The banana descended into the room in a massive display of both absurdity and wonder. He claimed, and before I finish this thought, I want you to really think about what it means to claim something. Actually, this has little really to do with the act of claiming something, and more to do with the nature of actually doing anything consciously; the keyword here being "consciously." This banana consciously did something. Do you believe bananas do anything consciously? I didn't before this event. This was a self-aware and apparently highly intelligent yellow fruit. I was completely flabbergasted, to be perfectly honest. I mean, fruit usually just sits there, on your counter. Bananas don't plot against you while they sit and vegitate (fruititate?), nor do they tell amusing jokes. They are utterly immobile and have an I.Q. of precisely zero.
So, yes, it was entirely surprising to see this banana literally float downwards from my ceiling through some interdimensional wormhole, and proclaim itself to be God. First, the banana spoke fluent english (where did he learn that fancy trick?), and then I discovered that it had a God complex! I attempted to explain to it the nonsensicality of the situation, but my words were not being expressed as they were formulated in my brain. Everything I tried to say was completely scrambled into the linguistic equivalent of white noise. Hell, I should have figured, I had ingested a great deal of some incredible psychedelic compound - a potent phenethylamine; it comes with the territory. But what did I take? I could not remember at the time. My brain was inverted like a photograph negative. Black was white, white was black, gravity was reversed, and I found myself strangely pleased by the notion that a oversized banana wanted to be my God. My God! It was both horrific and beautiful.
A flimsy plastic spork darted across my field of vision, thrown by an unseen entity, all at once destroying the banana and my unyielding devotion to my newly found religion. After all, what good is a God that can be destroyed by a mortal instrument of cutlery? I laughed heartily. My laugh echoed across time and space, reverberating through every curled-up dimension of reality. A fitting eulogy for a tasty and healthy deity (full of potassium and other essential vitamins!) A feedback loop began to occur; my laugh, with every successive reflection off the fabric of the cosmos, became stronger and stronger. In direct violation of the laws governing entropy, the sheer sonic force of my guffaw was veering off in power exponentially towards infinity. The universe could be soon annihilated! Infinity would become the new zero. I started breathing heavily; I could hear my heartbeat filling every little nook of my finite eardrum.
A human being handed me a glass that was half empty. But, I could not discern what existed in the other half! My panicked state turned me into a raving pessimist! Words were then spoken out loud: (how else would they be spoken?) "Drink the water, Joe." I realized that the glass' other temporary resident, besides the depressing chunk of absolutely nothing, was dihydrogen monoxide. Water. Essential for life, or so they say. Either way, I listened to the human being and drank deeply. The water was tainted in some way, but I didn't care. I don't remember exactly what happened next, although I have been assured that I soon passed out, as a familiar benzodiazepine-like sedation enveloped my consciousness, taking it from me as a shopkeeper takes money from a customer. It was a completely willing transaction.
