My Mortal Enemy

So the wife and I took our dog to Huntington Beach. Best known to us for having a mile long stretch where dogs are allowed to play in the surf, or in the case of our dog, allowed to run away and cower in fear of the water.

Now, I'll keep this short, but just let me give you a little window into an average day in my life. While at the dog beach, we walked that mile stretch a few times to mingle with other people and their dogs. Something happened to me twice on this beach that has never happened to me before on a beach. And no, it wasn't stepping in dog shit.

I was stung by a bee. Twice. About 45 minutes apart. And where you might ask? On the bottom of my foot. Apparently, and for reasons known only to them, bees like to hang out at the water's edge, sitting in the wet sand, waiting for unsuspecting beach goers to step on them and be stung.

Let me tell you one thing about bee stings. I'm 30 years old and they still fucking hurt like a bitch.

Why the fuck are there bees by the ocean? What the fuck are they doing there? There are no flowers in sight. No pollen anywhere. Do they go to the beach to die? Or were they having a relaxing day at the beach only to be disturbed and martyred by a giant? I don't know, but insects and I have had a strained relationship from the start, particularly bees.

When I was about 7, I was taking food out to our pet rabbit's hutch in the backyard (Our rabbit's name was Stefan. Named by my sister, who at 13 wanted to marry a swedish tennis star named Stefan Edberg. She's now 33 and married to a swedish man named Stefan - some people just know what they want). I accidentally stepped on a bees nest in the ground. I was stung upwards of 20 times. There were bees in my socks.

A few years later, I found bees in my window, between the glass and the screen and we later discovered a huge hive in the attic. And by discovered, I mean I picked up a box and got the fuck stung out of me again.

Finally, when I was about 12, I was diving into my grandparents' swimming pool when I was stung on the bottom of my foot. That part of my body couldn't have been exposed for more than a second. That bee had been planning the attack all day. Timing my jumps and setting his course. He probably left a note behind, something like "I regret that have but one life to give for my hive." Asshole.

You don't think they're smart enough for that? Just ask my wife. When she was a little girl, she would spend hours in her backyard singing. Until one day, when a bee flew into her open mouth and stung her on the tongue. You think that was coincidence? I'll tell you right now, every creature in that yard - birds, insects, snails, squirrels, her dad - had a meeting and drew straws. One of them was going to put a stop to that singing. And one of them did.

And let's not even get into that time I was attacked by fire ants, because that just sucked.

I know I've heard people say that if bees disappeared off the earth, humans would die out in a few years, but fuck it. I'd rather be dead than continue to live with bees. I can certainly live without honey. And if there were no flowers, we'd all save about $50 every February. All bees do is scare us and they're more than happy to give their lives just to cause us pain. They don't serve any fucking purpose. Like Sarah Jessica Parker or softcore pornography, they're useless to the world.

The next time you see a bee, run it down and kill it. It ends now.