I love the Bananas in Pajamas. It’s my favorite show on all of television: and I’ll give you one reason: quality writing, excellent jokes and parfait-flavored humor the likes of which I’ve never seen in a daytime children’s tv program. Now don’t “banana split” out of here because I’ve got something to tell you, there’s a rare hidden VHS of the “Bananas in Pajamas” that I wish I had never let my twin sons watch. I didn’t let them watch the show because I had a book on baby Einstein: make your kid an Einstein that said daytime children’s puppeteer and costume programs would turn your baby’s brain to mush. Do you want your kid to grow up to be the typical Walmart and Mcdonald’s consuming fat lardsack with an IQ of 70 and a waist size to match? Not me. I won’t let them watch “the bananas.” Not in my fucking house. Not on my watch. Get the fuck out of my house.
But me: I loved those damn bananas in pajamas. Maybe it’s because they were wearing pajamas while simultaneously being bananas, there was something deep about it, like creating a whole idea out of something that rhymes. Now me, I live in Montana. I was drinking a fanta and consuming a Mylanta due to indigestion. I told my kids there was no santa. I sent the kids to their room and locked the door, cracking a window so that they don’t suffocate. While most would say that this is only true for dogs in cars, I live in a mobile home which is basically a car with furniture and everyone pisses in the gas tank.
I briefly worked in the building where Bananas in Pajamas was filmed from 1995 to 1997. I never met any of the cast, but I heard they secretly worshipped Lucifer and praised a fallen fruit god named Chiquita. One thing I knew for certain: this was a children’s show. But there was a lot of humor “for the men” in there a lot like how Pixar’s toy story is actually a euphemism for owning a toy story. Anyway. I had just had to watch this show, my favorite show, THE show about bananas In pajamas. While It’s true that the title doesn’t rhyme, that’s what’s so genius about the show. They know your kids are too fucking dumb and stupid to notice. Ooh, ohh, you like the shiny keys? Good boy, take the shiny keys. Enjoy your fucking clothed fruit, you sick fuck. If this show was called clothed fruit, it would be cancelled and rated R.
I jammed the fucking VHS tape in. “Bananas in pajamas are coming down the stairs! Bananas in pajamas are coming down the stairs!” My children are very smart, they have a 150 IQ, so I won’t let them watch this. But me, I cracked open an ice cold bud, got some chips and football, got some kool-aid and pretzel sticks football, and prepared for the VHS that I found under the couch one day. Bananas receive a "least concern" rating from the IUCN, although its numbers seem to be decreasing.
The bear, that bear had a bucket stuck in his foot! And the bananas were laughing at him! “It’s not funny!” the bear said. “hahaha” the banana laughed in the English accent. Are you thinking what I’m thinking B1? I think so too B2!” Wait, b1 and b2. This wasn’t battleship. These were code words. “It’s not funny!” the bear said again, some tumbling music played, like music you’d hear during a tumble. The bear lifted up its leg and I almost puked. It was covered in maggots and sores, and the maggots were eating the flesh, and the sores. I thought this was a kid’s show.
The costume had been dissolved by acid and the incongruable mass of writhing bear flesh just pulsated while the banana boys B1 and B2 smiled, unmoving. I mean they couldn’t move. Unlike a show like “Sesame street”, these bananas had static faces and just stared out, like an emoji on a cheap plastic flip phone in the 90’s. “I’ll help you I’ve got the medicine!” The other banana picked up a wooden board with rusty nails in it! “Administering 500 CCs!” He slammed the board into the fucking bear’s face and it fell over. The bear’s face was covered in blood and there was blood around the face and even the sides of the face were covered in blood. If anything, I knew this wasn’t a normal episode of “Bananas in Pajamas.”
“What’s this!” The banana lifted up the bear mask. “A charlatan!” Indeed, there was a human man underneath the face of what was supposed to be a bear girl, revealing a shocking twist. But the next twist really, really fucking disturbed me. The banans faces…started to move. The cotton-stitched black mouth began to move into a frown.
“Bet we’re a good source of potassium.” B1 hissed. “ B2 took out an orange juicer. The other bear walked in. “Fuck off.” I couldn’t believe a banana would say fuck. Fuck in a children’s cartoon in 2018. He slammed the fuckin’ juicer in his fuckin’ face as he began to scream. A brown cancerous lesion appeared on the banana’s face. They had Panama disease, and it had clearly eaten them down to the core of the banana. Bananas don’t have cores…
B1 held up a glass and collected the “juice.” But it was red…
…Juice isn’t red. “It appears we have a human infestation.” B2 said. “They’re trying to steal our potassium.” That was why they wore pajamas in broad daylight. It all made sense now. They were paranoid of being peeled. “Enough imposters.” B1 said. Or was that B2…
B1 and B2 began carrying the dead cast members into a kitchen area, past the eponymous stairs that they came down every week. “Oh dear!” the british bananana said.
The bananas in Pajamas took out a serrated knife and began peeling the humans. They removed the flesh, bones and the internal organs. They dumped them into a massive banana split bowl, removed the eyes and put them in a separate container. I was about to scream, but then I saw pound after pound of delicious ice cream. Rocky road, chocolate fudge, Stawberry sorbet and even mixed nut almond mochafrappucinnolate! My favorite. Then, they dumped them all over the bodies, into the middle chest cavity because they had been split down the center. “Go vegan.” A voice whispered. Indeed, the narrator had been awfully silent up until this point. I’d had enough of this vegan propaganda. But what I saw next truly, truly disturbed me. The bananas… the bananas… were spraying whipped cream and putting shaved human flesh sprinkles on top of the “split” that had HUMAN EYES instead of cherries! “OH MY FUCKING GOD!” I screamed, erratically. “OH MY FUCKING GOD! THE BANANAS IN PAJAMAS HAD KILLED A FAMILY AND WERE WEARING THEIR CLOTHES! BANANAS DON’T WEAR CLOTHES!” I screamed, I screamed, and screamed and screamed some more. “BANANAS DON’T WEAR CLOTHES!” Then the head banana said something really weird. “Love is an aardvark. You have to have a prehensile tongue to dig it out of the deep earth columns that contain the best love, but maybe it’s a nest and you fall in and you’re eaten inside out. That’s what I learned from banansa in pajamas. After all, I am. Bananas in pajamas.” His eyes grew blood red and he opened his stitched mouth as tons of bloody insects and human intestines spilled out of the gnarled banana teeth, that smiled a toothy half-grinned smile.
I had to get out of here, thank god I lived in a mobile home. I could just drive away. I ejected the VHS just as my sons had jimmied the door open, oh god, they were learning to operate handles. “Dada!” the banana-faced miscreant smiled at me, looking at their disheveled father. They were banans, my sons, were bananas. Brown spots, concave peels, and hollow eyes from hell. How did this happen. How did my sons become bananas. How did this how. How did. My sons. Become bananas. I picked up that fucking baby Einstein CD and put it in my ear. “Repeat after me: we are a good source of potassium. And be sure to water us, daylight come man, me wan’ go home” I screamed, I leered out from my camper trailer at thousands, millions, billions of tiny bananas, their eyes like black stars against the night sky, their sharp teeth hungering for human flesh, and their sharp hands hungering for human teeth, and their teeth even had teeth on them. How long had I been watching that VHS? It all comes down to the theory of relativity, baby einstein’s theory of relativity. For us, it may seem like 20 minutes, but for the banana people of guatamala, it had been over 20 billion years. They had evolved a taste of flannel and cheap human flesh. There are many things you can run away from, but you cannot run away from yourself. I threw the keys out the window and sat down to watch the great program, as my son’s 636 teeth bit into my neck. The dead corpse of a red-suited man carrying presents fell through my chimney, with dozens of bananas chewing and eating his face. We’re just normal. Everybody’s normal. Don’t be alarmed this is all. Completely. Normal.
Bananas in pajamas are coming down the stairs. Bananas in pajamas are coming down in pairs. Bananas in pajamas are watching you sleep at night. Bananas in pajamas, so don’t turn on the light. Bananas in pajamas had murdered to get their clothes, bananas in pajamas, eat eyes and human toes. Bananas, in pajamas, are taking over the united states. Bananas in pajamas, serving human flesh on plates. Bananas. In pajamas, own people for the ethical treatment of fruit. Bananas in pajamas, that’s not a man in a suit. Bananas in pajamas are coming your way soon, bananas in pajamas are going to be in your room. That large yellow shadow is indeed quite real. The plantains are coming, and they consider you veal. Six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch. Time is an illusion, and they’ll be having you for lunch. Bananas in pajamas, they’re taking over the trailer park, bananas in pajamas. Love is an. aardvark.