Banana-Powered Cars: The Fruit-Based Future They Don’t Want You to Know About
Walter Winkwink prepares to revolutionize transportation with the power of potassium and poor decision-making.
It started with a smoothie. Like most energy revolutions do.
I had just finished a grueling 36-minute nap and was preparing my usual post-nap protein bomb: five bananas, oat milk, a scoop of nutritional yeast I bought during a blackout at Whole Foods, and what I thought was cinnamon but turned out to be powdered regret. I hit “blend,” lightning struck my garage, and suddenly the blender began glowing faintly and playing Huey Lewis and the News.
That’s when I knew: “Great Scott,” I whispered. “I’ve unlocked time travel. Or fuel efficiency. Possibly both. Definitely indigestion.”
Banana-powered cars are real. And they’ve been real since at least 1985, when one Emmett Lathrop “Doc” Brown literally shoved a banana peel into the Mr. Fusion reactor on a stainless-steel time machine with gull-wing doors and absolutely no cupholders. You saw it. I saw it. We all laughed and said, “Ha! What a quirky sci-fi detail!”
Idiots.
That wasn’t fiction. That was a leaked government training film, smuggled out of a Department of Temporal Affairs facility by a rogue intern named Craig, who vanished shortly afterward into a Blockbuster Video drop box. “If my calculations are correct,” Doc said, “when this baby hits 88 miles per hour…you’re gonna see some serious shhh…” And we did. We just didn’t take it seriously.
Let me break it down: banana peels, when agitated in a vortex of jazz, guilt, and nostalgic VHS static, release potassionic gas; a volatile energy source capable of launching a Prius into orbit or at least making a Tesla jealous. It’s clean. It’s cheap. It smells faintly of breakfast.
So why don’t we all use it?
Because the Banana Conspiracy is real. I tried to patent my Winkwink Banana Cell Engine™, which runs on fermented fruit waste and a dash of plutonium-scented hope, and was immediately visited by a man in a trench coat who whispered, “The fruit must remain fiction,” then disappeared in a puff of mango-scented fog.
I’ve been followed ever since. Black SUVs. Pineapple bumper stickers. A suspiciously muscular orangutan named Carl who works for Shell and wears a vest that says “Banana Denier.” One time he stared me down at the farmer’s market while pretending to inspect avocados. “You built a time machine…out of a blender?” I asked him. He did not laugh.
But I will not be silenced. We are at a tipping point. Climate change is ravaging the planet. Gas prices are higher than Biff Tannen’s confidence level. And yet, we throw away banana peels every day like fools.
“Roads?” I say. “Where we’re going, we don’t need roads. Just potassium.”
You, dear reader, must rise. Start saving your peels. Build a garage lab. Tape a blender to your steering wheel. Wait for lightning. Yell “1.21 gigawatts!” if it helps. If your neighbor asks what you’re doing, just say you’re preparing for “temporal re-entry.”
Because the future isn’t made in a lab. It’s made in a fruit bowl.
And the time has come to peel back the lies.
P.S. Let’s Talk About Biff.
Because we all knew this was coming.
You think it’s a coincidence that in Back to the Future Part II, Biff Tannen gets his hands on a sports almanac, becomes a multi-billionaire, and turns Hill Valley into a dystopian nightmare of neon, corruption, and unchecked male pattern baldness?
That wasn’t a cautionary tale.
That was a documentary from the future.
I have reason to believe, and by “reason” I mean “a deeply vivid dream involving cold cuts and a VHS tape, that Biff didn’t stop at casinos and tower hotels. No, he went further. He got into oil. Fossil fuels. Combustion. Internal. Greasy.
Biff Tannen is now the CEO of Tannen PetroGlobal, a barely disguised shell company (pun intended) pumping dinosaur goo into your engine while laughing maniacally and slapping banana peels out of children’s hands.
I tried to confront him once. I wrote “YOU’RE RUINING THE PLANET, BIFF” in mustard on his limo. He responded by mailing me a single banana in a steel box, accompanied by a note that simply read, “Make like a tree and get outta here.”
You don’t threaten someone with a banana unless you know.
Biff knows.
He’s trying to corner the energy market and erase the fruit-powered future. Why else would every gas station TV play reruns of “Back to the Future II” on a loop, reminding us that “if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything”; unless, of course, your mind is trying to accomplish something eco-friendly using compost and dreams?
I see you, Biff. I see your toupee of lies.
And when the banana-powered revolution finally arrives, I’ll be waiting at the gates of Tannen HQ in a potassium-powered go-kart made of recycled DeLorean parts and banana stickers, yelling:
“The power of love compels you, Biff!”
History bends toward justice.
And justice smells faintly of overripe fruit.
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