Lead me not into temptation

Chiquita. Perfect For Life.

"I'm Chiquita banana and I've come to say - Bananas have to ripen in a certain way- When they are fleck'd with brown and have a golden hue - Bananas taste the best and are best for you - You can put them in a salad - You can put them in a pie-aye - Any way you want to eat them - It's impossible to beat them - But, bananas like the climate of the very, very tropical equator - So you should never put bananas in the refrigerator."
Music � 1945 Shawnee Press Inc.

Monkey Goods

Monkey Goods

Oh, the agony of what we must endure.

The humiliation of Bingo

"Two Banana, four banana, one banana, three

Swinging like a bunch of monkeys hanging from a tree

Hey there everybody won't you come along and see

How much like Banana Splits everyone can be"

His name was Bingo. B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, and Bingo was the name-o they gave him. If that wasn't bad enough, he was also know as the "Goofy Gorilla." He was one of the original Banana Splits from from 1968-1970. And this is what I'm talking about my friends. This is how the media treats "monkeys."

Bingo was the drummer...a distant relative of Ringo, perhaps? And why is it that simians are always stuck with drums or cymbals?

But Bingo was the first to split from the Splits after arguments over his alleged abusive smoking of banana peel. Some reports say Bingo can still be seen at the San Diego Zoo, tossing feces into the adoring crowds during peak zoo hours at the gorilla pit.

Bingo, we hardly knew you.

Cymbolic poetry of the Monkey

I've read so many randomly bad poetry blogs, I figured Karma dictated I strike back:

Banana Park

Banana Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, banana meat flowing down
Someone left the banana out in the rain
I don't think that I can feel it
'Cause it took so long to peel it
And I'll never have that banana again
Oh, no!

There will be another banana for me
For I will peel it
There will be another bunch for me
Someone will bring it
I will drink the banana wine while it is warm
And never let you catch me looking at my arm
And after all the slices of my life
After all the loves of my life
Bananas will still be the one

THE END

For some reason I feel like a cigarette.

No more monkeying around

Tim-Elvis finally pushed me to the limit. I'm tired of carrying him. He's been the monkey on my back way too long now. I don't need him, you know. I've been around the block a few times and know how things work.

First a little about me. I was featured in a bad 1984 scary picture called “The Devil’s Gift.” It was about a little boy who receives a mechanical, cymbal-playing monkey as a gift. Every time I played the cymbals, someone died. The movie was loosely based on a Stephan King short story with the same plot. And we all know how well Stephan King stories do when they are turned into movies. Yes, the movie bombed and was re-cut into a 1996 movie about Merlin’s Toy Shop. That, too, bombed and is probably out there somewhere on DVD at Half Price Books.

Okay, I did the gig as a favor to Stephan King. Because I am a muse.

1. Muse -- (in ancient Greek mythology any of 9 daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne; protector of an art or science)
2. muse -- (the source of an artist's inspiration; "Euterpe was his muse")

I was King's muse for awhile until we had a falling out over how a couple of books should have ended. I don't want to go into it. Needless to say I walked out and the man is now a few pages shy of a novel (if you catch my drift). This is of course why he is writing stuff like From a Buick 8.

Anyway, I made my way across country doing the Antique Show Circuit. One too many people have pressed on my head to get me to play the cymbals, so I do show a few signs of age and slipping skin on my forehead that could be mistaken for a lobotomy as Tim-Elvis so delicately put it in his first blog about me.

Tim-Elvis found me in an antique mall outside of Seattle. And now I sit above his computer watching him, frozen in time. Or so he thinks. He is pissed because people keep doing searches for "Mechanical Monkey Playing the Cymbals" and I get more traffic then his pitiful other ramblings about dead things in his crawl space and spam wars.

So, I got tired of his whining about no traffic on his blog and kicked him to the curb the way I dropped King. I'm no body's monkey now. I've hacked into his Blogger account and I'm telling my side of it from now one.

This monkey has nothing to hide.