And then there were bees

With the OVERWHELMING MAJORITY of the votes from the last entry desperate for another childhood memory from my awkward days, I thought I would tell you two short stories about bees. "But Josh, bees aren't very entertaining, and we don't particularly care to hear about them!"

Well they are, and by god you will.

I will always remember the day that my little brother and I were playing outside. We were in my neighbour's backyard, playing on a pile of logs, like we always did. For the record, we had been there a lot longer than the bees, so I was surprised and confused when my brother ran away full tilt, screaming and crying.

I just realized now, as I was typing this, that you abandoned me, you asshole. You left me to die at the little scheming hands of the bees.

Fortunately, the bees liked him a lot more. Shortly after he ran, I felt a terrible stinging in the back of my leg, and suddenly I understood. It was time to fly.

My limbs burst into motion, awkwardly but speedily carrying me from the log pile to my mothers back door, where my brother had arrived just moments before.

My mother said that she opened the door, and hardly recognized us, as we were covered head to toe in little black and yellow assholes. Or something like that.

Realistically, she probably screamed something incoherent, and told us off for trying to get her killed. Oh yeah, my mom is allergic to bees. I mean, drop down dead allergic. So what does she do?

She hulks out on those assholes. She busts out the dish towel, and starts whipping them off our body like a kitchen-cloth sniper.

Anyways, we had to go to the hospital. Thankfully, she wasn't stung. My brother was stung 76 times, I was sting three or four times. I was pretty upset.

And that is why you don't assume that just because there wasn't bees there before, there won't be bees there now. Check everything. Your bed, the toilet, refrigerator. . . you can never be too careful.

Thanks ed, for the picture

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That also reminds me of the time my mom sent us both out to stack wood. There was a cloud of bees about ten feet off the ground, it was a literal buzzing ceiling of rage and stingers.

So we ran inside, screaming that the air was alive with pain or something. She didn't believe us, and sent us back outside. She thought we were just trying to get out of doing wood.

Eventually, she listened to our frenzied screams of terror. When she saw the horde of flying death, she did what anyone would do.

She called several neighbours over with their shotguns. Turns out there was a gigantic hive up in a tree, easily visible from the deck. I mean giant. Bigger than a basketball.

Standing inside, and watching several grown men just blast the fuck out of that thing with their boomsticks, all the while standing there being stung, calmly lining up their next shot to take out this invading menace. .

That is the stuff of legends. They should make it into a movie.