Many readers of The Banana Peel often wonder how the site got its name. Some claim it’s simply from the “Slipping on the banana peel” gag we so often see in cartoons or that Mario Kart game my bratty step-son plays, but in fact, it’s much more complex than that.
The year is 1965 on the calendar behind the bar that hasn’t been updated for decades. The actual year is 1999. The day? December 31st. Drunk New Yorkers pack the dimly lit Irish pub with their eyes glued to the small TV hung up in the corner. As they prepare to watch the ball drop, most are excited at what’s to come; however few are quite upset at the bar’s decision to show a porno on the TV instead of the New Year’s Eve broadcast. Near the front of the bar, not paying any mind to the year 2000 only moments away, sits a Banana, nursing its 6th glass of scotch on the night. Ya, that’s right, the inanimate fruit most widely known for its high levels of potassium and association with monkeys is sitting on a stool at a bar, consuming alcohol like a human. But they’re not a human. There is a Banana.
Yet despite the fully alive Banana in the same bar, no one really cares. It was a bit alarming at first, you know, to see a Banana walk into an Irish pub, sit down, order a lot of scotch, and go about their business. But what are you supposed to do? Call the cops? What crime have they committed? Longing for a drink after a hard day’s work? Last time I checked, there’s no law against that. You could question the Banana, ask how it’s acquired the ability to walk and talk and live and get wasted, but that’d be a bit rude, no? Besides, the ball is about to drop, the real ball this time, and the last thing you wanna do is waste your last night of the millennium interrogating some friggin Banana. So, there the Banana sits, alone, unbothered, about to polish off the final sip of their 6th scotch.
The 10-second countdown on the TV begins right as the Banana slams down their glass and prepares for scotch number 7…6….5…4…the Banana turns to the crowd, studying this peculiar human species not with judgment, but with envy, envy at the fact that they’re all together with one another, enjoying each other’s company. The only thing that kept the Banana company their entire life was booze…3…The bartender plants the 7th glass of scotch in front of them…2…Banana smiles at the glass, knowing it’s their only joy in this empty life, and maybe even their last with the whole Y2K thing in the news…1…Bottoms up. HAPPY NEW Y-
The little boy wakes up in a panic, screaming. His parents come rushing into his bedroom to ask if it’s the same nightmare as last night’s about the human-like banana that gets drunk at an Irish pub in New York City on New Year’s in 1999 and begins reflecting on his miserable and lonely life. He nods. That’s exactly what it was. His parents then tuck him back in and let him know he’s okay. They also let him know that, since he’s 12 years old and dreaming about a banana using alcohol consumption to mask life’s hardships, set in an oddly specific date and time with a cultural reference such as Y2K that’s not even remotely possible for him to know about, they’re going to bring him to a psychiatrist first thing in the morning. They say goodnight, and the boy goes back to bed, a bit more at ease.
In a house a few doors down, a comedy writer asks ChatGPT to give them an idea for a funny name for their humor website, and thus, The Banana Peel was born.
The Banana Peel 