“‘Nanners” - A Satirical, Short Story

Last night, a meteor fell from the sky and crashed into the dog house. Luckily our dog Scuz was eating a dead squirrel in the window well when it happened. The old boy didn’t even flinch when the space rock crashed into the ground. Scuz has cataracts.

I heard it and it woke me up.

I crept outside very carefully so as to not wake my parents. I cracked the screen door open and stepped out into the great outdoors that was my backyard.

A steamy trail of smoke was billowing from the crash site. Never in my life had I ever seen anything like this.

I couldn’t tell if I was sweating or pissing myself. Later, I deduced that from my nervousness, it was an equal mixture of both. Scuz, unbothered, had fallen asleep after his meal.

A very tall, almost cylinder-like creature arose from the smoke. The ‘being’ slowly inched its way out from the crater that was so-recently excavated by the rock’s great plunder. I stood frozen in my jammies.

“Hello there little boy,” the space-thing said to me in a very creepy and uncomfortable tone. There was a squishy, smacking of Its tongue between words; or at least I like to believe it was Its tongue. “Would you like to play a game with me?”

“Oh boy!” I was in absolute shock. “What kind of games do you have? I like air hocke-”

“QUIET FOOL!” The extraterrestrial being screamed at me. “THIS IS MY PARTY AND I GET TO CHOOSE THE GAMES, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!”

It was dark outside, so I couldn’t see the being. The smoke from the crash site was steadily emerging from the pit, and it blinded my view. All I could do was feel Its presence and obey to Its thunderous voice. I was standing with an actual alien.

“Ok geez, you're gonna wake my parents. We can play whatever you want man”.

“BANANAGRAMS.” The creature said with a blatant boom.

Ugh, Bananagrams sucks. It’s the kind of game you play with your witty uncle or church group.

Basically, you build a crossword with 144 lettered tiles. Each player starts with 21 tiles and each player builds words that end up connecting to each other’s vertically or horizontally. The goal is to race your opponent until you possess only one tile left. At that point, the first to do so yells “bananas”.

Or something like that.

The spaceman let out a strained moan. Suddenly, a very nice cards-table materialized from thin air.

“Little boy! We will play till the game is over.” The alien set the ground rules and because I was still in a fixed shock, I agreed without thinking anything over.

It was 2 AM and I was playing Bananagrams with ET in my backyard.

We faced each other but all I could see was Its eight-foot shadow. The looming smoke was never-ending.

We had gone through half the tiles.

“Lemons.”

“Minty.”

“‘Nanners,” I said.

“WHAT?” The freakazoid yelled. “‘NANNERS IS NOT A WORD.”

“Yes it is. On Earth, we say ‘nanners every day,” I explained. “We say ‘that guy’s completely ‘nanners’ in suggestion to a wacko or crazy person.”

I realized after a while of playing I could outsmart this Martian with slang. This was technically against the rules but I felt like I could push the boundaries just a little.

This guy wasn’t from here after all. I took advantage of my ethnocentric perspective.

“FINE.” It said. “PSUEDOEMBARFAMENTALIGO.” The creature placed down a generous amount of tiles. I had never heard such a word.

It was like It could read my mind. The spaceman quite literally was. If I was gonna pull a sneaky move like ‘nanners, this guy would undoubtfully use his space words too. I mean what the fuck does that even mean.

After a few ‘DUMPS’ and ‘PEELS’, our game was wrapping up.

“Ok…jellybean.” And then ever so casually, “Oh, Bananas,” I said. I used up all my tiles.

“NOOOOOOO! YOU CHEAT. YOU ARE A BIG CHEATER! YOU WILL PAY THE CONSEQUENCES!”

I interrupted. “Hey buddy, you're not so slick. I saw you eat like six tiles throughout the game. I’m not a cheater, I’m the Top Banana!” I said smugly and assuredly.

“NO! I AM TOP BANANA!” The alien cried.

A fiery blast of energy exploded from behind the creature, wiping away all the shrouding smoke. I could finally make out what this thing was.

Across the cards-table sat a giant, anamorphic plantain. The Fruit was much bigger than me, longer and yellower than me, and Its bulging eyes appeared seemingly smashed into Its peel with the least trace of God’s assistance. They looked like googly eyes and they flopped around.

Furiously, Its enteral energy was spilling out, casting a bright shroud around the both of us and eviscerating my Dad’s Kentucky bluegrass.

Night became day for a brief moment.

“I AM TOP BANANA! I AM TOP BANANA! I AM TOP BANANA!” It repeatably screamed. It was acting like a baby. A whiny, pathetic sucker.

“You are nothing but an imitation FREAK!” I yelled back.

Without warning, the plantain-space-thang exploded into mush all over my backyard.

The next morning my Dad grounded me for three months.

I didn’t care though.

I was Top Banana and that was all that mattered in this universe.