Why Bumble Bees are Jerkwads

There are more bugs, insects and arachnids on this planet than there are people. That fact alone terrifies me. Especially in the spring/summer months.

And unlike most people, I really hate the spring and summer months. Not because the sun ruins my beautiful winter moon-glow and I sweat from crevices that naturally shouldn't sweat. Although those are two more good reasons to hate May through September. I hate em because of the hordes of crawling, flying, burrowing bugs that insist on pissing me off.

The bastards that annoy me the most are the bees. The big fat bumblebees in particular. I get that they are part of the Earth's plan to help pollinate the flowers and keep food production humming. But after centuries of evolution, can someone explain to me why they are jerkwads?

They fly around my porch which is made of stone and there are NO FLOWERS around at all. And still they hover around my head and attack me for no reason.

I'm not a flower or a plant that needs pollinating so reproduction can occur. I'm a 50 plus woman who through a procedure known to most women as, "Shut up and yank that shit out. It's as if a baby seal is bludgeoned in my pants every month."  

I have been unfertilized and I'm happy to be so.

But for weeks this one particular bumble bee, who was bulked up on steroids and extra cheese pizza, would wait until I would come home from work and harass me to the point of insanity.

It started with simply ramming me in the head with it's nasty bee body...daily. So I bought a tennis racked and threatened it. For awhile it worked. It feared me. I thought, "Yes, puny bee bastard, fear me! For I am bigger than you and have a tennis racket." Even though I knew my aim was so bad that  hitting the toilet while sitting down to pee was often a challenge. I'm embarassed to admit I peed in my own face once.

Eventually, It sensed my false bravado.

Last week the attacks became violent. One particular blow to my head knocked me to the ground! But it didn't end there. The bumble bee took advantage of the situation and rifled through my purse stealing my last two-dollars and a Canadian penny from my wallet. Apparently, this bee pays a disenfranchised Chinese bee to pollinate shit for him! I was appalled. Even the damn bees are outsourcing their services, and with slave labor to boot!

The next day it cornered me at the top of my porch steps. This time it was wearing a ski mask. I didn't risk telling the buzzing thug that its anonymity was lost on me and the mask was kinda pointless. Truthfully, I couldn't pick its fuzzy yellow and black bumblebee ass out of a line-up.

But what was worse was that he was high on some sort of 'bee' crack. You could tell by the way he was flying sideways, slurring his buzzes and occassionally resting on my porch wall. At one point he defecated on himself. I took that opportunity to run into my house. He just sat on the wall for while and eyeballed me. I couldn't be certain but I think he was stuck in his own poop. Secretly, I laughed.

Now I have to drive around the block a few times before I pull into my driveway to make sure this thug bee is off roughing up one of the neighbors. I think it pressured the lady next door into a life of prostitution. But the joke is on that stupid bee. She's 89 and was just diagnosed with some sort of aggressive skin cancer of the labia or elbow. He may only get two or three good months out of her.

Twas the Shite Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas 

I was tossing in bed

As the bourbon spiked eggnog hosted

a rave in my head

Those shots of Christmas cheer were so yummy and so sweet

Until I puked in the kids’ stockings 

and on my drunk husband’s feet

As I struggled in bed

I knew what was the matter

Those damn sugar plums were dancing 

on my booze filled bladder 

So, I crept out of bed, not to wake my snoring spouse 

He's so fucking loud-  I want to sucker punch him in the mouth. (But it’s Christmas so I won't)

I shuffled down the hall, impatient for relief

I stopped in my tracks when I smelled some 

((sniff- sniff)) 

hot beef

Had I left something cooking, was the crackpot still on?

But why was it wafting from the powder room john?

I gripped the glass knob to the old bathroom door

There, rang a loud fart, a low grunt, and one fart more

I nervously knocked 

wondering who was inside

A voice chuckled, "ho-ho" followed by a meek, "occupiiiied"

I couldn’t believe it, it just couldn’t be true

This year’s number one present, was Santa’s number two

As my fists hit the door, I heard a woosh and a flush

As I barged in the room, Santa had left in a rush

The toilet seat was left up, my good hand towels in the sink 

There were cookie crumbs on my throw rug

and ‘Oh Holy Night’ did it stink

I lit scented candles

and wondered 

how’d he slipped out of sight

The room bore no windows…

Bastard slid down the shit pipe!

How rude, I exclaimed as I sat down to pee

When I heard Santa swearing

"Da’ fucks happening to me?"

Oh no, my mistake, I completely forgot

The plate of cookies he gobbled was loaded with pot

I should've felt awful, poor Santa was wasted

But he stunk up the bathroom so bad 

I could taste it

I did hear him exclaim as he flew through the night

What’d ya put in those cookies 

I have 15 reindeer- right?

Merry Christmas St. Nicholas

you jolly old elf

The next time you visit 

keep your FARTS, to yourself. 

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