The Assistant Beekeeper
"I can remember a time when I wasn't being stung to death by bees." Jack Trivins growled, shooting the assistant beekeeper a pointed look. "It was just about ten seconds ago--when I told you to be careful lifting the lid of that hive."
"Sir!" The assistant beekeeper moaned, fear and remorse quavering his already unsteady voice. "The bees, they're stinging you to death."
"You always were an observant one." Jack Trivins chuckled, and the rising welts twisted his sneer into a demonic parody of mirth.
"Shall I run to the shed for the smoke blower?" The assistant wailed.
"You mean the shed that's a mile down the path and back?"
"Yes. Shall I fetch it?"
"Oh, that's a great plan." Jack Trivins winced and dropped to his knees. "What a comfort to know you'll be back in twenty minutes to blow the bees off my corpse."
"There's no need to be sarcastic sir." The assistant cried, flapping his hands about and trying to look helpful. "Just please tell me what I can do?"
Jack Trivins fixed his assistant with a steady gaze--then eighteen bees simultaneously stung his right eye and Jack had to make do with fixing him with a steady wink.
"You want to help?" Jack asked.
"Oh yes sir, more than anything."
"Okay, tell you what-" Jack shuddered and flopped to the ground on his chin. "Here's what you can do." He burbled, through mouthfuls of bees and mud. "Go back in time about a minute and don't knock that giant stack of hives over onto me. That would be a big help."
Warm tears sprang to the assistant's eyes, propelled by a special shame that only accidental murderers can know.
"I can't time travel." The assistant whispered.
Jack Trivins shrugged and closed his remaining eye. "Guess what assistant beekeeper?" He gasped, and his assistant had to strain to hear. "Every bee that stung me is also going to die--good luck ever staring yourself in the mirror again."
"Please don't die Jack Trivins!" The assistant beekeeper wailed into a buzzing, yellow swarm.
But he was wailing at Jack's corpse by then, and by dusk a hundred thousand bees had joined him.
posted by Latigo Flint @ 11:36 PM
8 comments
8 Comments:
I think I worked with that assistant bee keeper. Or at least his doppleganger. In any event, somebody killed my uncle and my aunt swears it wasn't her.
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!
If ol' Jack done hired that assistant beekeeper hisself, then he's only got hisself to blame.
They can't all be good days.
Hahahahahahaha!
Just get introduced to a guy and 3 minutes later he's dead. Poop!
A buncha beestings to the eye: an all new horrific thought to have nightmares about.
Were they killer bees, or did the beekeeper just have an ironic allergy that he didn't let keep him from pursuing his misguided entomological dream?
Latigo, i Have thos problem where I get drunk and leave comments on peopels blogs. What do you suggest I do?
Does your aunt look up and to the left as she claims it, Amandarama? (If yes then she's probably just afraid the bees are coming for her now.)
You're laughing at Jack Trivins' pain Isaac?!!! Why would you do such a thing? Jack Trivins was a friend of mine.
Howdy Ghost Dog, good to see you. Been celebrating in the Steel City all this time I reckon. (True, they can't all be good days, but it's gettin' a little ridiculous at this point.)
A friend of mine Isaac, do you hear?!!!
It's a savage world Old Hoss, and don't ever let the delusional tell you otherwise.
Better bees than spiders Ari. That's what I always say. (The bees were not an Africanized strain, and neither was Jack Trivins allergic. But one hundred thousand stings do in the hardiest of men.)
That's easy Solace Layfield: What Would Latigo Do?
Answer: Drink some more, and then a little bit more, and top it off with another few drinks--then spend the rest of the night franticly swatting at things that aren't there and drooling and also drinking a little bit more when you can find the time between all the frantic swatting and drooling. And then...wait, what was the question?
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