If I owned a Wookiee costume, I would go to Mars and scare the crap out of NASA.
I’m coming back, my friends
From the deep and bitter end
Where I was so concerned
That we would be the ones who burned
The more scared, the safer
The more grateful for the grape juice
And the wafer
I sound done
And I feel done
But I’m not done
Unless he’d give up on a lost son
I need to hear him say
You and your friends can come in
Your thoughts and that girl can come in
Your parents and brothers are here
I let them in
Who told you I wouldn’t let you all in?
You are my children
Heaven shine through the stars
The city lights and the nearest bar
Where I’ll be with my friends
Hiding from the bitter end
The armor and the weapons
Were a strange way to show them my affection
I sound done
And I feel done
But I’m not done
Unless you’d give up on a lost son
My proposed explanation for Colony Collapse Disorder is directly linked to the absurd population growth that has been overwhelming the United States in recent years. More people means more housing, and more housing means more windows. Windows, to a bee, make no sense, and many bees die with pane because they can never find a way back to the outside world that they can so clearly see yet never quite get back to. Ergo, windows kill bees.
I entered the kitchen this morning to find a huge bumble bee angstily trying to break free from this house via a large picture window. I gave him a couple of hours to use his fine wit and bee instinct to solve his dilemma, but time only frustrated him more. By noon, he lay dejected on the sill, occasionally grumbling by way of buzz and flailing his limbs helplessly. Our agrarian culture! Pollination! Honey in my tea! The ever pressing threat of Colony Collapse Disorder! I can’t allow this bee to die! I then resolved to save him.
What I failed to recall is that after The Toronto Incident several years ago, now, I am subliminally terrified of bees. I can resolve in my mind to save a bee, but once I actually get near the beast, flashbacks of that insignificant pinch, a week long swollen arm, and antibiotics that, oh so ironically, ultimately caused me to break out in hives return to consciousness. Somehow, I am afraid of this mild mannered little pollinator, covered in soft fur and smaller than my thumb! My tank top left my arms so vulnerable. Regardless, fear is for pansies. I caught him between a cup and a plate, and he let out as close to a yelp as a bee can. He flew circularly within the cup madly, madly, captive and without hope… I freed him by a thriving azalea bush. How sweet it is.
On a vaguely related note, I am pissed that Haagen Daz is now masquerading as purveyors of justice to the problem of Colony Collapse Disorder. Apparently pretending to save the environment is the marketing scheme du jour. Firstly, no one really know for sure what causes Colony Collapse Disorder (let alone how to solve it). Secondly, I hate Haagen Daz for being so ineffably rude to Ben & Jerry’s back in the day. Seriously, what expletives. Who’s afraid of the Pillsbury Dough Boy? Not I.
Don’t do whatever Haagen Daz wants you to do to “save the bees”. Just free them when they’re stuck in windows. That is all I ask.
