Northern_Lights_2017

22 Patrick the Magic Banana Amanda Conway Once upon a time, there was a magic banana named Patrick. He had a chip on his peel and thought he was really cool. Patrick loved his pet unicorn, Amelia, and every day went for a ride on her back through lollipop fields. One day in the forest, a Leprechaun frightened Amelia so much that she reared in terror. Patrick went flying through the air past twenty rainbows and landed in a giant pot of gold. There, he met a man who called himself Hanz Olo. He and Patrick got along so well that Olo decided to take him on an adventure to the world of Hollywood, where they were to sell their souls to a magical mystical building known as “The Box Office.” It took twenty days and twenty-two nights to get there. Upon arrival to this new land, they were stunned to see so much magic! There was glittering garbage that lined the streets for miles and shimmering plastic bags that fluttered gracefully in the wind. It was almost too much glamor for Patrick and Hanz to handle. “Welcome to the new world! We’re on our way to becoming famous,” the people in the streets exclaimed to the magic banana and Falcon pilot. “I’m gonna be a pop star,” a sixteen-year-old prostitute exclaimed. “Some day I’ll be a famous actor,” a coked-up man in a tattered business suit exclaimed. Patrick and Hanz Olo made their way through the streets, browsing through the poverty-stricken markets and tiptoeing along passed-out winos. “This place is wonderful!” they both exclaimed. “We can sight-see later. Let’s get going,” said Patrick. After traveling through the littered streets of Hollywood, they finally arrived at The Box Office. It was a huge building made entirely of gold. Once inside, they saw the true zombie-like appearances of people running the industry. Blood trickled down the walls and the only sound to be heard was that of souls being crushed and spirits slowly dying. Immediately, a line of executives turned to the adventurers. With their giant artificially whitened smiles plastered across their botox faces, the room filled with chatter and flattery. “Amazing!” “I love it! Love love love it!” “Mwa sweetie you’ll be great in the business.” “Come follow us,” one said, so Patrick and Hanz Olo were led into a giant room. It was filled with dead plants and everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. Patrick the Magic Banana and Mr. Olo were flabbergasted. It was quite different than what they expected, but quickly found it was worth getting used to. That’s business! For hours, they were fed wonderful lies of endless riches and happiness. Sitting in the dusty room at a giant conference table, Patrick and Hanz were itching to sign the dotted line when suddenly a naked dude bursted into the room with a back- wards swastika painted on his belly. “I’m sick of this fascist-Jew-run media!” he screamed and charged fast with a machete in his hand. Swinging the giant weapon like a graceful ribbon dancer, he chopped the executives to tiny little pieces and before Hanz Olo and Patrick could decide what to do, the hippie sliced Patrick the Magic Banana into oblivion. “Stop!” Olo exclaimed. “It’s just a bad trip man. It’s just a bad trip! Get a hold of yourself, bro. You’re coming down hard.” The maniac opened his eyes and stopped screaming. He was dripping from head to toe in blood and sweat. The swastika on his belly was smeared and hardly decipherable. Dropping the machete, he ran over to slaughtered Patrick and started eating his banana guts. “Well, God damn, I never knew magic tasted this good.” Out of curiosity, Hanz Olo had to try a taste. “Mmm, that’s good fascist,” he said. For the next forty-eight hours, while a Beatles record played on repeat, they feasted on the insides of Patrick. Tripping out hard on the banana’s magic, they discussed deep issues like their country’s fascist government and their favorite energy drinks. When daylight came, out the bloodstained window Hanz and the maniac saw the prostitute-littered streets of the magical land called Hollywood, and as the sun slowly rose over the mountains of trash, they realized how lucky they were to live in a place so beautiful. The naked man jumped out the window and flew off into the clouds to a far, peaceful land known as “Detroit.” As for Hanz Olo, he’s still in that dusty, dead, bloody, corpse-ridden room, waiting to find his true love.