It was just a regular Tuesday when the incident happened.
I'd freshened the fresh flowers in my home morgue to cover up the stench of Mr Gentry, who's family bizarrely haven't been to pick him up yet, despite the fact I sent out my top messenger pigeon, Señor Bell Tower, to notify them over three weeks ago.
I put out, Señor Bell Tower's favorite dinner, mixed bread crumbs, mashed worm and for some reason chipped condor beak, for him on the roof in desperate hope that he'd finally come home, after he'd strangely failed to return after some mission I sent him on three weeks ago.
I screamed at the the kid who sits in front of my stoop shooting old ladies with his sling-shot to 'pick on something his own size' only to get the reply 'oh I do' before he started munching on a chicken drumstick, at least I thought it was chicken, but it did seem a tad small.
I went to my 'Putting 2 and 2 together' tutoring, where I finally ascended to putting 2 and 1 together, with promise that if I mastered it swiftly I may finally progress to putting the ultimate goal of 2 and 2 together before the next change of season.
And then I returned home.
As I said it was a typical Tuesday. I was feeling jovial at my speedy advancement with tutoring, and was all set to take my typical Tuesday afternoon bath in otter milk, when it happened!!!
On my way to the bathroom, hauling a massive drum of fresh, unpasteurized otter milk, I encountered a bee, Cameron the bee, who bizarrely was attempting to get into my home morgue. And an argument broke out.
'Come on man, let me in' Cameron said.
'No, my morgue is for amateur embalming, scientific study into armpit hair rigor-mortus, time elapse video of shocked faces of window washers, and a way for me to deal with the fact my pet box-jellyfish that lives in the doorbell keeps killing food delivery persons for some reason, it's NOT for bees!' I replied.
'Just let me fly around in there for a couple of minutes, please?' Pleaded Cameron.
'I said NO, plus aeronautic experts claim YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE PHYSICALLY ABLE TO FLY!' I screamed.
'YEAH WELL I'M FLYING! I'M FLYING MOTHERFUCKER! What you got to say about that?' It challenged.
'I'll tell you what, you're officially ON MY LIST!' I threatened. Although it was not just a threat it was a promise.
Unfortunately the only list I had going at the time was - Alternative job options for shadows that wish to retire from their sparring with boxers career - A list which now reads:
- Scaring children.
- Providing hiding places for licorice.
- Cameron the bee. And...
- Assisting ghosts who want to experience at least one aspect of having a body again.
And obviously that list is now more perfect even I had ever imagined, something I didn't imagine I'd achieve until noon Wednesday at best.
Yep it was a typical Tuesday, until Cameron the bee entered my life, and from there it was nothing but atypical, at least in the 'arguments with bees' department, and with it I learned a valuable lesson - arguments CAN lead to positive results.
And you know what, I'm going to remember that next time I talk to my otter milk guy, and I'm going to get right in his face and yell 'I don't care if it's "really hard to get" I want to up my order to two giant drums a week, I'm ready to up my bath game motherfucker, and if you don't like it I'm going to sick my bee on you!'