by special guest writer, Slacker Lacker

Some people have phobias, others have fears. Me, I'm not so much as afraid of bees, as I'm not too thrilled by the thought of getting stung by them. So it stands that films like "The Swarm", Will Shatner's "Kingdom of the Bees", and "The Bees That Came Out of Texan Ladies Hives And Ate People", have a slightly more than slight affect upon my psyche. I'll elaborate. Bees hate me.  Throughout my life, I've had the misfortune of being (get it?) the main child on the block to get attacked by winged beasties. I can only thank the Lord above that I'm not allergic.

While playing with my sweet (and completely free)
Ronald McDonald flyer (you remember the flyers, a small cardboard picture of Ronald McDonald that flew if you threw it hard enough), an overthrow made my flyer just inch, nay centimeter, its clown-like nose underneath the first step of the porch at my Aunt's house. The little plane wasn't even shadowed by the stair. Knowing full well that there was a pack of bees living underneath, I carefully and reverently inched (nay centimetered) towards the step, and with utmost care and respect, snagged Ronald's smilling body and stepped back. And then, the attack came. Thousands of bees, not content with the fact that I wasn't near their precious home any longer, felt it necessary to sacrifice their small little lives to teach me a lesson. "How dare you accidentally that scary clown into our domain", seemed to buzz in my ears as the pain skyrocketed itself through my tiny body. I dropped Ron and ran, symbolically crushing him as I ran into the house to cry. Though I never truly gave up my McDonald's addiction, I never spoke to Ronald again....the jammy goit.


Clash of the Titans was one of my favorite movies as a child and I used to re-enact scenes with my plastic fantasy sword (complete w/scabbard and removable hilt). After dominating my sister in a series of stunning victories, a bee meandered its way into the backyard. Not wanting to get stung (this was years after the Ronald incident), I told my sister to freeze, because as we all know, bees don't attack you unless you're threatening them (or running). So there we stand, comically frozen in mid-fight, and what does our winged friend decide to do? He moseys right on up to my forehead, lands, and stings, blinding me with pain, and causing me to drop my sword. Granted, I ran (though I couldn't bear to step on my sword, our relationship was founded on more than just faux burger meat), cursing the day that I upset the bee gods. And even though I was a little older, it still hurt...alot....

Another porch incident. This time, though, it's hornets, not bees. And I did nothing but go outside. Out into the sunny light of a blaring Texas summer in my grandmother's backyard. Blammo! Hornets all over the place, eating my flesh and destroying my now insect hating soul. The best part about hornets is that they don't die after they sting, thus allowing their stingers to stab, stab and stab again, like some winged Norman Bates. So, like the detective, I fell, the hornets giving chase. I get up, run inside, and cry some more, vowing to destroy all stinging insects with a rocket to the sun. My father and grandmother ask what happened and then begin to apply ice and baking soda to all 1,239,394 of my stings. After that, I worry about frostbite from the ice. My grandmother laughs. The end.

There are other incidents that involved bees, and I'm sure at least one of them didn't entail my immediate pain. I just don't understand why vegans feel it necessary to protect the striped bees. They're gonna die stabbing me in the eye anyway, so what if a few die to make tasty delicious honey for me and my bear friends. Mmm...honey. So even though they played some sort of substantial role in my life, I still want all bees to die. Horribly. With smaller bees stinging them over, and over and Macaulay Culkin in that movie with Dan Akroyd! But keep pollinating and making honey...Thanks.

Slacker has written for such fine websites as THEREDWIRE, THEBLUEWIRE, and UNDERWIRE bra.

Once, my father was eating a sandwich during a family picnic, and a hornet flew between the bread.  He bit on it and was stung repeatedly inside his mouth, making the lower half of his jaw resemble The Elephant Man.

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