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| Alarmingly Strange Stories |
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Journal of a Foolish Thief |
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| . The bees supposedly know how to work as an organized group and desire nothing except to brutally sting people to death. Knowing this ahead of time may just save my life. I'm glad I can count on Jekk to keep me informed and to filter rumors out from facts when he hears new buzzes from the streets. Anyway, I'm set to take care of all basic security systems and I'll be specially prepared to deal with the new challenge awaiting me. I built a bee-proof suit. I built it from blankets, old clothes, a fishing net, and many other odds and ends, and there isn't even a crack that the bees could get through. The masky-helmety thing is even more impressive. Over my face and head will be a helmet-mask made from a gas mask, goggles and a football helmet. It is especially secure since the bees (which are probably trained) would likely go for my face; it's an obvious human weak point. Also, I will enter equipped with a super soaker filled with bug spray so that I can rain death on the killer bees during our upcoming epic battle for the gold that symbolizes capitalism in our country, the purest and thickest gold bars that can be found anywhere. I can hardly wait until I hit that room, I can picture it right now: Passive defenses come on, the bees come pouring through tiny slits in the walls and I'm enveloped in the swarm. I whip out my anti-bee soaker and spray it back and forth, causing large groups of bees to fall to the ground, critically injured. They'll be all over my suit, crawling around and looking for any place that they could crawl through and plant their stingers in my flesh. They will not succeed. And after all the bees are dead I would have to take on the queen herself. In my fantasy (soon to become reality), active security kicks in at that point and people coming running to the external entry halls while the queen bee blocks the door, glaring at me and growling. I grit my teeth and run towards it and just as it leaps out, ready to tear through my suit with its' enlarged stinger, I dive to the side, swinging my arm in a wide arc and blasting the monster with my soaker of doom. And while the queen convulses on the ground, I'll point my gun at it and pause before firing to say something really clever, like "To bee or not to bee: That is the question." Or perhaps more gangsterish: "You bee dead." After that it will be smooth sailing, all the way to the gold. . |
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