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Hey, Look, Bananas Are Exploding on This Guy's Face!
Oh of course, the old bananas exploding on face trick! Next time I'd like to see it without the mask, buddy. And with apples. [Via]
There has to be a better way to be Smokin' Banana Peels.
Too easy.
Banana repugnant.
I'm afraid I don't understand this Bruce Nauman Video.
They weren't kidding when they said the effects budget for Friday the 13th Goes To Market had been slashed.
On the plus side, John Travolta has never looked better.
I'm turning this fucker over to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Fruit. Probably a vegan.
Is this a sex thing?
Isn't everything?
I'm invoking rule 34. So yes.
A fine china tea cup and its matching saucer fell to the floor and shattered, its contents splattering outward and upward, marking with thin beige streaks the legs of the white pants suit aunt Christine wore. The bridge party, still early in its cycle of activity, became hushed at the sound of the tea cup and saucer. A chorus of middle-aged eyes sought the origin of the crash, followed by ripples of eruptions, gasps and half-swallowed cries as those same eyes slowly pieced together the full spectacle of causality.
I stood near the foot of the stairs just inside the foyer. I'd never worn my banana mask in public before. And standing there now, naked but for my mask, a long grill lighter in my right hand, I felt dizzy, flush with excitement. No one spoke for the longest time.
"Eric," aunt Christine finally whispered, "what… what are you…what is…" Her mouth made an oval shape but no sound came forth. It didn't matter anyway. I raised my right hand, as if to conduct a symphony, but clicked the grill lighter's button instead. A small flame appeared. ""Dear god," someone said softly. After a moment, I touched the flame to the fuse on the first banana, and as I did someone, not aunt Christine, screamed, "Call the police!"
The banana exploded on my face. The acrid smell of sulfur, charcoal and potassium nitrate filled my nose. I watched as bridge party guests staggered. I watched as bridge party guest mouths moved. I watched as bridge party guest faces peeled back in horror and confusion, but there was no sound. I clicked the grill lighter again and felt the noiseless ghost-action snap of the trigger. I touched it to another banana. It exploded with a dull click. This was it. I had made it. I was in the bubble.
Dude.
Yes.
I came. Literally.
That's it?
This may keep me from having nightmares about Bananaface tonight. Thanks for the public service.
Or Dudette.
It's tough to gender from that gravatar.