War Against the Underground Bees Part I

This is Part I of an entertaining, true-story, 3-part series about two young boys and their war against the underground bees. (And, yes, one of the boys was me.)

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“There is a colony of underground bees in my backyard and they must be killed!” This emphatic statement made by my neighbor, Corey, was the spark that ignited our imperialistic tendencies into action.

Being young boys in elementary school with an influence from G.I. Joe and He-man, we were full of an innate desire to kill creatures, destroy structures, and eradicate populations. But we weren’t heartless brutes who would murder without reason. This was going to be a preemptive strike upon the bee nation within our boundaries. After all, my sister was deathly allergic to the creatures. Within the chasm-like labyrinth of our young, warmongering minds we reasoned that this attack would actually be in the business of saving lives (i.e., my sister’s).

I was thoroughly convinced of the need for war in an instant. We began to stealthily advance into the region now taken by the bees behind the shed. It was as if adventure, with a whisper and a wave of her hand, was beckoning us to the boarding station of this odyssey.

The bees’ capital was impressive. These winged pollinators buzzed in and out of the only entrance into the city, swiftly scurrying to and fro, each carrying out his particular task. It was an amazing sight to behold. It reminded me of an orderly highway system stretching further than the eye could see on one side and then leading into a tunnel on the other. If we had not already declared war on these mindless insects we probably would have continued to stand there in awe, jaws dropped and all, of their grand civilization in busy and precise progress.

However, the fact that we were at war with these bees fanned the fierce flames in our minds all the more. How could we have allowed such a prolific empire to form right under our noses? It needed to be uprooted—and now. Like Alaric the Visogoth sacking the great metropolis of Rome, we had visions of desolating this powerful hymenoptera realm.

After briefly discussing our military strategies, we decided upon what we thought would easily and absolutely end their beedom. Corey found a heavy stone which was the perfect size to clog the hole and shoved it into the only inlet to the underground metropolis. The swift-paced traffic flow came to an abrupt halt as bewildered worker bees immediately began to gather around the stubborn boulder. My friend began to snicker. Like a shrewd businessman, he gleefully rubbed his hands together. The battle was over, it seemed, even before the winged warriors knew what was happening.

To Be Continued.....

Free Blinking Lights!!!

What follows is what goes through my mind when I see these dumb blinking Internet ads which look like they've drunk way too much coffee!!!

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Congratulations!!!!! You are the umpteenth visitor to our website which includes absolutely no useful information whatsoever! In recognition of this amazing feat of actually viewing our hideous web page for more than a millisecond, we would like to reward you with the Umpteenth Visitor’s Award, which presently happens to be a spasmodically and erratically blinking epileptic seizure-inducing web banner!!!*

If you happen to be stupid enough to click on the neon-colored flashing web link, you may be awarded any one of a million gifts which we tried giving away to poor, starving children in Africa; but they didn’t want any of them because they couldn’t eat plastic. So you get this incredible opportunity to enjoy translucent plastic boxes the size of dominoes, perfect for storing your Mexican jumping beans collection in.**

And that’s not all!!! We will even throw in a random piece of packing paper we found somewhere deep in the recesses of our shipping department, personally autographed by a starving African child (the very same one that rejected your plastic box, perhaps).***

Also remember you have the perfect chance to brag to your friends, family and coworkers because you were the Special Umpteenth Visitor to our website and won gifts heads of state would store either deep in their treasure rooms or in Switzerland deposit boxes.**** (Just don’t inform them of certain details, such as our web address or the gifts you received from us or about the fact that you gave us your SS number without thinking twice, because they will laugh at you and call you a dork. Don’t ask us why. If you ask why, we reserve the right to invade your home with our very own SWAT team while you are sleeping and confiscate the gifts. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Didn’t think so!)

And finally, don’t forget to continue to visit our website 569,387 times a day as to increase your chances to win another Umpteenth Visitor’s Award (which next time may be Mexican jumping beans which Mexican kids rejected because they didn’t jump, but still make good goulashes). Thank you for your continued support. Your Internet naíveté pays for our site.

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* = Only while supplies last. And we cannot be held responsible if you do get a seizure. Our doctors say you will be fine, so if you do get a seizure we will sue you for saying that our doctor is a liar.

** = These supplies will last, because we lied and actually have more like a zillion (not a million) of them.

*** = We cannot confirm the veracity of this statement, but we do know that elephant tusks make great bar stool legs... Wait a second! Did I say that out loud? We are not responsible for the statement we just made, nor does it reflect our beliefs or actions toward elephants in anyway. Although they make great stew... Doooooohhhhhh!!!

**** = This statement may or may not be true. We don't really care, though, because you will not be able to find us because we are as elusive as a Trojan virus. Ha!

Retarded. Insane. Whatever.

Retarded. You heard that word a million times in elementary school. That's what you called someone who was acting "weird" or "different" or not like the "cool people" who had their jeans tightrolled snugger than a blood pressure cuff.

When you called someone "retarded," you knew you were in the "cool group." Unless you happened to call a "cool person" "retarded." This would guarantee you being tossed into the boy's room trash can. I know this from experience.

When I was a boy in grade school, I was not "cool." This was because I wore Wrangler jeans and Spaulding high tops. Everyone who has been in grade school in America (or perhaps anywhere else - I don't know) knows I am telling the truth. If you weren't sporting Levi Strauss denims and Nike basketball shoes, you were automatically thrown into an inferior caste. And so I was.

But I was not one of those young pushovers who would just sit back and let the bullies treat me like I was lower than the lint in an earthworm's belly button. I would fight back by saying things to the bullies like "I have more hair on my chest than you" or "Your momma's so fat she has to iron her pants in the driveway" or "You're retarded." And that would result in me being tossed into the trash can like I was a used-up can of Cheez Whiz. Then they added insult upon injury by calling me "retarded" and taking my Bubble Tape.

Then I grew up. This was when workplace and grocery store bullies began to call me something else - something much more dark and sinister - the ultimate insult to a grownup. To be called "retarded" as a grown up is a bit juvenile and we all have a laugh and say, "Ha, ha! That was a good one! That brought me back to New Kids on the Block, Beetlejuice and $1.20 a gallon gas prices." But when someone pulls out the word "insane" toward us grownups...well...that's a different story.

Us grownups don't like being called "insane." The disdain for this word originates from the Dark Ages in Europe, when the Catholic Church would burn anyone who was remotely smart, labeling them "insane" because they would prove "heretical" things such as that apples grow on trees and that llamas spit. Us grownups don't like being burned alive today just as "heretics" didn't back then, so the word "insane" still makes us cringe.

But I never was one to go along with the grain of society (remember, I mocked bullies to their faces and called their "mommas" "fat"), so I don't really give a care if people call me "insane." I stay sane when people call me "insane" by thinking of the names of numerous influential people who were labeled "insane" by their contemporaries: Socrates, Jesus the Christ, Galileo, Copernicus, Joan of Arc, etc. These were all called "insane" by inferiors who happened to be living in their age. And retrospect is the judge that we can use to determine who was really "insane."

Perhaps some of those people were indeed "insane." But what made their names known hundreds or even thousands of years later? They stood up against the high rollers of their time, whether it were the people-burning Catholic Church or bullies with tightrolled jeans. They may have gotten burned alive or thrown in the trash can, but at least antiquity has remembered them because they stood up for what they believed was right, no matter what the consequences.

So I say this: Retarded. Insane. Whatever. I don't give a care what people think. If "insanity" is what society shuns because some big-to-do, larger-than-life nincompoop moron says it's "uncool," then I choose insanity! And give me back my Bubble Tape!

Tiananmen, Tanks and Table Tennis

'Tis the time to throw javelins. And I'm not talking about the presidential race. Although you may have a point there. You know how American presidents traditionally toss the first pitch at baseball games. (Why? I have no idea. If you know, feel free to let me know because I'm curious since we all know they can't throw worth beans.) Well, why don't we tweak that tradition just a bit and kick off track and field meets with the heave of a javelin from America's Chief Executive? Two reasons why that wouldn't work: (1) that would be about as flagrant a security risk as having the president ride a Greyhound bus in traffic like an everyday citizen and (2) there is nowhere near the fans at track and field events as at baseball games, so it wouldn't be worth the effort of bringing the 500-person entourage, including hair stylists and hired applauders.

Anyway, I am talking about the Summer Olympics! Yes! I have barely been able to keep myself together for the past four years since the 2004 Summer Olympics ended in...whatever city that was. And that one swimmer dude (American) was breaking records left and right about as easily and frequently as drinking beer in Maryland. And that's about all I remember, besides the fact that I just couldn't wait for the next one to come around, so I could make fun of the synchronized swimmers waving their legs in the air like drowning pink flamingoes.

But the real reason I've been looking forward to this year's Olympics is because of its location: Beijing, China. This is a very exciting time for the Chinese people, I am sure, because the last time the Olympics were there was way back over 2,000 years ago when Great Wall Building and Grand Canal Digging were events. This is not to be confused with the European Olympic games from around that time period, especially in Athens, where events consisted of running around naked with a javelin in hand until falling down dead, and posthumously having an unedible, leafy crown placed on the head, which withered faster than the winner's dead body.

But times have changed. We - humankind as a whole - are much more civilized today. Gone are the barbaric days of running around on dirty tracks, kicking up dust for miles, naked (although ladies' beach volleyball comes pretty close). We have kissed goodbye the years of trying to break records without the aid of performance enhancing drugs. And we can consider behind us the times when victors were euphoric about having the Green Giant wreath placed on their heads. Which is exactly why we are having the Olympics in China this summer - we're just that civilized.

Think about it. What better way to show we're civilized than to have the Olympics in China: Home of the Repressed. I mean, wasn't it just less than 20 years ago that democracy and peace-loving students were mashed beneath the treads of army tanks? Now that sounds like an interesting new Olympic event to me. Have a stadium or field or something with barriers around it with hundreds of young adults trapped inside, screaming and running for their lives from the massive tanks barrelling down upon them as they try to find some cover, kind of like the chariot races of old Rome.

But that wouldn't happen today, because we are all more civilized and respectful of human life than we were back in 1989. Ha! (Did I just say that outloud. Excuse me.) Which is exactly why the nations of the world will unite in Beijing, China for some fun, peaceful, friendly, stimulating, sporstmanlike Olympic games while the rest of the world falls apart around them like a soggy cake - we're just that civilized.

And I've heard China - in preparation for the events - has been vacuuming up the air in Beijing (all that's left of it) to make it just that much more challenging to protest. You see, they don't want to be tempted to use the tanks again, not with all the world watching. Which is why it has just come to my attention that athletes will be allowed to hold their breath during their competitions. But the Chinese are used to cities without air - they're just that civilized.

Which brings me to my final point: Will China finally win a medal in basketball? My prediction is yes. With Yao Ming and the smog on their side, how can't they? Unless they're spending all their time preparing for the table tennis games, which they have owned for the last 5,000 years. Or maybe military tank exercises, just in case the smog doesn't halt protests. But that wouldn't be civilized.