Fruity Tootie Bananas

A tribute to Steven Wright and Douglas Adams

Fruity Tootie Bananas

I want to be buried vertically,

Upside down under a fruit tree.

Preferably, a cloying fruit!

But, really and truly fruity!

The Fruity Tootier Rooten Tooten Fruity Fruits!

The kind that occupy a room,

That, stand out in any crowd,

Taking up any time and space!

Bodaciously unashamed fruits.

Not another bland banana tree!

Not another, shrub called a tree!

Not another hideous ornamental.

Not another fruit, bereft its seeds!

Not another, borderline imitation!

Cloned hybrids, all being the same.

Preferring, to keep it in the family!

Firmly believing that incest is best.

Unless, they happen to be plantain!

Who wish nothing to do with them!

Having seeds which can't germinate!

Too small, for any to actually sprout,

Too small for even any birds to enjoy,

Worthless seeds unfit for composting!

Retiring bunches buried upside-down!

Along with all of their worthless seed!

Making their smiles, turn into frowns,

Unhappy clowns, cloned upside-down!

Buried upside-down smiles now frown.

Never, to jump back on their feet again!

Becoming worthless, like all their seeds!

Occasionally an entire clone family tree!

Burying each other everywhere they may,

Clowns, all cloning around upside-down!

Cloning themselves, at every opportunity.

Clones, buried upside-down all over town.

Cloned clowns keeping it all in the family!

Clannish cloned clowns, are forever inbred.

Cloned yellow smile painted on their faces!

But, all turned into an upside-down frown!

As if, its just their own genetic inheritance!

Yet, don't germinate in the hot tropical sun!

Rotting, before they can even hit the ground,

Every last one of them is sterile as any mule.

Every last one soon to become soft and limp!

As if never learning about the birds and bees!

As if they were all allergic, to the facts of life!

As if they were all, Catholic nuns and priests!

As if never having had an orgasm in their life!

Never did impress me even properly deep fried,

No redeeming value whatsoever if you ask me.

Bereft of any real substance, like cotton candy.

But like straw, without any taste, whatsoever!

Devoid of any taste, like eating wet cardboard!

Definitely not worth, ever writing home about.

Nonetheless may ripen, fruity tootier bananas!

Possessing, only trivial amounts of potassium.

Wittgenstein, forever rolling over in his grave!

Yet, indeterminate in quantum superposition!

While, laughing reciting childhood limericks,

From far out in left field Yogi Berra yelling,

Yet again 90% of this game is half-mental!

Thus still attempting to contribute, even after their deaths,

To the many livelier fruity fruits growing on planet earth!

Gratuitous fruity flatulence reserved for Stephen Wright!

For breathing new death on what is totally meaningless!

Socrates reminding me be fruity and multiply my fruits.

Spread any ignorant bliss going fruity tootie bananas!

Sometimes, I get Thank You postcards, from the edge!

Photographs of earth taken from extreme high orbit!

Written in saffron yellow crayon on back!

Generations of cloned clowns salute you!

Concerned that you might not be alright,

Our consensus, was to drop you a note!

Rather than coming to talk in person.

Goodbye and thanks for all the fish!

Reassuring to know, that as usual!

You're, simply out to lunch again!

Me, myself, and I knowingly nod to ourselves upon contemplating,

The cloned clown fruits of endless generations after generation...

Of the more rooten tooten, homegrown, fruity tootie bananas!

(Douglas Adams)