Dude, fuck bees. I don’t do bees. I don’t care if that makes me a pussy. I’m not a bee guy, and anybody who is should be viewed as a psychopath. I watched that whole video, and it made me bug out. Started itching my neck and shit, feeling my own body to make sure no bees somehow got through the computer screen and into my office.
When I was a kid, I didn’t fear the boogeyman, the monster under my bed, the serial killer in my closet or the ghost in my attic. My fear was playing Little League, standing in right field, and having a bunch of bees buzzing around me. And you can’t run away from them because you’re in the middle of playing a game, and all of your friends will see how big of a pussy you are, so you’re basically forced to stand right there, which is in the direct path of absolute bee destruction.
But I’d do my best. Fuck, there’s bees out here. Welp, I’m gonna shift to the right. Yeah, but it’s a left-handed hitter. You’re too close to center. Yeah, well it looks like his stance is a little closed. Might be trying to go the other way. Just let me handle it. Kid grounds out to short, and I look like a genius instead of a huge pussy. I’m so glad I was blessed with one one thousandth of the talent that it takes to get the major leagues, because I would’ve retired if I had to deal with swarms of bees during spring training. I’ll take my signing bonus and hang out at my mediocre house where there are no bees.