This is sitting on Pat's desk, written on a few sheets of white printer paper. On one side is a small bit of Daimon's novel, just a page, just a few paragraphs. On the other is some remarks written in red pen.
Daimon has written thus:
I'm remembering things again. I shouldn't, but I am. Therefore, without any recourse, I thought of the night with the flaming bananas.
I was standing in my pantry, five, six years ago, plotting dinner. Pasta, various sides, a bag of potatos, onion and garlic powder, a can of rosemary. I was lost, confused, in a daze. My life, or at least my dinner time, was having the possibility of being spiritually unfulfilled. And suddenly, eureka! A miracle!
My eyes lit upon a can of Sterno sitting under a can of fresh water packet tuna.
There are literally dozens of Funny things that can be done with a can of Sterno. The possibilities flicked through my mind. They were mindboggling. They were enormous. They were ... not brilliant. I required brilliance. This needed a moment of quiet contemplation.
I walked out of the pantry, leaned against the counter, and thought about the can. It was small. It was round. It was sealed. Verily, it trembled with anticipation of coming chaos. Or maybe that was just me.
My eyes searched the kitchen, and sought. There. Right there. On the counter. Inspiration. Before me, waiting for my caresss, my touch, my love, was a bunch of long yellow pieces of fruit, fresh from the Supermarket.
The knife, spoon, and can opener were on the counter faster then my mind could comprehend. The very tip of the banana was sliced away, quickly forgotten. My hands worked fast, carefully scooping the insides of delicious yellow fruit from the prison of its rind. The extra banana was deposited into my mouth for safe keeping. The opener flew over the top of the can. Before me in alluring silver aluminum lay the yellowish substance, thick and nasty. The same spoon for the banana was used on the Sterno. The small banana cavity was filled, as was my soul.
One banana. Two. Three.
I gathered them up in my arms and strode triumphantly into living room.
I had a Balseraph sitting on my couch. Jaakobah was prattling on about guns again. Guns guns guns. How humans use guns. So many Funny things to do with guns. A one trick pony, that Jake. He flicked through the channels on the TV again, and complained dimly that he hadn't done his duty for the day.
I stood before the Balseraph and grinned. Funny that's about to change I said. All I need are matches.
And lo, they burned with great white power in the parking lot as we stood in the back of his pickup truck. We praised the great Banana God who had given this, our great and powerful fruity torches. We offered those who passed by the right to hold them. Commune with us and worship our great God of the Banana I shouted to the passerby for he is great and powerful and provides us with Sterno. He is kind and he gives us essence. And they came, and with us they worshipped because the banana torch was mighty.
We learned a valuable lesson that night that I shall never forget. I carried the scars for years, and it burned right now into my soul:
Cucumbers don't burn as well.
My God, I miss me. I was such a fun guy. What the hell happened?
