Tranny or Banana?

It's a fair question. An innocent question, asked by a small Philipino child wandering the Old Pasadena Target with his mother. Impossible that this kid queried anything in earnest but what I heard: "Tranny or banana?" Aisle after aisle, wanting to know, "Tranny or banana? Tranny or banana?"

Those on the banana side. At work yesterday a customer left behind a book with his tip. Perhaps the lunch quenched his thirst, leaving knowledge in the lurch? And who totes the complete history of the banana in the first place? The book, called simply Banana, appears to be an undelightful 200+ pages of what can only be thinly veiled references to foreskin and bunches. Call me adolescent; I can handle that name; I don't moniker around, though I do enjoy a certain yellow fruit.

And as for the tranny vote, the selfsame day, in walked a gorgeously handsome F-to-M. I'm normally uninterested in facial hair, but his appearance is helping the tide turn, lovely girlfriend in tow. With all the confidence in the world, a tranny wrecks a girl's sense she's seen all in compelling masculine expression.

I should've stopped the kid in his tracks, called the argument off, said "Tranny AND banana, my friend, tranny AND banana."