Straightening my tie, I headed out the front door and down my drive. Busy day today, I thought to myself. Going to get a lot done. I was wrong.
At the end of my path, just in front of the open gate, lay a banana peel. I could see it from where I had stopped in shock, about 2 metres away. I watched it carefully, waiting to see what it wanted. After a few minutes of nothingness, I hopped my fence and ran to work. However, I couldn't concentrate. Slipping out at lunch, I returned home to see if it was still there.
It was - and it wasn't alone. Flanked by two heavyset men in suits, a large, moustached man stood waiting for me.
"Good morning Mr. Smith" He offered me.
"We represent," he continued with a sweep of his hand, "this gentleman's union, of which he is a member. Our member, of which this gentleman is, informs us that you have violated his right, as a working gentleman - and member of our union - to be stepped on, by your self, for the sake of slapstick comedy."
I looked at him slowly. Frankly, I didn't see how any of this could have happened, but the man in front of me didn't look like he would take kindly to such a thing. He continued:
"We understand that in today's hectic world, there is little time to engage in dangerous and unfunny slapstick. I myself have a family, you see, and often chose to spend time with them, rather than risk injury to myself and others with an accident involving a run away piano. As such, we think leaving you with this warning will be adequate reprisal for now. We would like to bid you a good day, Mr. Smith, and I hope that should we meet again, I will not be acting in such an... official capacity.
I smiled apologetically, and watched the three men get into a 1930s-styled car. While they watched, I purposefully stepped on the banana skin, throwing myself into my pond, and emerging, moments later, with a duck perched on my head.
Frankly, I regret the whole process, but I've fought the real mob before. I don't want to become embroiled with any sort of slapstick Mafia. It sounds fun, but it isn't. It really isn't

The doctors say I may never walk again. I slipped on a banana peel, fell down some stairs and got my head stuck in a bucket of paint.
There was nothing funny about it.

Old style mirth.

Herbert, spotting the muffin sitting tantalizingly on the table, started to walk across the room. The banana skin, positioned perfectly in the middle of the floor, chuckled gleefully to itself - fortunately, Herbert was pretty deaf, and it wasn't a loud chuckle.
One shuffling step at a time, he moved closer...closer...closer. He was so close the banana could almost reach out and touch him... He took another step, his foot rising, hovering inches above the fruity peel... it came down... slowly... the banana, practically orgasmic with excitement, prepared for the kill...
Suddenly, two men in ski masks burst in to the room, shooting both Herbert and the banana, and stole the muffin.

The treachery of bananas

I tried some dried fruit. I expected it to be terrible, and it was. All rubbery and tasteless. It was apple flavoured apparently, but i couldn't tell. I mistook it for banana, and wondered why there was a hole in the middle.
Tom said it was ballsack flavoured, but he'd know more about that than me.