good idea at the time.
7. I’m old, but not that old!
8. I? Have the best husband in the world. I told him I was going to get naked, go to bed with a 42” banana, take pictures, then post them on the World Wide Web. He said “Okay”
9. Originally, I was going to post some butt crack cleavage, but
(a) – I don’t want to get banned, and
(b) - I look so freakin’ fat from that angle! No way in Hell am I posting that photo!!!
10. Dook sucks.
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