Twang twang, untuned. Cheap, acoustic and discarded behind the minimart the instrument is in Banana Man’s hands.
He’s thinking of a country song and he thinks it goes like this:
The patron saints of wine and lust have long drove us mad but here I am with the memory of you in a photo by the pool whiskey and cigarettes have ruined our lives but we’re old and strong and we can sing out long so you can’t count us out yet raise a glass of box wine to the future of yesterday’s past I’m coming for you baby you don’t even have to ask
Dr. Tomorrow barges in un-announced.
“Hey boy! Let’s bust a groove!” He mimes a DJ scratching a record kind of, then he starts up:
“You did it like that with a baseball bat behind Jonathan Winters You hit the machine like Ben Vereen making love to the Tropic of Cancer A man of your talent can swing it like a mallet and the girlies just hafta scream! Dig it!”
Dr. Tomorrow
Doc is grabbing his crotch and swaying around in a provocative fashion, making record scratching noises.
“That’s not country” thinks Banana Man.
Author’s Note:
Some readers have commented that they had trouble reading the character’s performance as music. That’s understandable as it can barely be categorized as “music” in the first place. However, I dug around in a few boxes and I found demo cassette tape. After I pulled off the sticky bits of burnt-umber shag carpeting (where has this tape been?) I digitized these two tracks:
A few years back I was told by someone a bit younger than me about how she was jealous about the history of me and people like me who were in Portland in the 90’s.
Here’s the thing you need to know. We didn’t choose to come here. We just ended up here, washing up on the shore after the shipwreck. You probably think I’m kidding, but my previous city of residence was Key West, Florida. We ended up here, since no other place would have us and we built a cargo cult out of the debris we found lying around.
Yes, in 1994 we did end up renting a two-bedroom home in NE Portland for $600/month – doesn’t that sound impossible now? Here’s the thing: in 1994 much of “North Portland” was a slum. It was not a place you wanted to live in, if you had a better option. It’s all we had.
For a year or two we had a homeless guy living out of his car across the street. “Gidget? Shuddup!” he’d yell at his dog. I’d see the same family of raccoons crossing the street every day at the same time when I’d be getting in my car to commute to my job in the suburbs. Once an actual prostitute opened the door of my car and hopped in to proposition me.
Is the Portland you know? This is the Portland we lived in.
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.
“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.”
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.
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.”
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 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.
