It wasn’t a very good idea to put a dead bee on his pee-pee. But he did it anyway. And you’ll never guess what happened: it stung him. Stung him right in the pee-pee. The bee wasn’t fully dead, as you must have suspected by now. It had been tormented into a state of shock, and lay in its hospice bed, making its peace with God, awaiting Jesus Bee’s appearance at the end of the tunnel of light and honey. With its last breath, the bee had its revenge on mankind, hoping to render at least one 1st grade boy infertile for eternity.

From the bee’s perspective, I guess we humans are pretty horrible—alternately eating their honey, yelling at them, and smashing their brains. Usually the mere flash of the stinger is enough to ward us off, but when it’s not, the bee nobly gives up its own life to instill fear in us on behalf of its own species . . .kinda like gangs are forced to do when bandanas and droopy pants fail to scare us.

A whole big funny laughing screaming group of us were dancing around after school, outside the day care’s garage door. We were red and sweaty having raced down the hill from the bus stop. The bad boy saw the bee dancing on the clover, licking out the nectar, purring contentedly. 

So he started beating the grass with his coat. The bee was fast, but so was the boy. The bee began swerving erratically, but so did the boy. The bee seemed kinda like an angry drunk, but so did the boy. Some of us began backing up, and some of us with a passion for social justice asked him to stop it and leave the bee alone.

But he was a bad boy, so he didn’t listen. Some people only learn through painful consequences, and the bee must have perceived that this boy was just such a one. Apparently it wasn’t enough of a victory to have exhausted and maimed the bee. It wasn’t even enough to gloat over its motionless black and yellow body. No, the ultimate expression of fearlessness was to pick up the bee and put it on the most vulnerable region of the male anatomy. The girls turned away screaming and the boys covered their mouths wincing. That was exactly the response needed to fuel the bad boy to penile devastation.

The only eyewitnesses to the animal rights violation were the bad boy and the bee, yet every child there that day has vivid memories of the events leading up to that bloody shriek and the subsequent embarrassing first aid administered by the day care worker. Boy was she confused trying to piece together the story between the bad boy’s sobs and the other kid’s hysterical laughter.

After that, the bad boy moved away and became a good boy. Must have been a real turning point in his life. I guess that’s the hope we all cherish for our stupidest moments.