Bliss and Rose, you have not met a bee like my bee. I was sitting at my table inside my apartment, minding my own business, eating a sandwich, when a bee stung me on the tender area of flesh right behind where my arm meets my body. I was an innocent sandwich eater. This Super-Alien-Bee stung me for no good reason that I could see, other than that he was a son-of-a-bitch. There was no arm flailing. There was no screaming or freaking out. Just unilateral violence.
I felt only coldness as I watched him lay dying, wretching and rolling around on the floor, coughing and moaning like the miserable motherf***er he was.
Don't come crying to me if his cousins seek revenge on your armpits, Bliss and Rose. I will show you no more compassion than you have shown me, you cold, cold, icy-hearted wenches.
|