How I spent my Sunday

This weekend consisted of me writing yet another paper.

So, this morning, I’m up early, reading on my backyard porch when these annoying ass carpenter bees start buzzing by my shit.

This is a problem for several obvious reasons, most significantly: I’m absurdly allergic to bees.

Well, disregarding personal safety for my reading comfort, I decide it’s a good idea to take down the bee colony one by one with a badminton racquet. Okay, I know a lot of you are like, “What are you? Six years old...” Well, you know what, shut up assface, it’s fun.

So I roll up to the nest hanging from my garage, talking MAD shit. I’m like, “Oh, bees, you wanna go? It’s on! Lets do this fuckers!” The bees didn’t seem to care. So, to get things started, I threw a rock at the nest. (Then abruptly ran away, hands covering my head.) When I ventured back, racquet ready for swatting, like ten bees have rolled out, sleeves up, ready for a brawl in my driveway.

So I started swatting like a mofo. I’m sending bees ricocheting off my garage, off the concrete, off other bees. I’m dodging stings. I’m out of control.

At this point, a small body count is building up, and I’m feeling AWESOME about myself. I’m taunting them, doing a little touchdown dance.

Then my neighbor walks out of his house, looking flabbergasted. Here’s what you have to know about my neighbor: he’s like a hundred and thirty years old. He stares at me, repulsed, as I take several more swings. I’m distracted so the swings are straight up air balls.

Finally he asks, bluntly, “What are you? Drunk?”

This is a sad commentary on what my neighbor thinks of me. Keep in mind, this whole charade is occurring at around 10a.m. on a Sunday morning. So, by asking if I’m drunk, he’s implying I:

a.) drink by myself

b.) started drinking at like 7 in the morning

c.) got drunk and decided it was a good idea to swing a badminton racquet for no apparent reason

Immediately, I had to set to record straight. “Actually,” I said, not even giving him the decency of casual eye contact, “I’m killing bees, thank you very much.”

He continued to stare at me for a couple more minutes, then concluded, “You’re sick, fella” and walked back into his house.

Well, can my neighbor claim he killed these bees with his own bare hands?