A/N: hey guys! i'm working on the next chapter, but for now, here is a spicy new interlude that is probably going to end up becoming its own story! tell me what you think! R&R!
Interlude: A Brief Expenditure into the Life and Times of a Banana Farmer
In the newly formed state, Mitchell Musso Confederacy, Governor Mitchell Musso was quietly tending to his crop of singing, homosex banana trees. His trees required much attention and phalangeal dexterity.
Suddenly, the harmonic chorus of his prized trees halted. Governor Musso looked up quizzically, bringing a hand to his be-peeled face and stroking the soft homoerotic bark of his favorite banana tree, Reginald, with the other. Reginald shivered and murmured in malcontent, but stayed otherwise silent.
The whole farm was uncharacteristically….quiet. Governor Musso knew that something was wrong.
Quickly, he darted away, making for the underground bomb shelter underneath his home, constructed out of banana debris and the exhumed corpses of his late family members, including his sister, Melanie Musso and his fraternal twin, and lover, Walt Whitman. He punched in the digital code ("hamncheez") and locked the door behind him, securely encasing himself in his fortified banana tomb.
In his pungent shelter, Governor Musso situated himself in a leopard-print bean bag and began to casually sip one of his favorite concoctions; a pureed blend of his Peruvian housewife's spent fingernails and guava juice. Whatever happened…he would wait here.
The first thing he heard was the high-frequency keening of Reginald's once sweet, ripe, homosex voice. Then abruptly, it ended. Governor Musso's hands trembled in fear and unexpected desire.
Nothing could prepare him for the blast that came nexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxt.
A loud SPLOOSH carved a path of destruction across the banana farm, and continued to create carnage and suffering in the entire eastern seaboard of the United States. Governor Musso's luxurious chartreuse locks disintegrated in the sonic boom. His upper lip tore itself from his face and scurried to the other end of the room in fear. He quickly pasted a baby banana peel over the wound in effort to disguise his disfiguration.
"What," he muttered lowly, his voice half-obscured by the bloody banana peel that interfered with his mouth. "What was that?"
Crawling lowly out of his shelter, he popped his head out of the ground like a groundhog on the morning of Groundhog's Day, the most useless holiday, in the Western Hemisphere. What he saw shocked him, and caused him to empty his bowels of fingernail juice.
Once a lush banana plantation brimming with prosperity and harmony of gay trees singing in unison, the land was now barren, desolate, and utterly constipated. Broken trunks of once merry trees stuck up out of the clay-like sand like jagged teeth inflicted with the crippling effects of scurvy.
Slowly, one acidic tear slid down his cheek and landed with a sizzle on the ground.
Whoever had done this…? He trembled with fury. Governor Musso vowed to find out, and then bring a world of pein to that person….