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My ears are plugged. I was at a party a while ago and the music was so loud my ears compensated by making more wax.

"What are you trying to do," I cried, "build a hive!"

A hive! Where are the bees? Where is the honey? You want hive? Go to the meadow, bitch. You're for hearing, listening, providing information. You are one of the sense organs. Do not cater to bees! Well, my lamentations would go unheard, which is strange, since it was ear, and that is all hear. It was mere hours before the queen bee arrived. The ol' wench, with a tiny suitcase. Her wig and pearls askew from the flight, and the body guards she brought were more than obnoxious.

"Is this it? Is this it?" She asked, as she tried repositioning her wig.

"Yes, madame. We are here." One said, and in they crawled, all three of them into my hive of an ear. Then came the eggs. Now my head is a hive of activity, pardon the pun. The bees are quite rude walking where they want. Soon my other ear will be their bitch, and I will be left with nothing but the hum of their wings, and my own brain matter. I would mind more if it weren't for my hatred for all noise except the sound of crickets. If my ears were a bog, boy, I'd be in heaven.

"What will happen in winter, bees?" I ask them, and laugh a little. "You'll die, is what," and I snicker a little more.

I have planted flowers in my room, and those have been pollinated fully. I leave my window open, and the bees seems content. I'm actually growing quite attached to them, literally and emotionally. Sure, I can no longer hear anything, but when you have a swarming bee hive for a head you command a certain respect. For instance, I wanted a particular movie from the video store the other day, and the boy said they didn't have it, quite rudely. Since I can't hear the sound of my voice, I have to yell, and I yelled: "Attack!" The boy ran and hid. The bees didn't attack, unfortunately, since the boy wasn't made of flowers, and there was nothing they wanted, but everyone knows the sting of a bee, and that reminder is enough to make boys, and men, run like hell.

The best part is all the free honey. I have honey with every meal now, and I must say, it gives me a certain zing. After eating it, I always have to resist the urge to run outside and hump the flora. "Don't hump the flora," I tell myself. "Just don't. It's counter productive. The flowers will only get squished, and my wiener will only get scratched." Despite my conscious, the urge is still there, and it's strong. I won't relate my afternoon romps in the flower patch in the name of decency, saying only they were mad, like a drunken rampage.

The bees are looking for more territory to conquer and call their own. They're exploring my nose. Their eyeing my mouth. The queen, that whoor, is rubbing her dirty little hands together and imagining lounging in my gullet. Fool, doesn't she know that could kill me? And then what? A corpse hive? You'll have to compete with the maggots, queen, and the decomposing hand of time.

Although summer has not even arrived, I have never looked so forward to winter since I found out what Christmas was. At night I'm afraid I won't make it till morning. The buzzing, the most deadly of hypnotics, threatens an eternal sleep. Bees are smart, friends. There is no doubt in my mind that somehow, being so close to the brain, they could somehow synthesize the honey with my blood directly, bypassing the process of digestion, making me their monster. Already I can translate their wants and needs; in the horrors of sleep that ability would only amplify. You would see a crazed man with a grotesque growth on his head, in a desolate field, frolicking, as you drove by on the way to grandma's, and you would suspect to see the wildest, happiest of grins plastered across his face, but no, his eyes would be dead and his grin would be turned upside down. His movements like some kind of deranged puppet. That man would be me, but without a mind. Just some bitch, for his keeper, the bees. The future is bleak. But at least there is honey. Sweet, sweet honey.


sybil law said...

I LOVE honey, so I would be very happy living with you.
So I take it, with all the local, free honey, that your allergies probably don't bother you at all (assuming you had them). I heard local honey eases allergies.

Asylum Dolly said...

This is such a strange and awesome story! I want to own a book full of your weird and wonderful tales.

Mmm, honey...I feel the urge to lick your ear.(haha, i just realised that sounds like i just called you honey, and i want to just lick your ear for the fun of it.) Actually, that's a good plan- you could find chicks that love honey, and they will be doing all sorts of kinky things to get at your honey! Maybe i could pick up some man action using the same technique? I'm going outside now to seek out some jackhammers to stand really close to. Then i will stand in the garden and wait.

John Dantzer said...

Sybil - My hay fever has cleared up!

Bon - Thanks! Calling me honey and wanting to lick my ear, I should write honey stories more often. At first I didn't understand why you will be standing next to jackhammers. I thought it was an australian slang word for bees, then I remembered that jackhammers are loud, and things fell into place. That sounds like a good idea. Or you could hire someone to yell at you loudly for a while. That might be a bit of a downer, though.

Asylum Dolly said...

haha! :D I think i will start referring to bees as jackhammers, just to be random.And in turn, i will call jackhammers bees.
Yes, more honey stories. Although it could get out of hand. You're lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it)i live all the way over here in Aus so my tongue can't actually reach you. Watch out for Gene Simmons- I've heard he LOVES honey.

John Dantzer said...

I think I'll start calling jackhammers bees too so that people will think I'm nutso. Your tongue can't reach half way around the world!? Mine can. Sometimes I send it out for a licking and taste vegemite, and I know where he's been. Sometimes I taste samosas. So, if you ever see my tongue searching around for lickables, go ahead and stick it in your ear.

JMH said...

That's a great last line for a comment. I'm laughing myself sick.

I don't know what I was going to say.

Something something honey something something God something something vague innuendo.

Asylum Dolly said...

Cool! I'll wash my ears and place a chocolate or two in there especially.