Bananas in Pyjamas

Bananas in pyjamas* are coming down the stairs.

Bananas in pyjamas are chasing teddy bears.

 

This rather begs a question: how do they ensure their pyjamas don’t fall off during these activities with no obvious limbs to hold their clothing in place?

And I’m talking bananas here. Just plain bananas.

Forget the picture- that was some Australian show with people dressed up as bananas and not actual bananas.

Bananas don’t sing. Bananas don’t dance. Nor do they change floors at velocity in hot pursuit of cuddly toys.

Bananas don’t do shit except grow in bunches, get cut down, shipped, chilled, delivered, bought and then bowled before being breakfast or becoming brown then black then binned.

And I know this might sound racist, but bananas tend to taint all the fruit around them. For the good of the many they must be subjected to complete ostracisation from others lest they ruin the whole bowl.

Back to banana banality.

  • Jump steps? nope.
  • Chase toys? again, big nope.

Furthermore, how would they be able to take part in said strenuous behaviour without limbs, whether clad for bed or not?

Somebody needs to think these things through before a whole new generation of kids get confused regarding dessert fruit and / or nighttime apparel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Yes, that IS spelt correctly.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Well, if you want to write it wrong then that’s up to you.

 

 

 

 

I’ve just realised the passive nature of the teddy bears themselves leaves them in a threatening and vulnerable position once the bananas have successfully managed climbing down. This is well worthy of a follow-up column.

If a woman can marry the Eiffel Tower legally (as happened this week) and Theresa May can openly express support for castration of the poor then we’re not too far away from the debauched dribblings of the Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom being remade as a reality TV show.

I admit to reading this text at 15 expecting some kind of sexual titilation or insight into the mindset of those who have followed his creed.

Instead, I found- as a juvenile reader of smut- that James Herbert was much classier with a possible jerk-off quality in the two-page scene described, so long as you didn’t turn over to read the next bit where giant, intelligent and mutated rats burst in through the windows and ate people’s faces off, somewhat spoiling the ambience.

By comparison, de Sade’s typical debauched description begins with the flesh-eating rats, some rounded-up serfs and descends rapidly from there. Apparently it’s a satire about the tedious nature of complete licentiousness as anyone addicted to internet grot might recognise.

Anyway, the teddy bear thing. I could probably claim it’s some new gender (for bananas anyway and maybe they themselves are sick of the phallic references) and get a HuffPost guest writer slot.

Just saying. Teddy bears thinking about a picnic. Be sure of a big surprise at the tea party. It could be ‘tea’ (i.e. weed). It could be THC, TCP, PCP or even TPP.

Or Twinings.

 

Field (or more like woodland) research is needed here.

I’m currently sourcing a disguise of some sort.

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