As you can see, the Milk Man has been attacked by a homicidal maniac armed with fresh fruit.
Not only has he been brutally stabbed in his androgynous hip and armpit with a banana, the hermaphroditic and ghostly Milk Man has been brained with a strawberry.
Lucky for him the attacker wasn’t packing a pineapple. Then his number would have been up for sure.
Now, most of us would be dead at this point, but as I’ve pointed out, the epicene lactosian decorating this album cover seems to be enjoying his/her encounter with the savage fruit assailant. I have to be honest at this point, I’m not terribly disturbed by the violent fruit atrocities (these things happen all the time), nor does the Milk Man’s bisexual proclivities cause me pause — it is the black goo that (s)he appears to be extruding from his/her winsome smile that has been haunting my dreams since I saw this cover.
Ironically, some reviewers have described this as San Francisco Deerhoof‘s most accessible album.
My only question is what would the Milk Man do about pointed sticks?