Be aggressive. Be-e aggressive. Bees aggressive. Bees are aggressive. Bees want to fucking kill you.
Of all the insects in the world bees are my least favorite. This is how I know I was not Hitler in a past life. I have befriended more Jews than bees I have seen and not wanted to kill. Over the course of the next few words that you read, I hope you too can learn to hate bees as much as I do.
My first interaction with bees occurred when I was around 4 years old. I know I was still young enough where I was not in school but old enough where other kids were making fun of me. I was in a friend’s backyard when a bee began to circle above me. Like the passionate and loving person I am, I opened my hands for the bee to have a place to land. Do you want to take a guess what the cocksucker did? He fucked my hand. That’s right, this bee took out its sharp dick and began making love to my palm. It hurt. I was bee-raped in the hand.
Ever since that day I felt a hatred for all things bees. The first person I ever killed was someone who dressed up as the Blind Melon bumblebee girl. The second person I killed used Burt’s Bees moisturizer. The third person enjoyed Honey Nut Cheerios. I have only killed four people so the list stops there. If I had to guess though, the next person I kill will be someone holding a can of bumblebee tuna. Then again, this might be doing them a favor. Most people who eat tuna do it because they hope the mercury inside kills them.
(She grew up to look pretty normal. She’s also probably more famous than anyone from the actual band Blind Melon)
I managed to avoid bees for a while. Once I saw My Girl and realized how they are capable of so much evil they would kill Macauley Culkin, I vowed to stay away. My next encounter happened while at a park made almost entirely of tires. It was not as trashy as this sounds. On a side note, this park was the place I last pooped my pants. Thought I’d throw that in there because I totally forgot to write about it in my Playgrounds post.
While at Tire Park, I was climbing on the equipment with the same friend whose backyard I was hand-fucked by the bee in. We apparently disturbed a nest and out came hundreds of bees. I hate how bees always travel in packs. It’s like they’re clingy girlfriends who never can be alone. I was only stung once and managed to escape with my life.
(I swear the playground was a lot more fun than I make it sound)
I took this as a sign the bees were ready for war. I spent all of recess in second grade stomping on bees while they eat from flowers or whatever it is they do to flowers. One time I saw a bunch of ants eating a dead bee. It was the coolest thing I ever saw.
My best battle with a bee came while at home. A bee had flown up behind the curtain covering our back door. Our back door had a glass frame which means I am not strong enough to punch through glass. I saw the bee stop on the door and with a furious fist I launched my hand forward and crushed the bee between my knuckles and the door I thought it would reside on. It did not splatter. The bee simply fell to the ground dead as a motherfucker. Motherfuckers of course being the current thing we are supposed to call Neanderthals, or at least that’s what I think I read on Yahoo.
(There are no motherfuckers pictured here. These are all Homo sapiens, or as I read in the same article, cocksucker sapiens)
It seemed like bees had gotten the message. I was not a man to be messed with. They called off their army until one day when I was around 19. I was sitting on the couch one July afternoon when I heard a bee buzzing. I never saw the bee but I heard it. The sound of the buzzing made me feel sick. I began coughing. It felt like there was something stuck in my throat. This cough continued for 6 more months. It took until I took up jogging for a few months after seeing a live taping of Maury for me to lose the cough. Not until I exercised could I lift the curse of the bee.
I have had minimal interactions with bees since because I’m simply not outside enough. I also don’t fear death as much as I did when I was younger and full of hope so I’m more willing to go up to one and smash him without fear. When I think about it more deeply maybe the bees were trying to send me a message. My bad cough did motivate me to get healthy. It was one of the factors why I quit drinking the first time I did. Bees were trying to save me from alcoholism. Bees were trying to get me to start caring about my cardiovascular health. Bees made me incredibly boring at parties.
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