By Sal Ruibal
Photo by Anthony Smith
I’ve always been pretty private about my private parts. That’s why you’ll never see me on youTube showing the world MyTube. But that’s me, and I guess it’s just old-fashioned to respectfully decline to reveal my enormous intellect.
Besides, girls know it’s not the meat—it’s the emotion.
Guys are pretty much one-trick ponies, and once you’ve seen the Shetland do the hokey-pokey, there isn’t much mystery in the Mister. So, as reticent as I am to pull the sword from the scabbard in public, I must offer faint praise to those
individuals who feel that their shortcomings are worthy of displaying on the airwaves.
Such are the young men who decided to interrupt the solemn live feed of the Sacred Order of Crankworx to caterwaul before the Internet dozens
dressed as a semi-peeled banana or a lopsided pink tripod wearing a tiny GoPro camera.
I was especially taken by the naked man with the tiny camera. Based on my experiences with photo journalistsit is usually the other way around: big camera, bigger aperture.
But I digress. We are not here to bury the bone, but to praise it as part of the culture of big air.
Go big or go home.
Showing the linkage dates back to the days of the gladiators and the lions. Fighters would battle the beasts in huge coliseums, while spectators would scream, “Show us the beef!” As the centuries passed and the viewing of naked bodies became a sin punishable by hairy palms, nudity became an indoor sport.
Naked men grappled other naked men only as models for famous artists, such as Raphael, Donatello and the other Ninja Turtles. It was not until the
digital age that the opportunity to become an unpeeled banana or a human swing-set before an audience of flying young men was something to which everyone could aspire.
Perhaps the answer is in our months in the womb, waiting to burst into light with a scream and a foam banana peel—public video rebirth as a yearning for sad children who only want mommy and daddy to validate their existences.
I recently attended a séance in which the ghost of William Shakespeare compared the Crankworx video banana guy to a summer’s eve. Or perhaps he was referring to a feminine hygiene product of the same name.
Willie the Shake always showed a quick wit. He summed it all up in “Richard III”: “And thus I clothe my naked villainy/ With odd old ends stolen out of holy writ/ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”
Or a banana.