The greedy ass bee

This is a story of a bee. A desperate little insect who had not yet fulfilled his life’s purpose. Which is, as you can learn here, fucking the female worker bees. The only thing that male bees do is wait around to have sex. Then they get to die. Happy, but without their penises. Which is okay because I hear that in bee heaven, you are met with like 99 bee virgins and pa colmo the bee gods give you 99 shiny, new, erect penises (that never fall off) with which to fuck them. AND in bee heaven, the bee bitches don’t get pregnant.

This is a story of a bee.

Bee was the last one to hatch. He struggled with life. And so his big brothers made fun of him incessantly. Right after his older brothers had sex and just before they would die, they would ridicule him. “What?! You ain’t fucked yet!? You pussy ass lady bug!” “Fucking is the shiiiiiitt,” they would say as their wings stopped flapping and they spiraled erratically down to the ground, gripping the empty space where their penises used to stand proudly. Cough cough. Spittle spittle. Death death. Plop.

All of Bee’s brothers had died and he was still waiting. Waiting to give his all to that one lucky worker bee. “She’ll never know what’s coming to her,” he would say to himself. “Imma give it to her so good! Oh man!” he would say as he humped flowers, moths, old people, tree branches or anything else that stood still long enough for him to practice on.

Then one day, he saw her. She was beautiful. Huge. The biggest ass he’d ever seen. Calm. Not running around pollinating shit or fixing the hive or doing the eight million other things that worker bees do. She was chillin on the rug. Waiting to be taken by him.

Bee started to sweat.

“Ohmanohmanohmanohmanohman! This is it Bee,” he said to himself, slicking his hair back and practicing his thrusts. “This fine little thing, well big really, is gonna be the next QUEEN. My pretty little queen BEE! And she’s gonna have my babies! And, and, and fuck all my brothers who hated on me before!”

Bee took a deep breath and slowly approached his fine, young selection.

“Don’t fuck it up Don’t fuck it up Don’t fuck it up Don’t fuck it up Don’t fuck it up.”

As he buzzed down towards her, he had a liberating realization. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. This is what he was born for. Why be worried? If he was bad in the sack, he wouldn’t have been born to fuck. This was his calling and this female was calling him. It was perfect. He could feel it: starting in his abdomen, traveling up his thorax and tingling his antennae. It was right. So he stopped hesitating and descended rapidly on the worker bee in waiting, his penis engorged with expectation.

As he approached, he took in all of her bright yellowness and blackness. She was beautiful and bright. He smelled her: sweet as brown sugar. He got closer and he could feel her heat as it radiated from her body: steaming. And as he entered her (SEX!) he was so enveloped in emotion, he felt as if he were drowning. Her vagina so hot and smooth it seemed to melt the skin off his penis…

Wait. W. T. F???

"Melt the skin off my penis! Pa’l carajo!"

All it took was a moment (the moment in which he opened his eyes) to realize that something was terribly terribly off. Why is this female hard and shiny and not soft and furry. Why is she like…like liquid?

Why?!? Why?!? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!? Blub blub blub. Gurgle gurgle gurgle. Death death death.

That’s what you get for trying to fuck my coffee cup you greedy ass bee:

His sweet, sweet love.

His bitter, bitter demise.