Charlie the Perv
I saw a disgruntled banana rowing with one broken oar in Prospect Park the other day. He turned and turned in circles as the geese and ducks swam to the edge of the lake to pick up bread crumbs. He cursed out loud in a strange berry vernacular. Shit became strawberries. Fuck figs. Assholes apples.
“I hate this strawberrybag apple figging up my boat ride!” he yelled into the clouds as he threw the damaged oar overboard.
I contemplated helping the banana (whom I renamed Charlie in my head), but was having too much fun watching him flail about. Charlie attempted to use his left leg to supplement the lost oar. His awkwardness resembled a video still from some kind of softcore porno created for sailing fetishists.
Only then did I notice that Charlie wasn’t wearing any pants.
“Do bananas wear pants?” I wondered to myself. “Or is this just some perv in a banana suit?”
AKR
