But lo, along the watchtower peppered horizon, there were no bananas none of any sort really: just odd rubber door stops in the shape of toothless smiles. We passed them out as party favors at random executions. My o my, remember that time old sparky failed and the dumb bastard slow boiled? The colonel swore he smelled like shrimp on the barbie. Or was her name Susan? So many names lost down the shute and in the acid shower houses [denied for legal purposes]. Remember that banana-flavored cocktail? It was the color of botched hysterectomies…