“Dad, my banana is slipping.” Kid Banana fusses with noggin-mounted banana.
“Yeah, they do that. Let me take a look.” Banana Dad fiddles with Kid Banana’s headgear. “There, that’s better. Let’s go.”
They are in the park, fighting crime.
“Dad, Mom says you’re weird.”
“You mom says a lot of things. The court says you’re with Dad alternate weekends. On weekends we fight for Justice.” Banana Dad scans the area for crime. Doesn’t take long. A crumpled gum wrapper in the grass. The perp? Long gone, but still.
“Kid Banana? Fight for Justice.” He points to the wrapper. “Grab that. We will dispose of it properly. Let’s keep going.”
“Ok, Dad.” They slowly perambulate the park in a circular fashion. Eyes sharp on the lookout. They smell it before they step in it. Road apples, a huge steaming pile. Horse pucky appears in the path directly in front of our heroes.
Banana Dad balls his fists and screams to the sky: