There are things in life which you’ve endured that you manage to bury deeply in the layers of your subconscious – somewhere beneath the stratum containing your fifth-grade haircut but not as deeply interred as the horrific and disturbing bowel trauma incident (DO NOT EVEN ASK – I BEG OF YOU). Then, in one reckless, thoughtless moment, someone RIPS that memory from the innermost sanctity of your dark, sheltered psyche. And your life is never the same.

This happened on Sunday. Spontaneously, with no forewarning, Shirleen’s kids (her biologically-derived adolescents and the select handful of other “adopted” teenagers – it’s a long story) burst into the theme song from a show, the memory of which I’d suppressed years and years ago in preservation of that last vestiges of my sanity. Oh, THE HORROR, THE HORROR!!! And what was this abomination? Bananas in Pyjamas. Oh, yes, BANANAS IN PYJAMAS:
Bananas in Pyjamas on a FARM?

Bananas in Pyjamas on a FARM? CREEPY!

And there I was, having neatly tucked these animated fruits with the impudence to don sleepwear, grown on the herbaceous, cultigenic plants of the genus Musa, into the most secret recesses of my inner self, when a few bars of a wretched theme song dragged them right back into the cold, unforgiving present. Damn you, TYLER, SARAH AND BEKAH – DAMN YOU!!!

And here’s a disturbing tidbit: THEY STILL EXIST IN THE MAINSTREAM – well, in Australia, at least. Nothing against all y’all Aussies – we certainly have our lion’s share of crap TV in the states – but Bananas in Pyjamas are really scary. The “main characters” – hmm, who are they? WAIT – BANANAS IN PYJAMAS – have written a poem for our gratification:

Is that you, B1?
It is, B2!
You look just like me!
And I look just like you.

A moment of silence, please, because I think we’ll be able to hear all four Lake Poets turn over and VOMIT in their graves.

I will admit this, there was some artwork on the site that I did find rather brilliant:

Thank you, Eve, for giving some semblance of dignity to these fruits.