Bees Bees BEEEEEES!

Firstly, let me say this: I am an inherently lazy bastard. It's true. Look up the word lazy on wikipedia, you might see a picture of my handsomely horned mug grinning back at you. Having said that, is it really any surprise that I can't be bothered to write anything until the weekends most of the time? Besides that, very little shit happens on a day-to-day basis and I need to generate a really good head of steam before I either let loose on something or someone, or to work over the shit that did happen until it gets funny.

Now that that's out of the way, let us proceed.

I am not afeered of anything (except committement, success and failure. The last two can get to be quite funny if they start operating in tandem: I work really hard because I hate to suck, and then people start noticing how awesome I am and tell me so and then I subconsciously start to self-destruct while still trying to succeed. Oh yeah, I am fucked.) Sure, if a giant tiger or a huge rapist showed up on my doorstep looking like they wanted to do something to me, I would be concerned. I'd do all the normal things a person would do when in that situation, and once running around in circles banging my head with a plastic soup ladle didn't work, I'd move on to trying to save my life. I have done incredibly dangerous and stupid things with little or no concern ... like the time I climbed onto the roof a car, had the driver start it up, and then drive, at high speeds with no lights on, through the hills of Port Coquitlam while it was raining ... like the time we got busted by the cops for possession and I clammed up tighter than OJ ... and so on and so forth. I am reckless, but not without a quick assessment of the dangers.

The shit we blend, more often than not, has a pile of sugar in it. So much, in fact, that even people who like sugar would suggest maybe we look into less sugary methods of making our products. We get monthly cheques from the Dentist Consortium to ensure that we continue; there's a proposal on-board right now to just start shipping sugarX, the next great thing in tooth decay and obesity. Everything we use comes in a package, because if it didn't, we'd have a real hard time with mixing and blending. We'd have to use our hands and shit, and that doesn't strile me as a good deal. All of those packages, containers, cardboard boxes and whatthefuckever else stuff gets put into needs to go out into the garbage cans outside. We produce so much waste that I have to empty massive totefulls of crap two or three times an hour.

In and of itself, this sucks major ass. I am not the sort of person who thinks to himself 'Hey, this place needs cleaning up' and 'Hey, this garbage can is kind of full'. It takes a major exertion of effort to change my socks, so why in the hell would I volunteer to throw out garbage? Ordinarily, I wouldn't, but since I want to drive the forklift into walls and nearly flip the thing every now and again (seriously ... I took a corner too fast day before yesterday and the fucking machine was on one wheel for three feet ... my boss looked like he shit himself when he saw it), I am the designated garbage chucker, unless I can find some Express Zombies to do it for me. And then it's all ... "Do this, slave, or I will make you hoist yourself by your own petard".

As the garbage containers are outside, they are affected by Nature. I don't even want to get into what happens to the combined ingredients of thirteen different products when they are blasted randomly by rain, sun, rain again and then some guys urine (TRUE! Some truck driver took a piss on my garbage cans yesterday so I called his dispatcher and unloaded.), but it's pretty gross. When you throw kilo after kilo of sugar a garbage can, bees will show up.

A bee is not scary. It isn't. After all, we are roughly one zillion times it's size. Sure, it's stinger can hurt us, but hell, it's only one bee. If we want, we can go walk away or swat the fuckin' thing.

Hundreds of bees, all hopped on sugar, is another matter. And when I say hundreds, I really, really mean more than three hundred bees.

At the beginning of the week, the freakin' insects were tiny. They were kind of cute. Tiny little baby bees all zipping and zooming around the garbage container, freaking out at the unexpected bonanza of mountains of sugar. It really was like looking at a fat kid in a candy shop. Or a fat man who lives in his mom's basement in a comic shop on 'Next Issue Day'.

That changed. Rapidly.

You know how Bruce Banner got zapped by gamma radiation and turned into the Hulk?

Same thing.

The cute lil' baby bees turned into giant monsters with wings that flap slowly overhead, blotting out the sun and heralding the coming of the Great Dark Ones who slumber behind the Sun. They became the kind of bees that would hunt William Shatner down in a cheezy 1970's man vs. mutated bugmonster movie. If an Africanized bee showed up looking to lay down some nasty bee-sex and make some more Africanized killer bees, these motherfuckers'd just pull out their Insect Hierarchy Stinger Cannon of Doom and blow the shit right out of that frickin' tourist bee. In short, I experienced a moment or two of nervousness when I had to throw out the garbage.

The other day, someone neglected to throw some totes full of garbage into the container. After doing some local recon and determining that the threat factor was pretty low, I grabbed hold of tote number one and got ready to chuck it.

Has anyone else ever seen a column of bees outside a Disney cartoon? I have. It's not comical, and the only shape they took as they swarmed around me was a SWARM OF GIANT BEES. There were no arrows, no humoursly shaped hammers, nothing other than a SWARM OF BEES THAT ARE GIANT. I have never stood so still in my life. (I lie ... I perfected the art of not swaying and staggering when being 'interviewed' on the sidewalk by police officers). Eventually the mondo bees decided that I wasn't a threat and went about the business of genetically engineering a new species of bee that can change color.

I went inside and told everyone I could find that if I got stung, I was going home. And I meant it. Luckily, there was no stinging, although one bee did decide to fly right into my earhole. It was one of the hardest things ever to resist the instictual urge to slap.

Bees. BEES. BEEEEEES. At the end of the week, the bees and I signed an historical document wherein they promised to spare me and my loved ones from the pollen farms so long as I continued to bring the massive amounts of the raw sugar they require to bootstrap themselves into the next evolutionary phase. If any of you out there come across a bee, I encourage you to be as friendly as possible, because although they aren't our Overlords yet, they soon will bee.

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY BEES, GIVER OF HONEY AND SLAYER OF MAN!!