Chiquita, Queen of the Burlesque

I’ve recently been reading

that humans share a

discomforting amount of

genetics with bananas.

This likely explains a lot.

The bruising of our skin

with every bump. The

mindlessness of MAGA.

Cocooned within our sheath,

beholden to the phallic, the fear

it turns to mush.

Primates like ourselves

devour them. Perhaps

we’re narcissists, from

Ganymede the Gorilla

to the flash of our celebs,

never missing the chance

to glance a mirror.

No matter how cool he is,

every single bro

looks ridiculous eating one.

John Wayne would’ve lost his

cred, sauntering in the

saloon between the bites.

An apple fared much better.

He could pitch it at the villain

before he finished, the hurl of

spit & seed. But we’ve saddled

it with the blame for

all our woes,

our fall from nudity.

Lest I study more

it’s been debunked.

Exaggerated clickbait,

from someone at the peeler

bar, a would-be Betty Boop,

stripping off her garb

to dangle the sweetest

bod this side of the Rio Grande.

Andreas Gripp

November 25, 2025

RF Image