The Frogs

Bananimals (Alarm)
by Jamie Kiffel

SETTING: A fine musical academy in Milwaukee. Students seated in a lecture hall, scribbling furiously in notebooks. They are taught by the headmistress, a proper Englishwoman in brown double-knit skirt, plain turtleneck, bottleglass spectacles and tight bun.

HEADMISTRESS: Today, class, we will learn how to utilize a compact disc. (Poking out from behind her is a gremlin-like rubber puppet, imitating her movements.)

HEADMISTRESS: First, you take the CD like this – I have here, Bananimals, for instance – carefully remove it from its case, and…

PUPPET: You shove it up your ass!

HEADMISTRESS: You shove it right up your ass… Oh! Oh, that wasn’t what I meant!

PUPPET: Heh, heh, heh!

HEADMISTRESS: Oh, you bad, bad froggy!

II.
If punk were George Bush

In a wheelchair with Tourette’s

He’d roll down young pants.

MORAL: This is pedophiliac fetish cult pop with its face in the crotch of social mores. Invite dirty old man boy love into your stereo with The Frogs.
(660 West Lake St. Chicago, IL 60661)