At least he does in his mind. He’s never spoken to her, but he sees her most every day on the bench waiting for the bus.
A man’s gotta dream…
There was a time when he was an ordinary horse. Chewed stuff. Vaguely yellow-colored. Mostly stood around waiting for something to happen, which mostly didn’t happen.
Regular domestic horse stuff. Nothing complicated.
…and then Fact Finding Timmy showed up. A midget on a mission.
“Hey, I’ve got a client who wants me to find a horse who wants to fight crime.”
Chew. Chew. Chew. Stare. Chew.
“Ya wanna fight some crime?”
Chew.
“Nod once for yes, twice for no.”
Chew. Pause… Chew. Nod.
“Alright then, we’ll be in touch. Here’s my card.” Fact Finding Timmy takes his diminutive foot off the bottom rail of the fence and turns away. Over his shoulder, “A whole new world is about to open for you, pal.”
Chew.
That’s how it’s started, or so I’m told….
Banana Man is a mild-mannered janitor at night. Straps a banana to his head and fights crime during the day. Mostly littering.
Banana Man at home, in his tighty-whities. In his easy chair, laptop open. Banana Man is spending some quality time on YouTube. He’s watching old episodes of David Letterman. Letterman is interviewing Michael Keaton about his role as Batman.
One moment it’s not there, the next moment is. A large pig with a pocket watch on its head.
Then it’s gone.
Banana Man narrows his eyes.
He puts down the laptop, goes to the TV-VCR combo set and pops in one of his Batman movies. There’s Cat Woman, same pig right behind her.
He stops the tape, goes to the bookshelf and picks up his copy of The Dark Knight Returns. There’s the same pig in the Bat Cave, looking right at him.
Time Hog!
Banana Man, out of costume, steps out into the hallway.
There he is, clearly heading out.
Tall, plain white t-shirt, clean jeans, sharp black shoes. Clean shaven with a strong chin, medium length black hair sticking up like someone had stuck it in an electrical socket. Dark glasses that wrap around to look like goggles.
“Hey Doc, I need some help.”
He stops. “Oh?”
“There seems to be a pig haunting my TV. And my computer. And my library.”
Doc ponders this, eyebrows raised, rubbing chin. “A pig you say?”
“Yeah. He’s there one minute, gone the next. Then back again.”
“A pig?”
After a moment of cogitation Doc stabs the air with a finger. “I can help you, maybe. Tomorrow!”
…and he heads down the stairwell.
Banana Man is a mild-mannered janitor at night. Straps a banana to his head and fights crime during the day. Mostly littering.
There he is. Every ice cream, a wrapper. Every wrapper, a potential piece of trash.
Banana man waits.
Silent. By the tree.
“Banana Man! Here! Have a Choco Taco!”
Banana Man hesitates.
A Choco Taco.
What to do?
Banana Man is a mild-mannered janitor at night. Straps a banana to his head and fights crime during the day. Mostly littering. Twice a month he gets his son for the weekend. Kid Banana
Returning from Banana Patrol, Banana Man is cornered by The Landlord on the stairwell before he can get away.
“Dammit! Where’s my pet deposit? That’s $100. And I need it. IMMEDIATELY!” The Landlord is not happy. As usual. His face is turning red. “And take that damn banana off your head, you look like an idiot!”
Mumbling, “I’ll get you a check by monday.”
“You better!” The Landlord stomps off.
In the apartment Banana Man stares at the ferret in the cage. The ferret stares at Banana Man.
Banana Man stare.
Ferret stare.
Banana Man stare.
Ferret stare.
Stalemate.
Banana Man is a mild-mannered janitor at night. Straps a banana to his head and fights crime during the day. Mostly littering. Twice a month he gets his son for the weekend. Kid Banana.
Dad: Look sharp, Kid Banana!
Son: But dad, my banana hood itches… [sfx: head scratching]
Dad: Good! That will keep you sharp.
Banana Man peers around, keeping a sharp eye out. For anything.
Son: [sfx: wet squish sound] Dad! I stepped in it!
The both look down at the pile of fresh horse road apples on the ground, still steaming.
Son: (wails) Ah, man! That wasn’t there a moment ago.
Banana Man looks down, hands on hips, lips trembling. You can almost see the smoke coming out of his banana. He raises his fists to the sky.
Dad: (screams) TIME HORSE!!!
[sfx: horse] In the distance we hear Time Horse whinny. A haunting laugh.
Banana Man is a mild-mannered janitor at night. Straps a banana to his head and fights crime during the day. Mostly littering.
Sunlight filters through the dusty blinds, throwing a few rays over the figure of our hero, sitting in his stained tighty-whities in the battered beige Lay-Z-Boy facing the unblinking eye of the TeeVee.
The TV is not on. Banana Man is staring at the motes of dust floating in the sunlight. He is thinking about his #1 nemesis: Time Horse.
How do you catch a villain who can simply time travel away just as you are about to apprehend him? Also he can gallop.
Banana Man narrows his eyes. He has no plan, but it Must. Be. Done.
“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:
“TIME HORSE!!!!!”
Banana Man is a mild-mannered janitor at night. Straps a banana to his head and fights crime during the day.
Banana Man huffs down the stairs. It is time to fight for Justice before his shift. Nearing the ground floor, he slows. He knows who often lurks in the tiny lobby by the battered mailboxes.
The Landlord.
On the second to last step Banana Man stops, and carefully peers around the corner.
Sure enough, he is there. The Landlord. Damn! Looks like he’s mopping the floor.
Sticking his back to the wall, Banana Man silently creeps back up the stairwell, staying out of sight.
The Landlord smokes fat, cheap cigars while he works. Sweating through his stained wife-beater t-shirt. Banana Man can hear him grunting. Banana Man waits.
Slop, slop. Grunt, grunt. Finally. Banana Man hears The Landlord heft the bucket of dirty water and retreat to the basement. Banana Man careful descends the stairs again. A quick look – the coast is clear. He sprints across the slippery floor and is out the door!
Onward to Justice!