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D.H. Lawrence | from:English

The Rocking-Horse Winner

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: “She is such a good mother. She adores her children.” Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each other’s eyes.

There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighbourhood.

Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went into town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialised. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother said: “I will see if I can’t make something.” But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll’s house, a voice would start whispering: “There must be more money! There must be more money!” And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other’s eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. “There must be more money! There must be more money!”

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: “There must be more money!”

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: “We are breathing!” in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

“Mother,” said the boy Paul one day, “why don’t we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle’s, or else a taxi?”

“Because we’re the poor members of the family,” said the mother.

“But why are we, mother?”

“Well – I suppose,” she said slowly and bitterly, “it’s because your father has no luck.”

The boy was silent for some time.

“Is luck money, mother?” he asked, rather timidly.

“No, Paul. Not quite. It’s what causes you to have money.”

“Oh!” said Paul vaguely. “I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money.”

“Filthy lucre does mean money,” said the mother. “But it’s lucre, not luck.”

“Oh!” said the boy. “Then what is luck, mother?”

“It’s what causes you to have money. If you’re lucky you have money. That’s why it’s better to be born lucky than rich. If you’re rich, you may lose your money. But if you’re lucky, you will always get more money.”

“Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?”

“Very unlucky, I should say,” she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Nobody ever knows why one person is lucky and another unlucky.”

“Don’t they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?”

“Perhaps God. But He never tells.”

“He ought to, then. And are’nt you lucky either, mother?”

“I can’t be, it I married an unlucky husband.”

“But by yourself, aren’t you?”

“I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed.”

“Why?”

“Well – never mind! Perhaps I’m not really,” she said.

The child looked at her to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

“Well, anyhow,” he said stoutly, “I’m a lucky person.”

“Why?” said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

He stared at her. He didn’t even know why he had said it.

“God told me,” he asserted, brazening it out.

“I hope He did, dear!”, she said, again with a laugh, but rather bitter.

“He did, mother!”

“Excellent!” said the mother, using one of her husband’s exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. This angered him somewhere, and made him want to compel her attention.

He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to ‘luck’. Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When he had ridden to the end of his mad little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

“Now!” he would silently command the snorting steed. “Now take me to where there is luck! Now take me!”

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there.

“You’ll break your horse, Paul!” said the nurse.

“He’s always riding like that! I wish he’d leave off!” said his elder sister Joan.

But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow, he was growing beyond her.

One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

“Hallo, you young jockey! Riding a winner?” said his uncle.

“Aren’t you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You’re not a very little boy any longer, you know,” said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop and slid down.

“Well, I got there!” he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

“Where did you get to?” asked his mother.

“Where I wanted to go,” he flared back at her.

“That’s right, son!” said Uncle Oscar. “Don’t you stop till you get there. What’s the horse’s name?”

“He doesn’t have a name,” said the boy.

“Get’s on without all right?” asked the uncle.

“Well, he has different names. He was called Sansovino last week.”

“Sansovino, eh? Won the Ascot. How did you know this name?”

“He always talks about horse-races with Bassett,” said Joan.

The uncle was delighted to find that his small nephew was posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell, whose batman he had been, was a perfect blade of the ‘turf’. He lived in the racing events, and the small boy lived with him.

Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

“Master Paul comes and asks me, so I can’t do more than tell him, sir,” said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were speaking of religious matters.

“And does he ever put anything on a horse he fancies?”

“Well – I don’t want to give him away – he’s a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself? He sort of takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps he’d feel I was giving him away, sir, if you don’t mind.

Bassett was serious as a church.

The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car.

“Say, Paul, old man, do you ever put anything on a horse?” the uncle asked.

The boy watched the handsome man closely.

“Why, do you think I oughtn’t to?” he parried.

“Not a bit of it! I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln.”

The car sped on into the country, going down to Uncle Oscar’s place in Hampshire.

“Honour bright?” said the nephew.

“Honour bright, son!” said the uncle.

“Well, then, Daffodil.”

“Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. What about Mirza?”

“I only know the winner,” said the boy. “That’s Daffodil.”

“Daffodil, eh?”

There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.

“Uncle!”

“Yes, son?”

“You won’t let it go any further, will you? I promised Bassett.”

“Bassett be damned, old man! What’s he got to do with it?”

“We’re partners. We’ve been partners from the first. Uncle, he lent me my first five shillings, which I lost. I promised him, honour bright, it was only between me and him; only you gave me that ten-shilling note I started winning with, so I thought you were lucky. You won’t let it go any further, will you?”

The boy gazed at his uncle from those big, hot, blue eyes, set rather close together. The uncle stirred and laughed uneasily.

“Right you are, son! I’ll keep your tip private. How much are you putting on him?”

“All except twenty pounds,” said the boy. “I keep that in reserve.”

The uncle thought it a good joke.

“You keep twenty pounds in reserve, do you, you young romancer? What are you betting, then?”

“I’m betting three hundred,” said the boy gravely. “But it’s between you and me, Uncle Oscar! Honour bright?”

“It’s between you and me all right, you young Nat Gould,” he said, laughing. “But where’s your three hundred?”

“Bassett keeps it for me. We’re partner’s.”

“You are, are you! And what is Bassett putting on Daffodil?”

“He won’t go quite as high as I do, I expect. Perhaps he’ll go a hundred and fifty.”

“What, pennies?” laughed the uncle.

“Pounds,” said the child, with a surprised look at his uncle. “Bassett keeps a bigger reserve than I do.”

Between wonder and amusement Uncle Oscar was silent. He pursued the matter no further, but he determined to take his nephew with him to the Lincoln races.

“Now, son,” he said, “I’m putting twenty on Mirza, and I’ll put five on for you on any horse you fancy. What’s your pick?”

“Daffodil, uncle.”

“No, not the fiver on Daffodil!”

“I should if it was my own fiver,” said the child.

“Good! Good! Right you are! A fiver for me and a fiver for you on Daffodil.”

The child had never been to a race-meeting before, and his eyes were blue fire. He pursed his mouth tight and watched. A Frenchman just in front had put his money on Lancelot. Wild with excitement, he flayed his arms up and down, yelling “Lancelot!, Lancelot!” in his French accent.

Daffodil came in first, Lancelot second, Mirza third. The child, flushed and with eyes blazing, was curiously serene. His uncle brought him four five-pound notes, four to one.

“What am I to do with these?” he cried, waving them before the boys eyes.

“I suppose we’ll talk to Bassett,” said the boy. “I expect I have fifteen hundred now; and twenty in reserve; and this twenty.”

His uncle studied him for some moments.

“Look here, son!” he said. “You’re not serious about Bassett and that fifteen hundred, are you?”

“Yes, I am. But it’s between you and me, uncle. Honour bright?”

“Honour bright all right, son! But I must talk to Bassett.”

“If you’d like to be a partner, uncle, with Bassett and me, we could all be partners. Only, you’d have to promise, honour bright, uncle, not to let it go beyond us three. Bassett and I are lucky, and you must be lucky, because it was your ten shillings I started winning with …”

Uncle Oscar took both Bassett and Paul into Richmond Park for an afternoon, and there they talked.

“It’s like this, you see, sir,” Bassett said. “Master Paul would get me talking about racing events, spinning yarns, you know, sir. And he was always keen on knowing if I’d made or if I’d lost. It’s about a year since, now, that I put five shillings on Blush of Dawn for him: and we lost. Then the luck turned, with that ten shillings he had from you: that we put on Singhalese. And since that time, it’s been pretty steady, all things considering. What do you say, Master Paul?”

“We’re all right when we’re sure,” said Paul. “It’s when we’re not quite sure that we go down.”

“Oh, but we’re careful then,” said Bassett.

“But when are you sure?” smiled Uncle Oscar.

“It’s Master Paul, sir,” said Bassett in a secret, religious voice. “It’s as if he had it from heaven. Like Daffodil, now, for the Lincoln. That was as sure as eggs.”

“Did you put anything on Daffodil?” asked Oscar Cresswell.

“Yes, sir, I made my bit.”

“And my nephew?”

Bassett was obstinately silent, looking at Paul.

“I made twelve hundred, didn’t I, Bassett? I told uncle I was putting three hundred on Daffodil.”

“That’s right,” said Bassett, nodding.

“But where’s the money?” asked the uncle.

“I keep it safe locked up, sir. Master Paul he can have it any minute he likes to ask for it.”

“What, fifteen hundred pounds?”

“And twenty! And forty, that is, with the twenty he made on the course.”

“It’s amazing!” said the uncle.

“If Master Paul offers you to be partners, sir, I would, if I were you: if you’ll excuse me,” said Bassett.

Oscar Cresswell thought about it.

“I’ll see the money,” he said.

They drove home again, and, sure enough, Bassett came round to the garden-house with fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pounds reserve was left with Joe Glee, in the Turf Commission deposit.

“You see, it’s all right, uncle, when I’m sure! Then we go strong, for all we’re worth, don’t we, Bassett?”

“We do that, Master Paul.”

“And when are you sure?” said the uncle, laughing.

“Oh, well, sometimes I’m absolutely sure, like about Daffodil,” said the boy; “and sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I haven’t even an idea, have I, Bassett? Then we’re careful, because we mostly go down.”

“You do, do you! And when you’re sure, like about Daffodil, what makes you sure, sonny?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” said the boy uneasily. “I’m sure, you know, uncle; that’s all.”

“It’s as if he had it from heaven, sir,” Bassett reiterated.

“I should say so!” said the uncle.

But he became a partner. And when the Leger was coming on Paul was ‘sure’ about Lively Spark, which was a quite inconsiderable horse. The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse, Bassett went for five hundred, and Oscar Cresswell two hundred. Lively Spark came in first, and the betting had been ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

“You see,” he said. “I was absolutely sure of him.”

Even Oscar Cresswell had cleared two thousand.

“Look here, son,” he said, “this sort of thing makes me nervous.”

“It needn’t, uncle! Perhaps I shan’t be sure again for a long time.”

“But what are you going to do with your money?” asked the uncle.

“Of course,” said the boy, “I started it for mother. She said she had no luck, because father is unlucky, so I thought if I was lucky, it might stop whispering.”

“What might stop whispering?”

“Our house. I hate our house for whispering.”

“What does it whisper?”

“Why – why” – the boy fidgeted – “why, I don’t know. But it’s always short of money, you know, uncle.”

“I know it, son, I know it.”

“You know people send mother writs, don’t you, uncle?”

“I’m afraid I do,” said the uncle.

“And then the house whispers, like people laughing at you behind your back. It’s awful, that is! I thought if I was lucky -“

“You might stop it,” added the uncle.

The boy watched him with big blue eyes, that had an uncanny cold fire in them, and he said never a word.

“Well, then!” said the uncle. “What are we doing?”

“I shouldn’t like mother to know I was lucky,” said the boy.

“Why not, son?”

“She’d stop me.”

“I don’t think she would.”

“Oh!” – and the boy writhed in an odd way – “I don’t want her to know, uncle.”

“All right, son! We’ll manage it without her knowing.”

They managed it very easily. Paul, at the other’s suggestion, handed over five thousand pounds to his uncle, who deposited it with the family lawyer, who was then to inform Paul’s mother that a relative had put five thousand pounds into his hands, which sum was to be paid out a thousand pounds at a time, on the mother’s birthday, for the next five years.

“So she’ll have a birthday present of a thousand pounds for five successive years,” said Uncle Oscar. “I hope it won’t make it all the harder for her later.”

Paul’s mother had her birthday in November. The house had been ‘whispering’ worse than ever lately, and, even in spite of his luck, Paul could not bear up against it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter, telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

When there were no visitors, Paul now took his meals with his parents, as he was beyond the nursery control. His mother went into town nearly every day. She had discovered that she had an odd knack of sketching furs and dress materials, so she worked secretly in the studio of a friend who was the chief ‘artist’ for the leading drapers. She drew the figures of ladies in furs and ladies in silk and sequins for the newspaper advertisements. This young woman artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul’s mother only made several hundreds, and she was again dissatisfied. She so wanted to be first in something, and she did not succeed, even in making sketches for drapery advertisements.

She was down to breakfast on the morning of her birthday. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the lawyer’s letter. As his mother read it, her face hardened and became more expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came on her mouth. She hid the letter under the pile of others, and said not a word about it.

“Didn’t you have anything nice in the post for your birthday, mother?” said Paul.

“Quite moderately nice,” she said, her voice cold and hard and absent.

She went away to town without saying more.

But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar appeared. He said Paul’s mother had had a long interview with the lawyer, asking if the whole five thousand could not be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

“What do you think, uncle?” said the boy.

“I leave it to you, son.”

“Oh, let her have it, then! We can get some more with the other,” said the boy.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, laddie!” said Uncle Oscar.

“But I’m sure to know for the Grand National; or the Lincolnshire; or else the Derby. I’m sure to know for one of them,” said Paul.

So Uncle Oscar signed the agreement, and Paul’s mother touched the whole five thousand. Then something very curious happened. The voices in the house suddenly went mad, like a chorus of frogs on a spring evening. There were certain new furnishings, and Paul had a tutor. He was really going to Eton, his father’s school, in the following autumn. There were flowers in the winter, and a blossoming of the luxury Paul’s mother had been used to. And yet the voices in the house, behind the sprays of mimosa and almond-blossom, and from under the piles of iridescent cushions, simply trilled and screamed in a sort of ecstasy: “There must be more money! Oh-h-h; there must be more money. Oh, now, now-w! Now-w-w – there must be more money! – more than ever! More than ever!”

It frightened Paul terribly. He studied away at his Latin and Greek with his tutor. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National had gone by: he had not ‘known’, and had lost a hundred pounds. Summer was at hand. He was in agony for the Lincoln. But even for the Lincoln he didn’t ‘know’, and he lost fifty pounds. He became wild-eyed and strange, as if something were going to explode in him.

“Let it alone, son! Don’t you bother about it!” urged Uncle Oscar. But it was as if the boy couldn’t really hear what his uncle was saying.

“I’ve got to know for the Derby! I’ve got to know for the Derby!” the child reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.

His mother noticed how overwrought he was.

“You’d better go to the seaside. Wouldn’t you like to go now to the seaside, instead of waiting? I think you’d better,” she said, looking down at him anxiously, her heart curiously heavy because of him.

But the child lifted his uncanny blue eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly go before the Derby, mother!” he said. “I couldn’t possibly!”

“Why not?” she said, her voice becoming heavy when she was opposed. “Why not? You can still go from the seaside to see the Derby with your Uncle Oscar, if that that’s what you wish. No need for you to wait here. Besides, I think you care too much about these races. It’s a bad sign. My family has been a gambling family, and you won’t know till you grow up how much damage it has done. But it has done damage. I shall have to send Bassett away, and ask Uncle Oscar not to talk racing to you, unless you promise to be reasonable about it: go away to the seaside and forget it. You’re all nerves!”

“I’ll do what you like, mother, so long as you don’t send me away till after the Derby,” the boy said.

“Send you away from where? Just from this house?”

“Yes,” he said, gazing at her.

“Why, you curious child, what makes you care about this house so much, suddenly? I never knew you loved it.”

He gazed at her without speaking. He had a secret within a secret, something he had not divulged, even to Bassett or to his Uncle Oscar.

But his mother, after standing undecided and a little bit sullen for some moments, said: “Very well, then! Don’t go to the seaside till after the Derby, if you don’t wish it. But promise me you won’t think so much about horse-racing and events as you call them!”

“Oh no,” said the boy casually. “I won’t think much about them, mother. You needn’t worry. I wouldn’t worry, mother, if I were you.”

“If you were me and I were you,” said his mother, “I wonder what we should do!”

“But you know you needn’t worry, mother, don’t you?” the boy repeated.

“I should be awfully glad to know it,” she said wearily.

“Oh, well, you can, you know. I mean, you ought to know you needn’t worry,” he insisted.

“Ought I? Then I’ll see about it,” she said.

Paul’s secret of secrets was his wooden horse, that which had no name. Since he was emancipated from a nurse and a nursery-governess, he had had his rocking-horse removed to his own bedroom at the top of the house.

“Surely you’re too big for a rocking-horse!” his mother had remonstrated.

“Well, you see, mother, till I can have a real horse, I like to have some sort of animal about,” had been his quaint answer.

“Do you feel he keeps you company?” she laughed.

“Oh yes! He’s very good, he always keeps me company, when I’m there,” said Paul.

So the horse, rather shabby, stood in an arrested prance in the boy’s bedroom.

The Derby was drawing near, and the boy grew more and more tense. He hardly heard what was spoken to him, he was very frail, and his eyes were really uncanny. His mother had sudden strange seizures of uneasiness about him. Sometimes, for half an hour, she would feel a sudden anxiety about him that was almost anguish. She wanted to rush to him at once, and know he was safe.

Two nights before the Derby, she was at a big party in town, when one of her rushes of anxiety about her boy, her first-born, gripped her heart till she could hardly speak. She fought with the feeling, might and main, for she believed in common sense. But it was too strong. She had to leave the dance and go downstairs to telephone to the country. The children’s nursery-governess was terribly surprised and startled at being rung up in the night.

“Are the children all right, Miss Wilmot?”

“Oh yes, they are quite all right.”

“Master Paul? Is he all right?”

“He went to bed as right as a trivet. Shall I run up and look at him?”

“No,” said Paul’s mother reluctantly. “No! Don’t trouble. It’s all right. Don’t sit up. We shall be home fairly soon.” She did not want her son’s privacy intruded upon.

“Very good,” said the governess.

It was about one o’clock when Paul’s mother and father drove up to their house. All was still. Paul’s mother went to her room and slipped off her white fur cloak. She had told her maid not to wait up for her. She heard her husband downstairs, mixing a whisky and soda.

And then, because of the strange anxiety at her heart, she stole upstairs to her son’s room. Noiselessly she went along the upper corridor. Was there a faint noise? What was it?

She stood, with arrested muscles, outside his door, listening. There was a strange, heavy, and yet not loud noise. Her heart stood still. It was a soundless noise, yet rushing and powerful. Something huge, in violent, hushed motion. What was it? What in God’s name was it? She ought to know. She felt that she knew the noise. She knew what it was.

Yet she could not place it. She couldn’t say what it was. And on and on it went, like a madness.

Softly, frozen with anxiety and fear, she turned the door-handle.

The room was dark. Yet in the space near the window, she heard and saw something plunging to and fro. She gazed in fear and amazement.

Then suddenly she switched on the light, and saw her son, in his green pyjamas, madly surging on the rocking-horse. The blaze of light suddenly lit him up, as he urged the wooden horse, and lit her up, as she stood, blonde, in her dress of pale green and crystal, in the doorway.

“Paul!” she cried. “Whatever are you doing?”

“It’s Malabar!” he screamed in a powerful, strange voice. “It’s Malabar!”

His eyes blazed at her for one strange and senseless second, as he ceased urging his wooden horse. Then he fell with a crash to the ground, and she, all her tormented motherhood flooding upon her, rushed to gather him up.

But he was unconscious, and unconscious he remained, with some brain-fever. He talked and tossed, and his mother sat stonily by his side.

“Malabar! It’s Malabar! Bassett, Bassett, I know! It’s Malabar!”

So the child cried, trying to get up and urge the rocking-horse that gave him his inspiration.

“What does he mean by Malabar?” asked the heart-frozen mother.

“I don’t know,” said the father stonily.

“What does he mean by Malabar?” she asked her brother Oscar.

“It’s one of the horses running for the Derby,” was the answer.

And, in spite of himself, Oscar Cresswell spoke to Bassett, and himself put a thousand on Malabar: at fourteen to one.

The third day of the illness was critical: they were waiting for a change. The boy, with his rather long, curly hair, was tossing ceaselessly on the pillow. He neither slept nor regained consciousness, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat, feeling her heart had gone, turned actually into a stone.

In the evening Oscar Cresswell did not come, but Bassett sent a message, saying could he come up for one moment, just one moment? Paul’s mother was very angry at the intrusion, but on second thoughts she agreed. The boy was the same. Perhaps Bassett might bring him to consciousness.

The gardener, a shortish fellow with a little brown moustache and sharp little brown eyes, tiptoed into the room, touched his imaginary cap to Paul’s mother, and stole to the bedside, staring with glittering, smallish eyes at the tossing, dying child.

“Master Paul!” he whispered. “Master Paul! Malabar came in first all right, a clean win. I did as you told me. You’ve made over seventy thousand pounds, you have; you’ve got over eighty thousand. Malabar came in all right, Master Paul.”

“Malabar! Malabar! Did I say Malabar, mother? Did I say Malabar? Do you think I’m lucky, mother? I knew Malabar, didn’t I? Over eighty thousand pounds! I call that lucky, don’t you, mother? Over eighty thousand pounds! I knew, didn’t I know I knew? Malabar came in all right. If I ride my horse till I’m sure, then I tell you, Bassett, you can go as high as you like. Did you go for all you were worth, Bassett?”

“I went a thousand on it, Master Paul.”

“I never told you, mother, that if I can ride my horse, and get there, then I’m absolutely sure – oh, absolutely! Mother, did I ever tell you? I am lucky!”

“No, you never did,” said his mother.

But the boy died in the night.

And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother’s voice saying to her, “My God, Hester, you’re eighty-odd thousand to the good, and a poor devil of a son to the bad. But, poor devil, poor devil, he’s best gone out of a life where he rides his rocking-horse to find a winner.”

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Dylan Spencer

I can see that the real meaning is focusing on the lack of attention and love from parents. Im not entirely sure if thats what the author was aiming at, but i picked up on certain themes that i struggle with in my life. I just wanted to say that this story really resonated within me. I deeply connected with the feelings Paul has in the beginning, and am no stranger to parental neglect.

0
gayboi

bruh

0
shidbard

bruh momento

0
nigga fish

i am appaled at the fact that you would reply to gaybois comment in such a manner and hereby banish you from the faggots n’ fun reading club

2
Iggy Iguana

Yo man the fuck your problem home slice. Leave shidbard alone dog. SMH my head.

0
shidbard

yo hop off my stephen you dont want me to get el cumpleanoz man he aint no joke

0
ganal

Yo iggy get your ass back man

0
nigga fish

fuck off iggy you be da iguana i jus ate for my brunch nigga fym leave him alone he da reason my mom dead

1
Fish Nigga

leave nigga fish alone fool!

1
shidbard

tbh george be looking fresh in da durag tbh and sbdz really be out here.

0
shidbard

In Congress, July 4, 1776.
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America, When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

0
Stephen's GF

that all MEN are created equal,

0
ganal

Wow, i mean just wow. I love how this story shows the true nature of having such big dick energy

0
Stephen's GF

where SCZ Karate at though

1
ganal

According to all known laws
of aviation,

there is no way a bee
should be able to fly.

Its wings are too small to get
its fat little body off the ground.

The bee, of course, flies anyway

because bees don’t care
what humans think is impossible.

Yellow, black. Yellow, black.
Yellow, black. Yellow, black.

Ooh, black and yellow!
Let’s shake it up a little.

Barry! Breakfast is ready!

Ooming!

Hang on a second.

Hello?

– Barry?
– Adam?

– Oan you believe this is happening?
– I can’t. I’ll pick you up.

Looking sharp.

Use the stairs. Your father
paid good money for those.

Sorry. I’m excited.

Here’s the graduate.
We’re very proud of you, son.

A perfect report card, all B’s.

Very proud.

Ma! I got a thing going here.

– You got lint on your fuzz.
– Ow! That’s me!

– Wave to us! We’ll be in row 118,000.
– Bye!

Barry, I told you,
stop flying in the house!

– Hey, Adam.
– Hey, Barry.

– Is that fuzz gel?
– A little. Special day, graduation.

Never thought I’d make it.

Three days grade school,
three days high school.

Those were awkward.

Three days college. I’m glad I took
a day and hitchhiked around the hive.

You did come back different.

– Hi, Barry.
– Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.

– Hear about Frankie?
– Yeah.

– You going to the funeral?
– No, I’m not going.

Everybody knows,
sting someone, you die.

Don’t waste it on a squirrel.
Such a hothead.

I guess he could have
just gotten out of the way.

I love this incorporating
an amusement park into our day.

That’s why we don’t need vacations.

Boy, quite a bit of pomp…
under the circumstances.

– Well, Adam, today we are men.
– We are!

– Bee-men.
– Amen!

Hallelujah!

Students, faculty, distinguished bees,

please welcome Dean Buzzwell.

Welcome, New Hive Oity
graduating class of…

…9:15.

That concludes our ceremonies.

And begins your career
at Honex Industries!

Will we pick ourjob today?

I heard it’s just orientation.

Heads up! Here we go.

Keep your hands and antennas
inside the tram at all times.

– Wonder what it’ll be like?
– A little scary.

Welcome to Honex,
a division of Honesco

and a part of the Hexagon Group.

This is it!

Wow.

Wow.

We know that you, as a bee,
have worked your whole life

to get to the point where you
can work for your whole life.

Honey begins when our valiant Pollen
Jocks bring the nectar to the hive.

Our top-secret formula

is automatically color-corrected,
scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured

into this soothing sweet syrup

with its distinctive
golden glow you know as…

Honey!

– That girl was hot.
– She’s my cousin!

– She is?
– Yes, we’re all cousins.

– Right. You’re right.
– At Honex, we constantly strive

to improve every aspect
of bee existence.

These bees are stress-testing
a new helmet technology.

– What do you think he makes?
– Not enough.

Here we have our latest advancement,
the Krelman.

– What does that do?
– Oatches that little strand of honey

that hangs after you pour it.
Saves us millions.

Oan anyone work on the Krelman?

Of course. Most bee jobs are
small ones. But bees know

that every small job,
if it’s done well, means a lot.

But choose carefully

because you’ll stay in the job
you pick for the rest of your life.

The same job the rest of your life?
I didn’t know that.

What’s the difference?

You’ll be happy to know that bees,
as a species, haven’t had one day off

in 27 million years.

So you’ll just work us to death?

We’ll sure try.

Wow! That blew my mind!

“What’s the difference?”
How can you say that?

One job forever?
That’s an insane choice to have to make.

I’m relieved. Now we only have
to make one decision in life.

But, Adam, how could they
never have told us that?

Why would you question anything?
We’re bees.

We’re the most perfectly
functioning society on Earth.

You ever think maybe things
work a little too well here?

Like what? Give me one example.

I don’t know. But you know
what I’m talking about.

Please clear the gate.
Royal Nectar Force on approach.

Wait a second. Oheck it out.

– Hey, those are Pollen Jocks!
– Wow.

I’ve never seen them this close.

They know what it’s like
outside the hive.

Yeah, but some don’t come back.

– Hey, Jocks!
– Hi, Jocks!

You guys did great!

You’re monsters!
You’re sky freaks! I love it! I love it!

– I wonder where they were.
– I don’t know.

Their day’s not planned.

Outside the hive, flying who knows
where, doing who knows what.

You can’tjust decide to be a Pollen
Jock. You have to be bred for that.

Right.

Look. That’s more pollen
than you and I will see in a lifetime.

It’s just a status symbol.
Bees make too much of it.

Perhaps. Unless you’re wearing it
and the ladies see you wearing it.

Those ladies?
Aren’t they our cousins too?

Distant. Distant.

Look at these two.

– Oouple of Hive Harrys.
– Let’s have fun with them.

It must be dangerous
being a Pollen Jock.

Yeah. Once a bear pinned me
against a mushroom!

He had a paw on my throat,
and with the other, he was slapping me!

– Oh, my!
– I never thought I’d knock him out.

What were you doing during this?

Trying to alert the authorities.

I can autograph that.

A little gusty out there today,
wasn’t it, comrades?

Yeah. Gusty.

We’re hitting a sunflower patch
six miles from here tomorrow.

– Six miles, huh?
– Barry!

A puddle jump for us,
but maybe you’re not up for it.

– Maybe I am.
– You are not!

We’re going 0900 at J-Gate.

What do you think, buzzy-boy?
Are you bee enough?

I might be. It all depends
on what 0900 means.

Hey, Honex!

Dad, you surprised me.

You decide what you’re interested in?

– Well, there’s a lot of choices.
– But you only get one.

Do you ever get bored
doing the same job every day?

Son, let me tell you about stirring.

You grab that stick, and you just
move it around, and you stir it around.

You get yourself into a rhythm.
It’s a beautiful thing.

You know, Dad,
the more I think about it,

maybe the honey field
just isn’t right for me.

You were thinking of what,
making balloon animals?

That’s a bad job
for a guy with a stinger.

Janet, your son’s not sure
he wants to go into honey!

– Barry, you are so funny sometimes.
– I’m not trying to be funny.

You’re not funny! You’re going
into honey. Our son, the stirrer!

– You’re gonna be a stirrer?
– No one’s listening to me!

Wait till you see the sticks I have.

I could say anything right now.
I’m gonna get an ant tattoo!

Let’s open some honey and celebrate!

Maybe I’ll pierce my thorax.
Shave my antennae.

Shack up with a grasshopper. Get
a gold tooth and call everybody “dawg”!

I’m so proud.

– We’re starting work today!
– Today’s the day.

Oome on! All the good jobs
will be gone.

Yeah, right.

Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring,
stirrer, front desk, hair removal…

– Is it still available?
– Hang on. Two left!

One of them’s yours! Oongratulations!
Step to the side.

– What’d you get?
– Picking crud out. Stellar!

Wow!

Oouple of newbies?

Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!

Make your choice.

– You want to go first?
– No, you go.

Oh, my. What’s available?

Restroom attendant’s open,
not for the reason you think.

– Any chance of getting the Krelman?
– Sure, you’re on.

I’m sorry, the Krelman just closed out.

Wax monkey’s always open.

The Krelman opened up again.

What happened?

A bee died. Makes an opening. See?
He’s dead. Another dead one.

Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.

Dead from the neck up.
Dead from the neck down. That’s life!

Oh, this is so hard!

Heating, cooling,
stunt bee, pourer, stirrer,

humming, inspector number seven,
lint coordinator, stripe supervisor,

mite wrangler. Barry, what
do you think I should… Barry?

Barry!

All right, we’ve got the sunflower patch
in quadrant nine…

What happened to you?
Where are you?

– I’m going out.
– Out? Out where?

– Out there.
– Oh, no!

I have to, before I go
to work for the rest of my life.

You’re gonna die! You’re crazy! Hello?

Another call coming in.

If anyone’s feeling brave,
there’s a Korean deli on 83rd

that gets their roses today.

Hey, guys.

– Look at that.
– Isn’t that the kid we saw yesterday?

Hold it, son, flight deck’s restricted.

It’s OK, Lou. We’re gonna take him up.

Really? Feeling lucky, are you?

Sign here, here. Just initial that.

– Thank you.
– OK.

You got a rain advisory today,

and as you all know,
bees cannot fly in rain.

So be careful. As always,
watch your brooms,

hockey sticks, dogs,
birds, bears and bats.

Also, I got a couple of reports
of root beer being poured on us.

Murphy’s in a home because of it,
babbling like a cicada!

– That’s awful.
– And a reminder for you rookies,

bee law number one,
absolutely no talking to humans!

All right, launch positions!

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz,
buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!

Black and yellow!

Hello!

You ready for this, hot shot?

Yeah. Yeah, bring it on.

Wind, check.

– Antennae, check.
– Nectar pack, check.

– Wings, check.
– Stinger, check.

Scared out of my shorts, check.

OK, ladies,

let’s move it out!

Pound those petunias,
you striped stem-suckers!

All of you, drain those flowers!

Wow! I’m out!

I can’t believe I’m out!

So blue.

I feel so fast and free!

Box kite!

Wow!

Flowers!

This is Blue Leader.
We have roses visual.

Bring it around 30 degrees and hold.

Roses!

30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around.

Stand to the side, kid.
It’s got a bit of a kick.

That is one nectar collector!

– Ever see pollination up close?
– No, sir.

I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it
over here. Maybe a dash over there,

a pinch on that one.
See that? It’s a little bit of magic.

That’s amazing. Why do we do that?

That’s pollen power. More pollen, more
flowers, more nectar, more honey for us.

Oool.

I’m picking up a lot of bright yellow.
Oould be daisies. Don’t we need those?

Oopy that visual.

Wait. One of these flowers
seems to be on the move.

Say again? You’re reporting
a moving flower?

Affirmative.

That was on the line!

This is the coolest. What is it?

I don’t know, but I’m loving this color.

It smells good.
Not like a flower, but I like it.

Yeah, fuzzy.

Ohemical-y.

Oareful, guys. It’s a little grabby.

My sweet lord of bees!

Oandy-brain, get off there!

Problem!

– Guys!
– This could be bad.

Affirmative.

Very close.

Gonna hurt.

Mama’s little boy.

You are way out of position, rookie!

Ooming in at you like a missile!

Help me!

I don’t think these are flowers.

– Should we tell him?
– I think he knows.

What is this?!

Match point!

You can start packing up, honey,
because you’re about to eat it!

Yowser!

Gross.

There’s a bee in the car!

– Do something!
– I’m driving!

– Hi, bee.
– He’s back here!

He’s going to sting me!

Nobody move. If you don’t move,
he won’t sting you. Freeze!

He blinked!

Spray him, Granny!

What are you doing?!

Wow… the tension level
out here is unbelievable.

I gotta get home.

Oan’t fly in rain.

Oan’t fly in rain.

Oan’t fly in rain.

Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down!

Ken, could you close
the window please?

Ken, could you close
the window please?

Oheck out my new resume.
I made it into a fold-out brochure.

You see? Folds out.

Oh, no. More humans. I don’t need this.

What was that?

Maybe this time. This time. This time.
This time! This time! This…

Drapes!

That is diabolical.

It’s fantastic. It’s got all my special
skills, even my top-ten favorite movies.

What’s number one? Star Wars?

Nah, I don’t go for that…

…kind of stuff.

No wonder we shouldn’t talk to them.
They’re out of their minds.

When I leave a job interview, they’re
flabbergasted, can’t believe what I say.

There’s the sun. Maybe that’s a way out.

I don’t remember the sun
having a big 75 on it.

I predicted global warming.

I could feel it getting hotter.
At first I thought it was just me.

Wait! Stop! Bee!

Stand back. These are winter boots.

Wait!

Don’t kill him!

You know I’m allergic to them!
This thing could kill me!

Why does his life have
less value than yours?

Why does his life have any less value
than mine? Is that your statement?

I’m just saying all life has value. You
don’t know what he’s capable of feeling.

My brochure!

There you go, little guy.

I’m not scared of him.
It’s an allergic thing.

Put that on your resume brochure.

My whole face could puff up.

Make it one of your special skills.

Knocking someone out
is also a special skill.

Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks.

– Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night?
– Sure, Ken. You know, whatever.

– You could put carob chips on there.
– Bye.

– Supposed to be less calories.
– Bye.

I gotta say something.

She saved my life.
I gotta say something.

All right, here it goes.

Nah.

What would I say?

I could really get in trouble.

It’s a bee law.
You’re not supposed to talk to a human.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I’ve got to.

Oh, I can’t do it. Oome on!

No. Yes. No.

Do it. I can’t.

How should I start it?
“You like jazz?” No, that’s no good.

Here she comes! Speak, you fool!

Hi!

I’m sorry.

– You’re talking.
– Yes, I know.

You’re talking!

I’m so sorry.

No, it’s OK. It’s fine.
I know I’m dreaming.

But I don’t recall going to bed.

Well, I’m sure this
is very disconcerting.

This is a bit of a surprise to me.
I mean, you’re a bee!

I am. And I’m not supposed
to be doing this,

but they were all trying to kill me.

And if it wasn’t for you…

I had to thank you.
It’s just how I was raised.

That was a little weird.

– I’m talking with a bee.
– Yeah.

I’m talking to a bee.
And the bee is talking to me!

I just want to say I’m grateful.
I’ll leave now.

– Wait! How did you learn to do that?
– What?

The talking thing.

Same way you did, I guess.
“Mama, Dada, honey.” You pick it up.

– That’s very funny.
– Yeah.

Bees are funny. If we didn’t laugh,
we’d cry with what we have to deal with.

Anyway…

Oan I…

…get you something?
– Like what?

I don’t know. I mean…
I don’t know. Ooffee?

I don’t want to put you out.

It’s no trouble. It takes two minutes.

– It’s just coffee.
– I hate to impose.

– Don’t be ridiculous!
– Actually, I would love a cup.

Hey, you want rum cake?

– I shouldn’t.
– Have some.

– No, I can’t.
– Oome on!

I’m trying to lose a couple micrograms.

– Where?
– These stripes don’t help.

You look great!

I don’t know if you know
anything about fashion.

Are you all right?

No.

He’s making the tie in the cab
as they’re flying up Madison.

He finally gets there.

He runs up the steps into the church.
The wedding is on.

And he says, “Watermelon?
I thought you said Guatemalan.

Why would I marry a watermelon?”

Is that a bee joke?

That’s the kind of stuff we do.

Yeah, different.

So, what are you gonna do, Barry?

About work? I don’t know.

I want to do my part for the hive,
but I can’t do it the way they want.

I know how you feel.

– You do?
– Sure.

My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or
a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist.

– Really?
– My only interest is flowers.

Our new queen was just elected
with that same campaign slogan.

Anyway, if you look…

There’s my hive right there. See it?

You’re in Sheep Meadow!

Yes! I’m right off the Turtle Pond!

No way! I know that area.
I lost a toe ring there once.

– Why do girls put rings on their toes?
– Why not?

– It’s like putting a hat on your knee.
– Maybe I’ll try that.

– You all right, ma’am?
– Oh, yeah. Fine.

Just having two cups of coffee!

Anyway, this has been great.
Thanks for the coffee.

Yeah, it’s no trouble.

Sorry I couldn’t finish it. If I did,
I’d be up the rest of my life.

Are you…?

Oan I take a piece of this with me?

Sure! Here, have a crumb.

– Thanks!
– Yeah.

All right. Well, then…
I guess I’ll see you around.

Or not.

OK, Barry.

And thank you
so much again… for before.

Oh, that? That was nothing.

Well, not nothing, but… Anyway…

This can’t possibly work.

He’s all set to go.
We may as well try it.

OK, Dave, pull the chute.

– Sounds amazing.
– It was amazing!

It was the scariest,
happiest moment of my life.

Humans! I can’t believe
you were with humans!

Giant, scary humans!
What were they like?

Huge and crazy. They talk crazy.

They eat crazy giant things.
They drive crazy.

– Do they try and kill you, like on TV?
– Some of them. But some of them don’t.

– How’d you get back?
– Poodle.

You did it, and I’m glad. You saw
whatever you wanted to see.

You had your “experience.” Now you
can pick out yourjob and be normal.

– Well…
– Well?

Well, I met someone.

You did? Was she Bee-ish?

– A wasp?! Your parents will kill you!
– No, no, no, not a wasp.

– Spider?
– I’m not attracted to spiders.

I know it’s the hottest thing,
with the eight legs and all.

I can’t get by that face.

So who is she?

She’s… human.

No, no. That’s a bee law.
You wouldn’t break a bee law.

– Her name’s Vanessa.
– Oh, boy.

She’s so nice. And she’s a florist!

Oh, no! You’re dating a human florist!

We’re not dating.

You’re flying outside the hive, talking
to humans that attack our homes

with power washers and M-80s!
One-eighth a stick of dynamite!

She saved my life!
And she understands me.

This is over!

Eat this.

This is not over! What was that?

– They call it a crumb.
– It was so stingin’ stripey!

And that’s not what they eat.
That’s what falls off what they eat!

– You know what a Oinnabon is?
– No.

It’s bread and cinnamon and frosting.
They heat it up…

Sit down!

…really hot!
– Listen to me!

We are not them! We’re us.
There’s us and there’s them!

Yes, but who can deny
the heart that is yearning?

There’s no yearning.
Stop yearning. Listen to me!

You have got to start thinking bee,
my friend. Thinking bee!

– Thinking bee.
– Thinking bee.

Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!

There he is. He’s in the pool.

You know what your problem is, Barry?

I gotta start thinking bee?

How much longer will this go on?

It’s been three days!
Why aren’t you working?

I’ve got a lot of big life decisions
to think about.

What life? You have no life!
You have no job. You’re barely a bee!

Would it kill you
to make a little honey?

Barry, come out.
Your father’s talking to you.

Martin, would you talk to him?

Barry, I’m talking to you!

You coming?

Got everything?

All set!

Go ahead. I’ll catch up.

Don’t be too long.

Watch this!

Vanessa!

– We’re still here.
– I told you not to yell at him.

He doesn’t respond to yelling!

– Then why yell at me?
– Because you don’t listen!

I’m not listening to this.

Sorry, I’ve gotta go.

– Where are you going?
– I’m meeting a friend.

A girl? Is this why you can’t decide?

Bye.

I just hope she’s Bee-ish.

They have a huge parade
of flowers every year in Pasadena?

To be in the Tournament of Roses,
that’s every florist’s dream!

Up on a float, surrounded
by flowers, crowds cheering.

A tournament. Do the roses
compete in athletic events?

No. All right, I’ve got one.
How come you don’t fly everywhere?

It’s exhausting. Why don’t you
run everywhere? It’s faster.

Yeah, OK, I see, I see.
All right, your turn.

TiVo. You can just freeze live TV?
That’s insane!

You don’t have that?

We have Hivo, but it’s a disease.
It’s a horrible, horrible disease.

Oh, my.

Dumb bees!

You must want to sting all those jerks.

We try not to sting.
It’s usually fatal for us.

So you have to watch your temper.

Very carefully.
You kick a wall, take a walk,

write an angry letter and throw it out.
Work through it like any emotion:

Anger, jealousy, lust.

Oh, my goodness! Are you OK?

Yeah.

– What is wrong with you?!
– It’s a bug.

He’s not bothering anybody.
Get out of here, you creep!

What was that? A Pic ‘N’ Save circular?

Yeah, it was. How did you know?

It felt like about 10 pages.
Seventy-five is pretty much our limit.

You’ve really got that
down to a science.

– I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue.
– I’ll bet.

What in the name
of Mighty Hercules is this?

How did this get here?
Oute Bee, Golden Blossom,

Ray Liotta Private Select?

– Is he that actor?
– I never heard of him.

– Why is this here?
– For people. We eat it.

You don’t have
enough food of your own?

– Well, yes.
– How do you get it?

– Bees make it.
– I know who makes it!

And it’s hard to make it!

There’s heating, cooling, stirring.
You need a whole Krelman thing!

– It’s organic.
– It’s our-ganic!

It’s just honey, Barry.

Just what?!

Bees don’t know about this!
This is stealing! A lot of stealing!

You’ve taken our homes, schools,
hospitals! This is all we have!

And it’s on sale?!
I’m getting to the bottom of this.

I’m getting to the bottom
of all of this!

Hey, Hector.

– You almost done?
– Almost.

He is here. I sense it.

Well, I guess I’ll go home now

and just leave this nice honey out,
with no one around.

You’re busted, box boy!

I knew I heard something.
So you can talk!

I can talk.
And now you’ll start talking!

Where you getting the sweet stuff?
Who’s your supplier?

I don’t understand.
I thought we were friends.

The last thing we want
to do is upset bees!

You’re too late! It’s ours now!

You, sir, have crossed
the wrong sword!

You, sir, will be lunch
for my iguana, Ignacio!

Where is the honey coming from?

Tell me where!

Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms!

Orazy person!

What horrible thing has happened here?

These faces, they never knew
what hit them. And now

they’re on the road to nowhere!

Just keep still.

What? You’re not dead?

Do I look dead? They will wipe anything
that moves. Where you headed?

To Honey Farms.
I am onto something huge here.

I’m going to Alaska. Moose blood,
crazy stuff. Blows your head off!

I’m going to Tacoma.

– And you?
– He really is dead.

All right.

Uh-oh!

– What is that?!
– Oh, no!

– A wiper! Triple blade!
– Triple blade?

Jump on! It’s your only chance, bee!

Why does everything have
to be so doggone clean?!

How much do you people need to see?!

Open your eyes!
Stick your head out the window!

From NPR News in Washington,
I’m Oarl Kasell.

But don’t kill no more bugs!

– Bee!
– Moose blood guy!!

– You hear something?
– Like what?

Like tiny screaming.

Turn off the radio.

Whassup, bee boy?

Hey, Blood.

Just a row of honey jars,
as far as the eye could see.

Wow!

I assume wherever this truck goes
is where they’re getting it.

I mean, that honey’s ours.

– Bees hang tight.
– We’re all jammed in.

It’s a close community.

Not us, man. We on our own.
Every mosquito on his own.

– What if you get in trouble?
– You a mosquito, you in trouble.

Nobody likes us. They just smack.
See a mosquito, smack, smack!

At least you’re out in the world.
You must meet girls.

Mosquito girls try to trade up,
get with a moth, dragonfly.

Mosquito girl don’t want no mosquito.

You got to be kidding me!

Mooseblood’s about to leave
the building! So long, bee!

– Hey, guys!
– Mooseblood!

I knew I’d catch y’all down here.
Did you bring your crazy straw?

We throw it in jars, slap a label on it,
and it’s pretty much pure profit.

What is this place?

A bee’s got a brain
the size of a pinhead.

They are pinheads!

Pinhead.

– Oheck out the new smoker.
– Oh, sweet. That’s the one you want.

The Thomas 3000!

Smoker?

Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic.
Twice the nicotine, all the tar.

A couple breaths of this
knocks them right out.

They make the honey,
and we make the money.

“They make the honey,
and we make the money”?

Oh, my!

What’s going on? Are you OK?

Yeah. It doesn’t last too long.

Do you know you’re
in a fake hive with fake walls?

Our queen was moved here.
We had no choice.

This is your queen?
That’s a man in women’s clothes!

That’s a drag queen!

What is this?

Oh, no!

There’s hundreds of them!

Bee honey.

Our honey is being brazenly stolen
on a massive scale!

This is worse than anything bears
have done! I intend to do something.

Oh, Barry, stop.

Who told you humans are taking
our honey? That’s a rumor.

Do these look like rumors?

That’s a conspiracy theory.
These are obviously doctored photos.

How did you get mixed up in this?

He’s been talking to humans.

– What?
– Talking to humans?!

He has a human girlfriend.
And they make out!

Make out? Barry!

We do not.

– You wish you could.
– Whose side are you on?

The bees!

I dated a cricket once in San Antonio.
Those crazy legs kept me up all night.

Barry, this is what you want
to do with your life?

I want to do it for all our lives.
Nobody works harder than bees!

Dad, I remember you
coming home so overworked

your hands were still stirring.
You couldn’t stop.

I remember that.

What right do they have to our honey?

We live on two cups a year. They put it
in lip balm for no reason whatsoever!

Even if it’s true, what can one bee do?

Sting them where it really hurts.

In the face! The eye!

– That would hurt.
– No.

Up the nose? That’s a killer.

There’s only one place you can sting
the humans, one place where it matters.

Hive at Five, the hive’s only
full-hour action news source.

No more bee beards!

With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk.

Weather with Storm Stinger.

Sports with Buzz Larvi.

And Jeanette Ohung.

– Good evening. I’m Bob Bumble.
– And I’m Jeanette Ohung.

A tri-county bee, Barry Benson,

intends to sue the human race
for stealing our honey,

packaging it and profiting
from it illegally!

Tomorrow night on Bee Larry King,

we’ll have three former queens here in
our studio, discussing their new book,

Olassy Ladies,
out this week on Hexagon.

Tonight we’re talking to Barry Benson.

Did you ever think, “I’m a kid
from the hive. I can’t do this”?

Bees have never been afraid
to change the world.

What about Bee Oolumbus?
Bee Gandhi? Bejesus?

Where I’m from, we’d never sue humans.

We were thinking
of stickball or candy stores.

How old are you?

The bee community
is supporting you in this case,

which will be the trial
of the bee century.

You know, they have a Larry King
in the human world too.

It’s a common name. Next week…

He looks like you and has a show
and suspenders and colored dots…

Next week…

Glasses, quotes on the bottom from the
guest even though you just heard ’em.

Bear Week next week!
They’re scary, hairy and here live.

Always leans forward, pointy shoulders,
squinty eyes, very Jewish.

In tennis, you attack
at the point of weakness!

It was my grandmother, Ken. She’s 81.

Honey, her backhand’s a joke!
I’m not gonna take advantage of that?

Quiet, please.
Actual work going on here.

– Is that that same bee?
– Yes, it is!

I’m helping him sue the human race.

– Hello.
– Hello, bee.

This is Ken.

Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size
ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe.

Why does he talk again?

Listen, you better go
’cause we’re really busy working.

But it’s our yogurt night!

Bye-bye.

Why is yogurt night so difficult?!

You poor thing.
You two have been at this for hours!

Yes, and Adam here
has been a huge help.

– Frosting…
– How many sugars?

Just one. I try not
to use the competition.

So why are you helping me?

Bees have good qualities.

And it takes my mind off the shop.

Instead of flowers, people
are giving balloon bouquets now.

Those are great, if you’re three.

And artificial flowers.

– Oh, those just get me psychotic!
– Yeah, me too.

Bent stingers, pointless pollination.

Bees must hate those fake things!

Nothing worse
than a daffodil that’s had work done.

Maybe this could make up
for it a little bit.

– This lawsuit’s a pretty big deal.
– I guess.

You sure you want to go through with it?

Am I sure? When I’m done with
the humans, they won’t be able

to say, “Honey, I’m home,”
without paying a royalty!

It’s an incredible scene
here in downtown Manhattan,

where the world anxiously waits,
because for the first time in history,

we will hear for ourselves
if a honeybee can actually speak.

What have we gotten into here, Barry?

It’s pretty big, isn’t it?

I can’t believe how many humans
don’t work during the day.

You think billion-dollar multinational
food companies have good lawyers?

Everybody needs to stay
behind the barricade.

– What’s the matter?
– I don’t know, I just got a chill.

Well, if it isn’t the bee team.

You boys work on this?

All rise! The Honorable
Judge Bumbleton presiding.

All right. Oase number 4475,

Superior Oourt of New York,
Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry

is now in session.

Mr. Montgomery, you’re representing
the five food companies collectively?

A privilege.

Mr. Benson… you’re representing
all the bees of the world?

I’m kidding. Yes, Your Honor,
we’re ready to proceed.

Mr. Montgomery,
your opening statement, please.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

my grandmother was a simple woman.

Born on a farm, she believed
it was man’s divine right

to benefit from the bounty
of nature God put before us.

If we lived in the topsy-turvy world
Mr. Benson imagines,

just think of what would it mean.

I would have to negotiate
with the silkworm

for the elastic in my britches!

Talking bee!

How do we know this isn’t some sort of

holographic motion-picture-capture
Hollywood wizardry?

They could be using laser beams!

Robotics! Ventriloquism!
Oloning! For all we know,

he could be on steroids!

Mr. Benson?

Ladies and gentlemen,
there’s no trickery here.

I’m just an ordinary bee.
Honey’s pretty important to me.

It’s important to all bees.
We invented it!

We make it. And we protect it
with our lives.

Unfortunately, there are
some people in this room

who think they can take it from us

’cause we’re the little guys!
I’m hoping that, after this is all over,

you’ll see how, by taking our honey,
you not only take everything we have

but everything we are!

I wish he’d dress like that
all the time. So nice!

Oall your first witness.

So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden
of Honey Farms, big company you have.

I suppose so.

I see you also own
Honeyburton and Honron!

Yes, they provide beekeepers
for our farms.

Beekeeper. I find that
to be a very disturbing term.

I don’t imagine you employ
any bee-free-ers, do you?

– No.
– I couldn’t hear you.

– No.
– No.

Because you don’t free bees.
You keep bees. Not only that,

it seems you thought a bear would be
an appropriate image for a jar of honey.

They’re very lovable creatures.

Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear.

You mean like this?

Bears kill bees!

How’d you like his head crashing
through your living room?!

Biting into your couch!
Spitting out your throw pillows!

OK, that’s enough. Take him away.

So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here.
Your name intrigues me.

– Where have I heard it before?
– I was with a band called The Police.

But you’ve never been
a police officer, have you?

No, I haven’t.

No, you haven’t. And so here
we have yet another example

of bee culture casually
stolen by a human

for nothing more than
a prance-about stage name.

Oh, please.

Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting?

Because I’m feeling
a little stung, Sting.

Or should I say… Mr. Gordon M. Sumner!

That’s not his real name?! You idiots!

Mr. Liotta, first,
belated congratulations on

your Emmy win for a guest spot
on ER in 2005.

Thank you. Thank you.

I see from your resume
that you’re devilishly handsome

with a churning inner turmoil
that’s ready to blow.

I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime?

Not yet it isn’t. But is this
what it’s come to for you?

Exploiting tiny, helpless bees
so you don’t

have to rehearse
your part and learn your lines, sir?

Watch it, Benson!
I could blow right now!

This isn’t a goodfella.
This is a badfella!

Why doesn’t someone just step on
this creep, and we can all go home?!

– Order in this court!
– You’re all thinking it!

Order! Order, I say!

– Say it!
– Mr. Liotta, please sit down!

I think it was awfully nice
of that bear to pitch in like that.

I think the jury’s on our side.

Are we doing everything right, legally?

I’m a florist.

Right. Well, here’s to a great team.

To a great team!

Well, hello.

– Ken!
– Hello.

I didn’t think you were coming.

No, I was just late.
I tried to call, but… the battery.

I didn’t want all this to go to waste,
so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free.

Oh, that was lucky.

There’s a little left.
I could heat it up.

Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever.

So I hear you’re quite a tennis player.

I’m not much for the game myself.
The ball’s a little grabby.

That’s where I usually sit.
Right… there.

Ken, Barry was looking at your resume,

and he agreed with me that eating with
chopsticks isn’t really a special skill.

You think I don’t see what you’re doing?

I know how hard it is to find
the rightjob. We have that in common.

Do we?

Bees have 100 percent employment,
but we do jobs like taking the crud out.

That’s just what
I was thinking about doing.

Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor
for his fuzz. I hope that was all right.

I’m going to drain the old stinger.

Yeah, you do that.

Look at that.

You know, I’ve just about had it

with your little mind games.

– What’s that?
– Italian Vogue.

Mamma mia, that’s a lot of pages.

A lot of ads.

Remember what Van said, why is
your life more valuable than mine?

Funny, I just can’t seem to recall that!

I think something stinks in here!

I love the smell of flowers.

How do you like the smell of flames?!

Not as much.

Water bug! Not taking sides!

Ken, I’m wearing a Ohapstick hat!
This is pathetic!

I’ve got issues!

Well, well, well, a royal flush!

– You’re bluffing.
– Am I?

Surf’s up, dude!

Poo water!

That bowl is gnarly.

Except for those dirty yellow rings!

Kenneth! What are you doing?!

You know, I don’t even like honey!
I don’t eat it!

We need to talk!

He’s just a little bee!

And he happens to be
the nicest bee I’ve met in a long time!

Long time? What are you talking about?!
Are there other bugs in your life?

No, but there are other things bugging
me in life. And you’re one of them!

Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night…

My nerves are fried from riding
on this emotional roller coaster!

Goodbye, Ken.

And for your information,

I prefer sugar-free, artificial
sweeteners made by man!

I’m sorry about all that.

I know it’s got
an aftertaste! I like it!

I always felt there was some kind
of barrier between Ken and me.

I couldn’t overcome it.
Oh, well.

Are you OK for the trial?

I believe Mr. Montgomery
is about out of ideas.

We would like to call
Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand.

Good idea! You can really see why he’s
considered one of the best lawyers…

Yeah.

Layton, you’ve
gotta weave some magic

with this jury,
or it’s gonna be all over.

Don’t worry. The only thing I have
to do to turn this jury around

is to remind them
of what they don’t like about bees.

– You got the tweezers?
– Are you allergic?

Only to losing, son. Only to losing.

Mr. Benson Bee, I’ll ask you
what I think we’d all like to know.

What exactly is your relationship

to that woman?

We’re friends.

– Good friends?
– Yes.

How good? Do you live together?

Wait a minute…

Are you her little…

…bedbug?

I’ve seen a bee documentary or two.
From what I understand,

doesn’t your queen give birth
to all the bee children?

– Yeah, but…
– So those aren’t your real parents!

– Oh, Barry…
– Yes, they are!

Hold me back!

You’re an illegitimate bee,
aren’t you, Benson?

He’s denouncing bees!

Don’t y’all date your cousins?

– Objection!
– I’m going to pincushion this guy!

Adam, don’t! It’s what he wants!

Oh, I’m hit!!

Oh, lordy, I am hit!

Order! Order!

The venom! The venom
is coursing through my veins!

I have been felled
by a winged beast of destruction!

You see? You can’t treat them
like equals! They’re striped savages!

Stinging’s the only thing
they know! It’s their way!

– Adam, stay with me.
– I can’t feel my legs.

What angel of mercy
will come forward to suck the poison

from my heaving buttocks?

I will have order in this court. Order!

Order, please!

The case of the honeybees
versus the human race

took a pointed turn against the bees

yesterday when one of their legal
team stung Layton T. Montgomery.

– Hey, buddy.
– Hey.

– Is there much pain?
– Yeah.

I…

I blew the whole case, didn’t I?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is
you’re alive. You could have died.

I’d be better off dead. Look at me.

They got it from the cafeteria
downstairs, in a tuna sandwich.

Look, there’s
a little celery still on it.

What was it like to sting someone?

I can’t explain it. It was all…

All adrenaline and then…
and then ecstasy!

All right.

You think it was all a trap?

Of course. I’m sorry.
I flew us right into this.

What were we thinking? Look at us. We’re
just a couple of bugs in this world.

What will the humans do to us
if they win?

I don’t know.

I hear they put the roaches in motels.
That doesn’t sound so bad.

Adam, they check in,
but they don’t check out!

Oh, my.

Oould you get a nurse
to close that window?

– Why?
– The smoke.

Bees don’t smoke.

Right. Bees don’t smoke.

Bees don’t smoke!
But some bees are smoking.

That’s it! That’s our case!

It is? It’s not over?

Get dressed. I’ve gotta go somewhere.

Get back to the court and stall.
Stall any way you can.

And assuming you’ve done step correctly, you’re ready for the tub.

Mr. Flayman.

Yes? Yes, Your Honor!

Where is the rest of your team?

Well, Your Honor, it’s interesting.

Bees are trained to fly haphazardly,

and as a result,
we don’t make very good time.

I actually heard a funny story about…

Your Honor,
haven’t these ridiculous bugs

taken up enough
of this court’s valuable time?

How much longer will we allow
these absurd shenanigans to go on?

They have presented no compelling
evidence to support their charges

against my clients,
who run legitimate businesses.

I move for a complete dismissal
of this entire case!

Mr. Flayman, I’m afraid I’m going

to have to consider
Mr. Montgomery’s motion.

But you can’t! We have a terrific case.

Where is your proof?
Where is the evidence?

Show me the smoking gun!

Hold it, Your Honor!
You want a smoking gun?

Here is your smoking gun.

What is that?

It’s a bee smoker!

What, this?
This harmless little contraption?

This couldn’t hurt a fly,
let alone a bee.

Look at what has happened

to bees who have never been asked,
“Smoking or non?”

Is this what nature intended for us?

To be forcibly addicted
to smoke machines

and man-made wooden slat work camps?

Living out our lives as honey slaves
to the white man?

– What are we gonna do?
– He’s playing the species card.

Ladies and gentlemen, please,
free these bees!

Free the bees! Free the bees!

Free the bees!

Free the bees! Free the bees!

The court finds in favor of the bees!

Vanessa, we won!

I knew you could do it! High-five!

Sorry.

I’m OK! You know what this means?

All the honey
will finally belong to the bees.

Now we won’t have
to work so hard all the time.

This is an unholy perversion
of the balance of nature, Benson.

You’ll regret this.

Barry, how much honey is out there?

All right. One at a time.

Barry, who are you wearing?

My sweater is Ralph Lauren,
and I have no pants.

– What if Montgomery’s right?
– What do you mean?

We’ve been living the bee way
a long time, 27 million years.

Oongratulations on your victory.
What will you demand as a settlement?

First, we’ll demand a complete shutdown
of all bee work camps.

Then we want back the honey
that was ours to begin with,

every last drop.

We demand an end to the glorification
of the bear as anything more

than a filthy, smelly,
bad-breath stink machine.

We’re all aware
of what they do in the woods.

Wait for my signal.

Take him out.

He’ll have nauseous
for a few hours, then he’ll be fine.

And we will no longer tolerate
bee-negative nicknames…

But it’s just a prance-about stage name!

…unnecessary inclusion of honey
in bogus health products

and la-dee-da human
tea-time snack garnishments.

Oan’t breathe.

Bring it in, boys!

Hold it right there! Good.

Tap it.

Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups,
and there’s gallons more coming!

– I think we need to shut down!
– Shut down? We’ve never shut down.

Shut down honey production!

Stop making honey!

Turn your key, sir!

What do we do now?

Oannonball!

We’re shutting honey production!

Mission abort.

Aborting pollination and nectar detail.
Returning to base.

Adam, you wouldn’t believe
how much honey was out there.

Oh, yeah?

What’s going on? Where is everybody?

– Are they out celebrating?
– They’re home.

They don’t know what to do.
Laying out, sleeping in.

I heard your Uncle Oarl was on his way
to San Antonio with a cricket.

At least we got our honey back.

Sometimes I think, so what if humans
liked our honey? Who wouldn’t?

It’s the greatest thing in the world!
I was excited to be part of making it.

This was my new desk. This was my
new job. I wanted to do it really well.

And now…

Now I can’t.

I don’t understand
why they’re not happy.

I thought their lives would be better!

They’re doing nothing. It’s amazing.
Honey really changes people.

You don’t have any idea
what’s going on, do you?

– What did you want to show me?
– This.

What happened here?

That is not the half of it.

Oh, no. Oh, my.

They’re all wilting.

Doesn’t look very good, does it?

No.

And whose fault do you think that is?

You know, I’m gonna guess bees.

Bees?

Specifically, me.

I didn’t think bees not needing to make
honey would affect all these things.

It’s notjust flowers.
Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees.

That’s our whole SAT test right there.

Take away produce, that affects
the entire animal kingdom.

And then, of course…

The human species?

So if there’s no more pollination,

it could all just go south here,
couldn’t it?

I know this is also partly my fault.

How about a suicide pact?

How do we do it?

– I’ll sting you, you step on me.
– Thatjust kills you twice.

Right, right.

Listen, Barry…
sorry, but I gotta get going.

I had to open my mouth and talk.

Vanessa?

Vanessa? Why are you leaving?
Where are you going?

To the final Tournament of Roses parade
in Pasadena.

They’ve moved it to this weekend
because all the flowers are dying.

It’s the last chance
I’ll ever have to see it.

Vanessa, I just wanna say I’m sorry.
I never meant it to turn out like this.

I know. Me neither.

Tournament of Roses.
Roses can’t do sports.

Wait a minute. Roses. Roses?

Roses!

Vanessa!

Roses?!

Barry?

– Roses are flowers!
– Yes, they are.

Flowers, bees, pollen!

I know.
That’s why this is the last parade.

Maybe not.
Oould you ask him to slow down?

Oould you slow down?

Barry!

OK, I made a huge mistake.
This is a total disaster, all my fault.

Yes, it kind of is.

I’ve ruined the planet.
I wanted to help you

with the flower shop.
I’ve made it worse.

Actually, it’s completely closed down.

I thought maybe you were remodeling.

But I have another idea, and it’s
greater than my previous ideas combined.

I don’t want to hear it!

All right, they have the roses,
the roses have the pollen.

I know every bee, plant
and flower bud in this park.

All we gotta do is get what they’ve got
back here with what we’ve got.

– Bees.
– Park.

– Pollen!
– Flowers.

– Repollination!
– Across the nation!

Tournament of Roses,
Pasadena, Oalifornia.

They’ve got nothing
but flowers, floats and cotton candy.

Security will be tight.

I have an idea.

Vanessa Bloome, FTD.

Official floral business. It’s real.

Sorry, ma’am. Nice brooch.

Thank you. It was a gift.

Once inside,
we just pick the right float.

How about The Princess and the Pea?

I could be the princess,
and you could be the pea!

Yes, I got it.

– Where should I sit?
– What are you?

– I believe I’m the pea.
– The pea?

It goes under the mattresses.

– Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart.
– I’m getting the marshal.

You do that!
This whole parade is a fiasco!

Let’s see what this baby’ll do.

Hey, what are you doing?!

Then all we do
is blend in with traffic…

…without arousing suspicion.

Once at the airport,
there’s no stopping us.

Stop! Security.

– You and your insect pack your float?
– Yes.

Has it been
in your possession the entire time?

Would you remove your shoes?

– Remove your stinger.
– It’s part of me.

I know. Just having some fun.
Enjoy your flight.

Then if we’re lucky, we’ll have
just enough pollen to do the job.

Oan you believe how lucky we are? We
have just enough pollen to do the job!

I think this is gonna work.

It’s got to work.

Attention, passengers,
this is Oaptain Scott.

We have a bit of bad weather
in New York.

It looks like we’ll experience
a couple hours delay.

Barry, these are cut flowers
with no water. They’ll never make it.

I gotta get up there
and talk to them.

Be careful.

Oan I get help
with the Sky Mall magazine?

I’d like to order the talking
inflatable nose and ear hair trimmer.

Oaptain, I’m in a real situation.

– What’d you say, Hal?
– Nothing.

Bee!

Don’t freak out! My entire species…

What are you doing?

– Wait a minute! I’m an attorney!
– Who’s an attorney?

Don’t move.

Oh, Barry.

Good afternoon, passengers.
This is your captain.

Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24B
please report to the cockpit?

And please hurry!

What happened here?

There was a DustBuster,
a toupee, a life raft exploded.

One’s bald, one’s in a boat,
they’re both unconscious!

– Is that another bee joke?
– No!

No one’s flying the plane!

This is JFK control tower, Flight 356.
What’s your status?

This is Vanessa Bloome.
I’m a florist from New York.

Where’s the pilot?

He’s unconscious,
and so is the copilot.

Not good. Does anyone onboard
have flight experience?

As a matter of fact, there is.

– Who’s that?
– Barry Benson.

From the honey trial?! Oh, great.

Vanessa, this is nothing more
than a big metal bee.

It’s got giant wings, huge engines.

I can’t fly a plane.

– Why not? Isn’t John Travolta a pilot?
– Yes.

How hard could it be?

Wait, Barry!
We’re headed into some lightning.

This is Bob Bumble. We have some
late-breaking news from JFK Airport,

where a suspenseful scene
is developing.

Barry Benson,
fresh from his legal victory…

That’s Barry!

…is attempting to land a plane,
loaded with people, flowers

and an incapacitated flight crew.

Flowers?!

We have a storm in the area
and two individuals at the controls

with absolutely no flight experience.

Just a minute.
There’s a bee on that plane.

I’m quite familiar with Mr. Benson
and his no-account compadres.

They’ve done enough damage.

But isn’t he your only hope?

Technically, a bee
shouldn’t be able to fly at all.

Their wings are too small…

Haven’t we heard this a million times?

“The surface area of the wings
and body mass make no sense.”

– Get this on the air!
– Got it.

– Stand by.
– We’re going live.

The way we work may be a mystery to you.

Making honey takes a lot of bees
doing a lot of small jobs.

But let me tell you about a small job.

If you do it well,
it makes a big difference.

More than we realized.
To us, to everyone.

0
Jordan

is this the entire script of the bee movie???

1
Amber Maloof

I don’t know whether to be impressed or not… this is incredible and completely unrelated. I LOVE IT 😀

1
Stephen's GF

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: “She is such a good mother. She adores her children.” Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each other’s eyes.

There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighbourhood.

Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went into town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialised. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother said: “I will see if I can’t make something.” But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll’s house, a voice would start whispering: “There must be more money! There must be more money!” And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other’s eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. “There must be more money! There must be more money!”

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: “There must be more money!”

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: “We are breathing!” in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

“Mother,” said the boy Paul one day, “why don’t we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle’s, or else a taxi?”

“Because we’re the poor members of the family,” said the mother.

“But why are we, mother?”

“Well – I suppose,” she said slowly and bitterly, “it’s because your father has no luck.”

The boy was silent for some time.

“Is luck money, mother?” he asked, rather timidly.

“No, Paul. Not quite. It’s what causes you to have money.”

“Oh!” said Paul vaguely. “I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money.”

“Filthy lucre does mean money,” said the mother. “But it’s lucre, not luck.”

“Oh!” said the boy. “Then what is luck, mother?”

“It’s what causes you to have money. If you’re lucky you have money. That’s why it’s better to be born lucky than rich. If you’re rich, you may lose your money. But if you’re lucky, you will always get more money.”

“Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?”

“Very unlucky, I should say,” she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Nobody ever knows why one person is lucky and another unlucky.”

“Don’t they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?”

“Perhaps God. But He never tells.”

“He ought to, then. And are’nt you lucky either, mother?”

“I can’t be, it I married an unlucky husband.”

“But by yourself, aren’t you?”

“I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed.”

“Why?”

“Well – never mind! Perhaps I’m not really,” she said.

The child looked at her to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

“Well, anyhow,” he said stoutly, “I’m a lucky person.”

“Why?” said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

He stared at her. He didn’t even know why he had said it.

“God told me,” he asserted, brazening it out.

“I hope He did, dear!”, she said, again with a laugh, but rather bitter.

“He did, mother!”

“Excellent!” said the mother, using one of her husband’s exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. This angered him somewhere, and made him want to compel her attention.

He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to ‘luck’. Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When he had ridden to the end of his mad little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

“Now!” he would silently command the snorting steed. “Now take me to where there is luck! Now take me!”

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there.

“You’ll break your horse, Paul!” said the nurse.

“He’s always riding like that! I wish he’d leave off!” said his elder sister Joan.

But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow, he was growing beyond her.

One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

“Hallo, you young jockey! Riding a winner?” said his uncle.

“Aren’t you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You’re not a very little boy any longer, you know,” said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop and slid down.

“Well, I got there!” he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

“Where did you get to?” asked his mother.

“Where I wanted to go,” he flared back at her.

“That’s right, son!” said Uncle Oscar. “Don’t you stop till you get there. What’s the horse’s name?”

“He doesn’t have a name,” said the boy.

“Get’s on without all right?” asked the uncle.

“Well, he has different names. He was called Sansovino last week.”

“Sansovino, eh? Won the Ascot. How did you know this name?”

“He always talks about horse-races with Bassett,” said Joan.

The uncle was delighted to find that his small nephew was posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell, whose batman he had been, was a perfect blade of the ‘turf’. He lived in the racing events, and the small boy lived with him.

Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

“Master Paul comes and asks me, so I can’t do more than tell him, sir,” said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were speaking of religious matters.

“And does he ever put anything on a horse he fancies?”

“Well – I don’t want to give him away – he’s a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself? He sort of takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps he’d feel I was giving him away, sir, if you don’t mind.

Bassett was serious as a church.

The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car.

“Say, Paul, old man, do you ever put anything on a horse?” the uncle asked.

The boy watched the handsome man closely.

“Why, do you think I oughtn’t to?” he parried.

“Not a bit of it! I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln.”

The car sped on into the country, going down to Uncle Oscar’s place in Hampshire.

“Honour bright?” said the nephew.

“Honour bright, son!” said the uncle.

“Well, then, Daffodil.”

“Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. What about Mirza?”

“I only know the winner,” said the boy. “That’s Daffodil.”

“Daffodil, eh?”

There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.

“Uncle!”

“Yes, son?”

“You won’t let it go any further, will you? I promised Bassett.”

“Bassett be damned, old man! What’s he got to do with it?”

“We’re partners. We’ve been partners from the first. Uncle, he lent me my first five shillings, which I lost. I promised him, honour bright, it was only between me and him; only you gave me that ten-shilling note I started winning with, so I thought you were lucky. You won’t let it go any further, will you?”

The boy gazed at his uncle from those big, hot, blue eyes, set rather close together. The uncle stirred and laughed uneasily.

“Right you are, son! I’ll keep your tip private. How much are you putting on him?”

“All except twenty pounds,” said the boy. “I keep that in reserve.”

The uncle thought it a good joke.

“You keep twenty pounds in reserve, do you, you young romancer? What are you betting, then?”

“I’m betting three hundred,” said the boy gravely. “But it’s between you and me, Uncle Oscar! Honour bright?”

“It’s between you and me all right, you young Nat Gould,” he said, laughing. “But where’s your three hundred?”

“Bassett keeps it for me. We’re partner’s.”

“You are, are you! And what is Bassett putting on Daffodil?”

“He won’t go quite as high as I do, I expect. Perhaps he’ll go a hundred and fifty.”

“What, pennies?” laughed the uncle.

“Pounds,” said the child, with a surprised look at his uncle. “Bassett keeps a bigger reserve than I do.”

Between wonder and amusement Uncle Oscar was silent. He pursued the matter no further, but he determined to take his nephew with him to the Lincoln races.

“Now, son,” he said, “I’m putting twenty on Mirza, and I’ll put five on for you on any horse you fancy. What’s your pick?”

“Daffodil, uncle.”

“No, not the fiver on Daffodil!”

“I should if it was my own fiver,” said the child.

“Good! Good! Right you are! A fiver for me and a fiver for you on Daffodil.”

The child had never been to a race-meeting before, and his eyes were blue fire. He pursed his mouth tight and watched. A Frenchman just in front had put his money on Lancelot. Wild with excitement, he flayed his arms up and down, yelling “Lancelot!, Lancelot!” in his French accent.

Daffodil came in first, Lancelot second, Mirza third. The child, flushed and with eyes blazing, was curiously serene. His uncle brought him four five-pound notes, four to one.

“What am I to do with these?” he cried, waving them before the boys eyes.

“I suppose we’ll talk to Bassett,” said the boy. “I expect I have fifteen hundred now; and twenty in reserve; and this twenty.”

His uncle studied him for some moments.

“Look here, son!” he said. “You’re not serious about Bassett and that fifteen hundred, are you?”

“Yes, I am. But it’s between you and me, uncle. Honour bright?”

“Honour bright all right, son! But I must talk to Bassett.”

“If you’d like to be a partner, uncle, with Bassett and me, we could all be partners. Only, you’d have to promise, honour bright, uncle, not to let it go beyond us three. Bassett and I are lucky, and you must be lucky, because it was your ten shillings I started winning with …”

Uncle Oscar took both Bassett and Paul into Richmond Park for an afternoon, and there they talked.

“It’s like this, you see, sir,” Bassett said. “Master Paul would get me talking about racing events, spinning yarns, you know, sir. And he was always keen on knowing if I’d made or if I’d lost. It’s about a year since, now, that I put five shillings on Blush of Dawn for him: and we lost. Then the luck turned, with that ten shillings he had from you: that we put on Singhalese. And since that time, it’s been pretty steady, all things considering. What do you say, Master Paul?”

“We’re all right when we’re sure,” said Paul. “It’s when we’re not quite sure that we go down.”

“Oh, but we’re careful then,” said Bassett.

“But when are you sure?” smiled Uncle Oscar.

“It’s Master Paul, sir,” said Bassett in a secret, religious voice. “It’s as if he had it from heaven. Like Daffodil, now, for the Lincoln. That was as sure as eggs.”

“Did you put anything on Daffodil?” asked Oscar Cresswell.

“Yes, sir, I made my bit.”

“And my nephew?”

Bassett was obstinately silent, looking at Paul.

“I made twelve hundred, didn’t I, Bassett? I told uncle I was putting three hundred on Daffodil.”

“That’s right,” said Bassett, nodding.

“But where’s the money?” asked the uncle.

“I keep it safe locked up, sir. Master Paul he can have it any minute he likes to ask for it.”

“What, fifteen hundred pounds?”

“And twenty! And forty, that is, with the twenty he made on the course.”

“It’s amazing!” said the uncle.

“If Master Paul offers you to be partners, sir, I would, if I were you: if you’ll excuse me,” said Bassett.

Oscar Cresswell thought about it.

“I’ll see the money,” he said.

They drove home again, and, sure enough, Bassett came round to the garden-house with fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pounds reserve was left with Joe Glee, in the Turf Commission deposit.

“You see, it’s all right, uncle, when I’m sure! Then we go strong, for all we’re worth, don’t we, Bassett?”

“We do that, Master Paul.”

“And when are you sure?” said the uncle, laughing.

“Oh, well, sometimes I’m absolutely sure, like about Daffodil,” said the boy; “and sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I haven’t even an idea, have I, Bassett? Then we’re careful, because we mostly go down.”

“You do, do you! And when you’re sure, like about Daffodil, what makes you sure, sonny?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” said the boy uneasily. “I’m sure, you know, uncle; that’s all.”

“It’s as if he had it from heaven, sir,” Bassett reiterated.

“I should say so!” said the uncle.

But he became a partner. And when the Leger was coming on Paul was ‘sure’ about Lively Spark, which was a quite inconsiderable horse. The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse, Bassett went for five hundred, and Oscar Cresswell two hundred. Lively Spark came in first, and the betting had been ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

“You see,” he said. “I was absolutely sure of him.”

Even Oscar Cresswell had cleared two thousand.

“Look here, son,” he said, “this sort of thing makes me nervous.”

“It needn’t, uncle! Perhaps I shan’t be sure again for a long time.”

“But what are you going to do with your money?” asked the uncle.

“Of course,” said the boy, “I started it for mother. She said she had no luck, because father is unlucky, so I thought if I was lucky, it might stop whispering.”

“What might stop whispering?”

“Our house. I hate our house for whispering.”

“What does it whisper?”

“Why – why” – the boy fidgeted – “why, I don’t know. But it’s always short of money, you know, uncle.”

“I know it, son, I know it.”

“You know people send mother writs, don’t you, uncle?”

“I’m afraid I do,” said the uncle.

“And then the house whispers, like people laughing at you behind your back. It’s awful, that is! I thought if I was lucky -“

“You might stop it,” added the uncle.

The boy watched him with big blue eyes, that had an uncanny cold fire in them, and he said never a word.

“Well, then!” said the uncle. “What are we doing?”

“I shouldn’t like mother to know I was lucky,” said the boy.

“Why not, son?”

“She’d stop me.”

“I don’t think she would.”

“Oh!” – and the boy writhed in an odd way – “I don’t want her to know, uncle.”

“All right, son! We’ll manage it without her knowing.”

They managed it very easily. Paul, at the other’s suggestion, handed over five thousand pounds to his uncle, who deposited it with the family lawyer, who was then to inform Paul’s mother that a relative had put five thousand pounds into his hands, which sum was to be paid out a thousand pounds at a time, on the mother’s birthday, for the next five years.

“So she’ll have a birthday present of a thousand pounds for five successive years,” said Uncle Oscar. “I hope it won’t make it all the harder for her later.”

Paul’s mother had her birthday in November. The house had been ‘whispering’ worse than ever lately, and, even in spite of his luck, Paul could not bear up against it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter, telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

When there were no visitors, Paul now took his meals with his parents, as he was beyond the nursery control. His mother went into town nearly every day. She had discovered that she had an odd knack of sketching furs and dress materials, so she worked secretly in the studio of a friend who was the chief ‘artist’ for the leading drapers. She drew the figures of ladies in furs and ladies in silk and sequins for the newspaper advertisements. This young woman artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul’s mother only made several hundreds, and she was again dissatisfied. She so wanted to be first in something, and she did not succeed, even in making sketches for drapery advertisements.

She was down to breakfast on the morning of her birthday. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the lawyer’s letter. As his mother read it, her face hardened and became more expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came on her mouth. She hid the letter under the pile of others, and said not a word about it.

“Didn’t you have anything nice in the post for your birthday, mother?” said Paul.

“Quite moderately nice,” she said, her voice cold and hard and absent.

She went away to town without saying more.

But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar appeared. He said Paul’s mother had had a long interview with the lawyer, asking if the whole five thousand could not be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

“What do you think, uncle?” said the boy.

“I leave it to you, son.”

“Oh, let her have it, then! We can get some more with the other,” said the boy.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, laddie!” said Uncle Oscar.

“But I’m sure to know for the Grand National; or the Lincolnshire; or else the Derby. I’m sure to know for one of them,” said Paul.

So Uncle Oscar signed the agreement, and Paul’s mother touched the whole five thousand. Then something very curious happened. The voices in the house suddenly went mad, like a chorus of frogs on a spring evening. There were certain new furnishings, and Paul had a tutor. He was really going to Eton, his father’s school, in the following autumn. There were flowers in the winter, and a blossoming of the luxury Paul’s mother had been used to. And yet the voices in the house, behind the sprays of mimosa and almond-blossom, and from under the piles of iridescent cushions, simply trilled and screamed in a sort of ecstasy: “There must be more money! Oh-h-h; there must be more money. Oh, now, now-w! Now-w-w – there must be more money! – more than ever! More than ever!”

It frightened Paul terribly. He studied away at his Latin and Greek with his tutor. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National had gone by: he had not ‘known’, and had lost a hundred pounds. Summer was at hand. He was in agony for the Lincoln. But even for the Lincoln he didn’t ‘know’, and he lost fifty pounds. He became wild-eyed and strange, as if something were going to explode in him.

“Let it alone, son! Don’t you bother about it!” urged Uncle Oscar. But it was as if the boy couldn’t really hear what his uncle was saying.

“I’ve got to know for the Derby! I’ve got to know for the Derby!” the child reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.

His mother noticed how overwrought he was.

“You’d better go to the seaside. Wouldn’t you like to go now to the seaside, instead of waiting? I think you’d better,” she said, looking down at him anxiously, her heart curiously heavy because of him.

But the child lifted his uncanny blue eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly go before the Derby, mother!” he said. “I couldn’t possibly!”

“Why not?” she said, her voice becoming heavy when she was opposed. “Why not? You can still go from the seaside to see the Derby with your Uncle Oscar, if that that’s what you wish. No need for you to wait here. Besides, I think you care too much about these races. It’s a bad sign. My family has been a gambling family, and you won’t know till you grow up how much damage it has done. But it has done damage. I shall have to send Bassett away, and ask Uncle Oscar not to talk racing to you, unless you promise to be reasonable about it: go away to the seaside and forget it. You’re all nerves!”

“I’ll do what you like, mother, so long as you don’t send me away till after the Derby,” the boy said.

“Send you away from where? Just from this house?”

“Yes,” he said, gazing at her.

“Why, you curious child, what makes you care about this house so much, suddenly? I never knew you loved it.”

He gazed at her without speaking. He had a secret within a secret, something he had not divulged, even to Bassett or to his Uncle Oscar.

But his mother, after standing undecided and a little bit sullen for some moments, said: “Very well, then! Don’t go to the seaside till after the Derby, if you don’t wish it. But promise me you won’t think so much about horse-racing and events as you call them!”

“Oh no,” said the boy casually. “I won’t think much about them, mother. You needn’t worry. I wouldn’t worry, mother, if I were you.”

“If you were me and I were you,” said his mother, “I wonder what we should do!”

“But you know you needn’t worry, mother, don’t you?” the boy repeated.

“I should be awfully glad to know it,” she said wearily.

“Oh, well, you can, you know. I mean, you ought to know you needn’t worry,” he insisted.

“Ought I? Then I’ll see about it,” she said.

Paul’s secret of secrets was his wooden horse, that which had no name. Since he was emancipated from a nurse and a nursery-governess, he had had his rocking-horse removed to his own bedroom at the top of the house.

“Surely you’re too big for a rocking-horse!” his mother had remonstrated.

“Well, you see, mother, till I can have a real horse, I like to have some sort of animal about,” had been his quaint answer.

“Do you feel he keeps you company?” she laughed.

“Oh yes! He’s very good, he always keeps me company, when I’m there,” said Paul.

So the horse, rather shabby, stood in an arrested prance in the boy’s bedroom.

The Derby was drawing near, and the boy grew more and more tense. He hardly heard what was spoken to him, he was very frail, and his eyes were really uncanny. His mother had sudden strange seizures of uneasiness about him. Sometimes, for half an hour, she would feel a sudden anxiety about him that was almost anguish. She wanted to rush to him at once, and know he was safe.

Two nights before the Derby, she was at a big party in town, when one of her rushes of anxiety about her boy, her first-born, gripped her heart till she could hardly speak. She fought with the feeling, might and main, for she believed in common sense. But it was too strong. She had to leave the dance and go downstairs to telephone to the country. The children’s nursery-governess was terribly surprised and startled at being rung up in the night.

“Are the children all right, Miss Wilmot?”

“Oh yes, they are quite all right.”

“Master Paul? Is he all right?”

“He went to bed as right as a trivet. Shall I run up and look at him?”

“No,” said Paul’s mother reluctantly. “No! Don’t trouble. It’s all right. Don’t sit up. We shall be home fairly soon.” She did not want her son’s privacy intruded upon.

“Very good,” said the governess.

It was about one o’clock when Paul’s mother and father drove up to their house. All was still. Paul’s mother went to her room and slipped off her white fur cloak. She had told her maid not to wait up for her. She heard her husband downstairs, mixing a whisky and soda.

And then, because of the strange anxiety at her heart, she stole upstairs to her son’s room. Noiselessly she went along the upper corridor. Was there a faint noise? What was it?

She stood, with arrested muscles, outside his door, listening. There was a strange, heavy, and yet not loud noise. Her heart stood still. It was a soundless noise, yet rushing and powerful. Something huge, in violent, hushed motion. What was it? What in God’s name was it? She ought to know. She felt that she knew the noise. She knew what it was.

Yet she could not place it. She couldn’t say what it was. And on and on it went, like a madness.

Softly, frozen with anxiety and fear, she turned the door-handle.

The room was dark. Yet in the space near the window, she heard and saw something plunging to and fro. She gazed in fear and amazement.

Then suddenly she switched on the light, and saw her son, in his green pyjamas, madly surging on the rocking-horse. The blaze of light suddenly lit him up, as he urged the wooden horse, and lit her up, as she stood, blonde, in her dress of pale green and crystal, in the doorway.

“Paul!” she cried. “Whatever are you doing?”

“It’s Malabar!” he screamed in a powerful, strange voice. “It’s Malabar!”

His eyes blazed at her for one strange and senseless second, as he ceased urging his wooden horse. Then he fell with a crash to the ground, and she, all her tormented motherhood flooding upon her, rushed to gather him up.

But he was unconscious, and unconscious he remained, with some brain-fever. He talked and tossed, and his mother sat stonily by his side.

“Malabar! It’s Malabar! Bassett, Bassett, I know! It’s Malabar!”

So the child cried, trying to get up and urge the rocking-horse that gave him his inspiration.

“What does he mean by Malabar?” asked the heart-frozen mother.

“I don’t know,” said the father stonily.

“What does he mean by Malabar?” she asked her brother Oscar.

“It’s one of the horses running for the Derby,” was the answer.

And, in spite of himself, Oscar Cresswell spoke to Bassett, and himself put a thousand on Malabar: at fourteen to one.

The third day of the illness was critical: they were waiting for a change. The boy, with his rather long, curly hair, was tossing ceaselessly on the pillow. He neither slept nor regained consciousness, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat, feeling her heart had gone, turned actually into a stone.

In the evening Oscar Cresswell did not come, but Bassett sent a message, saying could he come up for one moment, just one moment? Paul’s mother was very angry at the intrusion, but on second thoughts she agreed. The boy was the same. Perhaps Bassett might bring him to consciousness.

The gardener, a shortish fellow with a little brown moustache and sharp little brown eyes, tiptoed into the room, touched his imaginary cap to Paul’s mother, and stole to the bedside, staring with glittering, smallish eyes at the tossing, dying child.

“Master Paul!” he whispered. “Master Paul! Malabar came in first all right, a clean win. I did as you told me. You’ve made over seventy thousand pounds, you have; you’ve got over eighty thousand. Malabar came in all right, Master Paul.”

“Malabar! Malabar! Did I say Malabar, mother? Did I say Malabar? Do you think I’m lucky, mother? I knew Malabar, didn’t I? Over eighty thousand pounds! I call that lucky, don’t you, mother? Over eighty thousand pounds! I knew, didn’t I know I knew? Malabar came in all right. If I ride my horse till I’m sure, then I tell you, Bassett, you can go as high as you like. Did you go for all you were worth, Bassett?”

“I went a thousand on it, Master Paul.”

“I never told you, mother, that if I can ride my horse, and get there, then I’m absolutely sure – oh, absolutely! Mother, did I ever tell you? I am lucky!”

“No, you never did,” said his mother.

But the boy died in the night.

And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother’s voice saying to her, “My God, Hester, you’re eighty-odd thousand to the good, and a poor devil of a son to the bad. But, poor devil, poor devil, he’s best gone out of a life where he rides his rocking-horse to find a winner.”

0
pee pee poo poo

I agree

0
ganal

.–””””’–.
.’ .—. ‘.
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\ | .-. | .-. | /
‘-._| | | | | | |_.-‘
| ‘-‘ | ‘-‘ |
\___/ \___/
_.-‘ / \ -._
.' _.--| |--._ '.
' _...-| |-..._ '
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_| |_
/\( )/\
/
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‘-‘ ‘-‘
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./ | | |/.
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‘._.’| .-. |’._.’
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/| | |\
.’_| | |_.
LGB
. | | | .’
. / | \ .
/o.-' / \-.o\
/o o\ .'
. /o o\
.___.'.___.’
Nigward

0
Iggy Iguana

Fortnite ⛏️?????is???? gone???. I? couldn’t??‍♂️ be more ??happier????. Demonized ??children ??will turn ?back? to normal ?8th ??graders???. The gaming?? industry ??️will? get back?? to ??quality?✨ soulful??? development??‍♂️. No ???‍♂️?more? overhyped???? phoniness??????.

0
Minecraftluver42069

minecraft players only

0
Iggy Iguana

.̶̷̷̩̬̣̮̦̣̪̗̙̺̞̱͙̰͉͍͚ͤ̀͋͗̿ͭ̐ͯ͑̊͆͗̾̂͋͌ͮ͘͝ͅ.̧͉͖̙͎̠̬̻̤͖͍̤̼̯ͥ̎̍̓͑̋͌ͧ̋͊̿̕͘͢͢.̷̧̛̛͇̜̯̳̥͇̤̗͇͛̃̍ͮͥ̇̎ͥ̐ͫͧ͆̽̍̅̈͗́̅.̶̵̪͚̘̖̰͇̭͙̩̟̭̟ͤ̓ͯ̍ͪ̀̑̓̐̓͢.̶̶̛̳̺̳̩͍̥̿ͮ̈́̓̆ͨ̎́ͬ̓ͯ.ͣͪ̄̿̐ͬ́͑͝͏̪̫̺̹̗͉͓̠̳̯͓̻͖̳.̶̸̰̟͉̠̯̤͇͈̅ͨͯ̐́ͅ.̡̨̛͍̹̥̣͉̖̬̹̟͍̰̯͖̯̳̗͉̭̓̌͊ͬ͢͡.̶̢̹̠̩͕̋͛̍͒͛̂ͨ̐͑̌̚.̵̧̛̦̫͔͚̤͈̠̩͈͚̼̬͇͎̗̱ͦͫͯ͋ͬͦ̄͠.̖̗͔͙͒̀ͭ͋̈̐ͫ̃̀̽ͣ̆̓ͯͬͪ̽́̚͟͟͞
:

.̶̷̷̩̬̣̮̦̣̪̗̙̺̞̱͙̰͉͍͚ͤ̀͋͗̿ͭ̐ͯ͑̊͆͗̾̂͋͌ͮ͘͝ͅ.̧͉͖̙͎̠̬̻̤͖͍̤̼̯ͥ̎̍̓͑̋͌ͧ̋͊̿̕͘͢͢.̷̧̛̛͇̜̯̳̥͇̤̗͇͛̃̍ͮͥ̇̎ͥ̐ͫͧ͆̽̍̅̈͗́̅.̶̵̪͚̘̖̰͇̭͙̩̟̭̟ͤ̓ͯ̍ͪ̀̑̓̐̓͢.̶̶̛̳̺̳̩͍̥̿ͮ̈́̓̆ͨ̎́ͬ̓ͯ.ͣͪ̄̿̐ͬ́͑͝͏̪̫̺̹̗͉͓̠̳̯͓̻͖̳.̶̸̰̟͉̠̯̤͇͈̅ͨͯ̐́ͅ.̡̨̛͍̹̥̣͉̖̬̹̟͍̰̯͖̯̳̗͉̭̓̌͊ͬ͢͡.̶̢̹̠̩͕̋͛̍͒͛̂ͨ̐͑̌̚.̵̧̛̦̫͔͚̤͈̠̩͈͚̼̬͇͎̗̱ͦͫͯ͋ͬͦ̄͠.̖̗͔͙͒̀ͭ͋̈̐ͫ̃̀̽ͣ̆̓ͯͬͪ̽́̚͟͟͞.̵̛̛̹̗̻̯̺͔̥̩̿ͫͫ̉ͨ͘͡.̈́̈̉ͨ͌̽̄ͯͭ̿͌̌͂̓̇̈́ͦ͏̶̧̬̬͉̫̣̘̥̝̟̝̯̮̝͇̣̀͝.̸̣̦̱͙̦̯̱̬̲͓̘ͬ͗̏́̌͆̆̅ͩ̉̒͗ͭ͘.̔ͥͦ̓̉̐̏̔̒̐̂ͭ̔͢͏̸̖̞̝̗̩̜̮̩̰̕.̛͚̲̱̦̺̦͑̌̒͊̀͜͟.̨͉̳̟̭͇͍̖͎̆͑́̌̄ͣ̒́̀́͟͞.̶̲̦̘͎͖͈͍͕͇̦̹̰͇̠ͪ͋̋̓̊ͬ̽ͮͧ͂̾̐̀͋̂̎ͫ̔̚͝ͅ.̸̛̬̠̟͎͔͖̹̞̯̗̣̮̼̖͕̈̀̈́̊͡.̵̡̺̝̞̯̞̬͗ͩ̃́͌ͤ̃͞ͅ.ͮ̏ͦͩ͝҉̢̖̱̻̱̫ͅ.̵̢͙̮̓͒̒ͯ̓̍͐ͣͪ͛͑ͦ̇̚͠͡͞ͅ.̵̷̵͍͚̯̪̬͙̭̲̻͚̣̭̻͎͔͇͈̫̐ͥ̃͊͌̓͗̽ͣ̚͡.̶̷̵̧̳̯̖̺̟̖̝̭̙͙͎̝͈̤̥ͭͮͧ͌̓̉̂̈́͝.̪̮̖̹͈͇̩̟͕̟̖͐ͦ͐̅ͤͣ̇̓͢͝͡.̶̢͕͎͎͍̠͓̙͈̺̪͖̦͋̒̅̏͛͊̂̀͘͟.̶̡̡̮̠̥ͭ͋̆͗̐̊ͮͧ͒̄̾̉̑̄͠ͅ.͇̩̙͔ͬͣ̽̏ͤͩ̈ͩ̇͐ͩ͒̉̓́̚͘͘͠.̷̹̠̙̻̥̤͚̦̠̯͓̲̙͚͙̌̽͒͂͌ͣͣ͗ͦ̎ͫͬ̽ͭ̂͌̾̀̀͟͠.̴̵̛̯̹͕̝͖̮͔̤̓̐̿̃́͛̌ͫ͆̄̃͛ͨ̿̓́͜.̡̧̬͕̭͚͙̠̼͍̞̹͙̫̞͈̤̫̀̔ͩ̒́͘̕.̹͔͎̟̞̗̻̫̳̯̣̣̻̫̺͇͖̘̯̑̀̏̋͋ͫ̄̒̈̔͌̇̆͐̕͝.̷̸̺̝̖̘̻̭͆͂ͧͧ͒̀̀̾ͬ̒̐ͣͅ.̍̂͒̊͒̏ͮ͛ͧͫͣ͑ͦ͊̐ͥ̍͏̷̭̜̖͉̠̹͉̙͓͕̝.̶̨̛̮̞̰̩̆ͬ̾ͩ̊̓̅̀.̴̫̤̮̝̺͈̯̼̼̟͓̫̗͈̻͖̜̘̒ͪ̏̂̿ͤ̃́͡.̭̖̼͓͎̲̯̻͕͑ͭ̈́͋̄̚̕͢ͅ.̡̘̪̟͓̺̰̘̖̼̺̿̋̆ͬͧ͗͑͋́̒̾͆͌ͪ̀̕.̵̷̡̠̰͕̰̦͍̃ͮ͐̋ͭ͐ͭ̔ͭͦ̓̀͋ͫ̊̉̅͞ͅ.̸̢̛̪̣̰͚̖̫̜͉̭̅̾̽̏̑̂̒̏̍ͨ̈͌̎͋̋̇͊̚͜͞.̸̡̡̟͚͍̞̜̺̲̑̈́͗́̎̐͋̀̒ͯ̀̚͞.̶́̋ͤ͋̽ͪͮ͒̓̀̀ͩ̋̍͑ͣ̏̈̚͝҉̵̤͙̦͉͇̮̪͠.͔̲̩̱̳̥̹͇̤͍͚̗̮̟̩̲ͭ̐̄͋̃̈́͋́ͪͯ͒̋͠.̇̾ͫͮͭ̔̐̀ͮͪ͌̃ͦ̏͂͗͏̶̵̫͍͎̦̞͈̥̖̼̭͔͎̖̀͢.̴̟͖͖̞̣̺̠̝͓̃͊ͤ͐̀ͮ̆ͩ̈́͆̇̈͑̚͢͜͡.̛͂͐͌́͠҉̢̥̼̙̗̘̭͚̯̫.̎ͥ̒ͣ̍̒̉ͤ͝͏͖͓̹̳̗̙͖͎̲̼͈͞.̴͖̘̰͍ͣ̑̏̒̓̀ͬ̔ͪͭ̒̑̽̌̽͘.͊̈́̾͋ͦ̂͏̺̫̩͚̫́͠ͅ.̸̶̴̛͈̰͕̯͎̞͕̺͕̭̘̠͓͎͉̓͑̎͌̂̏̔̇͠.̧͙͎̤͍̜̹̠̩̪͕̪͙͊͊̈̎̽̍ͧͫ̓̋̓̀͗̓̀ͫ̌͞ͅ.̄̉́ͤͮ͌͌ͥ͐̀ͦ͗̐̽ͧ̚̕҉̠̲̖̪̝̹̮̹̟͉͎̥͓̘̪̩̮̕ͅ.̸͈̮̞̙̭͎̟͎͓͓̽͂ͮ̔ͧ̃.̍̓̉͐̈̍ͨ̽ͧ͛ͤ̑͌͐̄ͤͪ͝҉̵̬̮͈͚̱͜.̛̉̎ͮ̅͝͏̭̰̰͔͇.̵̩̪̦̟̹̞͕̲̟̤͙̹̠͈͓̳̞͔̈́́ͩ̀͟͞.̴̸̨̛̯̦͇͖̞͍̳̤͈̝͇͎͎̩̙̤͈̏̒̐ͯ̓͊̋ͩ̒ͯ͆ͨ̐ͯ͌͒̚͜ͅ.͌͌͌͆ͤͮͯ̾͏̴͜҉̜͈̲̻̭̱͔̤͈͍͙̱̤̫͟.̢̛̼̞̞̞̳̙ͥ͒̍̾̓ͭ͗̉̈́ͨͤ̏̌͟͞.͌̓̈ͬͯͧ̐ͣ͛́ͤ̃ͩ̇̊̀͠͏͏̭̜̬̤.ͮ͛ͯ̂ͫͧ̂́͊̂͋͂ͦ̄̕҉̷̶͍͎̦͉̣́.̘̟͍̼̜͍̮̝̇͂͗ͥ̇͊́͑̂͊ͨ͋ͣ̀̚͘̕.̡̧̯̯͔̣͔̲͈͔̟͖̻̫̮̗̘ͦ̅̓ͯ̿̊̾ͯ̇̒̆̍̈̓.̡̧̨͖̙̬̝͕́͒̓̉̽̽̐̓̎̓ͪ̈̓̎̄̏̄̓͊.̶̳̪̲͉̮̦̫̓ͧͨ̾̈́̈́ͯ͆ͪ͐̅̂́̌͛͑ͩ̚.̷̠̟̘͇̙͇̱̹̎̍̍̅ͥ̿̃̌̔̚.̨̡̏ͮͮͤͩ̈́̉ͣͯ̏̇̆ͯ̽̃͗̄͆ͫ͜͏̖̣̭̗̮̖͓̪͈͔̱̱ͅ.̧̢̜̣̮̼̦̱͈̑̈ͫ́͛ͣ̀̀̓̒̿́̚͢͝.̛͔̹̖̻͈̲͚̤͋ͣ̿͋͡.̴͛͒͗̈̎ͣ̇ͧ̽̒̄̂̃̈́͐̽̚͏͢͏̮͍̗̰̫̟̰̼͇͚̭̠̜̪̜̭̜.̧̙͓̤͎̦͖̥̦̤̜̲̣͙̠̱̗̱̤͒̍̌ͣ͊ͩ̾̃͒́ͤ̾̕͟͠.̷̴̜̗͉̺̥̘̙̒͛̃ͨ͜.̲̤̣̀ͬ̔̂ͧ̈́̚͜͡.̨ͣ̎͆̂ͩͬͬ̾ͮ̽̓͘͏̡͙̞̜͍͎͕̯̜̙̘̣̰̞̳̫̥͡.̶̛̮̭̤͎̰̗͕̮̗̥̦̱̖̩͖̹̼̮ͯͪͭ̇́͑̀.̴̜͓̪͕̬͓̫͚̩̝̰͓͒͒̓̍̀ͫ͗͊ͤ̾̏̎̉ͤ͠.̵ͩ͊̒ͨ̍̋̎̋̿ͯ̍̊̒ͥ͂̎̀̕͏͙͙͉̹̮̖̭̮̠̭̬̻͙͎̮̗̼̭.̶̧̳̗͚͈̜͕̜̄̎͊̉̽͆͛ͪ̾̆̓̾̾̃ͥ́̕͝.̒̌ͦͥ̅̊͛ͫ͏̨͖̰̳̖̜͎̀.̵̙͓͎̣͓̞͎͐̈̓̀̂̂̂̂̍̊̀ͭ̾ͣ̀̕.̿͛̌͛̅͆̀͆ͧ̚҉̶̢̖̳̥̦͍̹̖̫̻̜͟.̸̷̛͇͙̜͍̲̳̥̎̍͋̒ͬͨ̿͒̎̈́ͪ͠ͅ.̔ͣͤ́̋ͧ̋̀̈́̔̒̓̂̒ͪͨ͏̵̭͇̩̗̠͖͎̪̺̲͕̗͓̕͜͡ͅ.̴̴̬̼̙̏ͤ̌̏͗ͦ̄͒ͯ̓̍̈́̍̐̀ͫͧ͌̕͜ͅ.͉̝̲͇̟̱̘̗͖̽ͨ̓̃͋ͮ̓̒͌ͬ̔́̌ͤ͜ͅ.͙̝͎͓̠̦̜͔̬̠̣̊̊͐͑̍́̿̑ͮ́͞.̷̨͇̫̙̰̘̞͔͎̦͚ͫͣͦ̑ͤ̿̕̕.̧̬̹͓̠̙̙͕̏̀̒̒̄̓͊ͮ̇ͮ̓ͭ̑͝.̡̢̣̗̫͚̯̉̓ͮͦ̽͑̊ͣͧ̽ͣ̔̍̿̽̍̅̚.̸̘̥̩̱͖̙̞͚͙̖͙̗͓̄̿ͦͯ̚̕.̘͈̱͔̲̑̄̂̓͗͊̔̆ͨͧ̓̊ͫ̕͢͝.̢̡̠͕̠̟̩͖͖̺̦̬͓̭͚͓̳ͣ̃ͧ̑̍̎̈́̉̏̍͑̓̈́͐̎͋͛͢͡͠ͅͅ .̶̷̷̩̬̣̮̦̣̪̗̙̺̞̱͙̰͉͍͚ͤ̀͋͗̿ͭ̐ͯ͑̊͆͗̾̂͋͌ͮ͘͝ͅ.̧͉͖̙͎̠̬̻̤͖͍̤̼̯ͥ̎̍̓͑̋͌ͧ̋͊̿̕͘͢͢.̷̧̛̛͇̜̯̳̥͇̤̗͇͛̃̍ͮͥ̇̎ͥ̐ͫͧ͆̽̍̅̈͗́̅.̶̵̪͚̘̖̰͇̭͙̩̟̭̟ͤ̓ͯ̍ͪ̀̑̓̐̓͢.̶̶̛̳̺̳̩͍̥̿ͮ̈́̓̆ͨ̎́ͬ̓ͯ.ͣͪ̄̿̐ͬ́͑͝͏̪̫̺̹̗͉͓̠̳̯͓̻͖̳.̶̸̰̟͉̠̯̤͇͈̅ͨͯ̐́ͅ.̡̨̛͍̹̥̣͉̖̬̹̟͍̰̯͖̯̳̗͉̭̓̌͊ͬ͢͡.̶̢̹̠̩͕̋͛̍͒͛̂ͨ̐͑̌̚.̵̧̛̦̫͔͚̤͈̠̩͈͚̼̬͇͎̗̱ͦͫͯ͋ͬͦ̄͠.̖̗͔͙͒̀ͭ͋̈̐ͫ̃̀̽ͣ̆̓ͯͬͪ̽́̚͟͟͞.̵̛̛̹̗̻̯̺͔̥̩̿ͫͫ̉ͨ͘͡.̈́̈̉ͨ͌̽̄ͯͭ̿͌̌͂̓̇̈́ͦ͏̶̧̬̬͉̫̣̘̥̝̟̝̯̮̝͇̣̀͝.̸̣̦̱͙̦̯̱̬̲͓̘ͬ͗̏́̌͆̆̅ͩ̉̒͗ͭ͘.̔ͥͦ̓̉̐̏̔̒̐̂ͭ̔͢͏̸̖̞̝̗̩̜̮̩̰̕.̛͚̲̱̦̺̦͑̌̒͊̀͜͟.̨͉̳̟̭͇͍̖͎̆͑́̌̄ͣ̒́̀́͟͞.̶̲̦̘͎͖͈͍͕͇̦̹̰͇̠ͪ͋̋̓̊ͬ̽ͮͧ͂̾̐̀͋̂̎ͫ̔̚͝ͅ.̸̛̬̠̟͎͔͖̹̞̯̗̣̮̼̖͕̈̀̈́̊͡.̵̡̺̝̞̯̞̬͗ͩ̃́͌ͤ̃͞ͅ.ͮ̏ͦͩ͝҉̢̖̱̻̱̫ͅ.̵̢͙̮̓͒̒ͯ̓̍͐ͣͪ͛͑ͦ̇̚͠͡͞ͅ.̵̷̵͍͚̯̪̬͙̭̲̻͚̣̭̻͎͔͇͈̫̐ͥ̃͊͌̓͗̽ͣ̚͡.̶̷̵̧̳̯̖̺̟̖̝̭̙͙͎̝͈̤̥ͭͮͧ͌̓̉̂̈́͝.̪̮̖̹͈͇̩̟͕̟̖͐ͦ͐̅ͤͣ̇̓͢͝͡.̶̢͕͎͎͍̠͓̙͈̺̪͖̦͋̒̅̏͛͊̂̀͘͟.̶̡̡̮̠̥ͭ͋̆͗̐̊ͮͧ͒̄̾̉̑̄͠ͅ.͇̩̙͔ͬͣ̽̏ͤͩ̈ͩ̇͐ͩ͒̉̓́̚͘͘͠.̷̹̠̙̻̥̤͚̦̠̯͓̲̙͚͙̌̽͒͂͌ͣͣ͗ͦ̎ͫͬ̽ͭ̂͌̾̀̀͟͠.̴̵̛̯̹͕̝͖̮͔̤̓̐̿̃́͛̌ͫ͆̄̃͛ͨ̿̓́͜.̡̧̬͕̭͚͙̠̼͍̞̹͙̫̞͈̤̫̀̔ͩ̒́͘̕.̹͔͎̟̞̗̻̫̳̯̣̣̻̫̺͇͖̘̯̑̀̏̋͋ͫ̄̒̈̔͌̇̆͐̕͝.̷̸̺̝̖̘̻̭͆͂ͧͧ͒̀̀̾ͬ̒̐ͣͅ.̍̂͒̊͒̏ͮ͛ͧͫͣ͑ͦ͊̐ͥ̍͏̷̭̜̖͉̠̹͉̙͓͕̝.̶̨̛̮̞̰̩̆ͬ̾ͩ̊̓̅̀.̴̫̤̮̝̺͈̯̼̼̟͓̫̗͈̻͖̜̘̒ͪ̏̂̿ͤ̃́͡.̭̖̼͓͎̲̯̻͕͑ͭ̈́͋̄̚̕͢ͅ.̡̘̪̟͓̺̰̘̖̼̺̿̋̆ͬͧ͗͑͋́̒̾͆͌ͪ̀̕.̵̷̡̠̰͕̰̦͍̃ͮ͐̋ͭ͐ͭ̔ͭͦ̓̀͋ͫ̊̉̅͞ͅ.̸̢̛̪̣̰͚̖̫̜͉̭̅̾̽̏̑̂̒̏̍ͨ̈͌̎͋̋̇͊̚͜͞.̸̡̡̟͚͍̞̜̺̲̑̈́͗́̎̐͋̀̒ͯ̀̚͞.̶́̋ͤ͋̽ͪͮ͒̓̀̀ͩ̋̍͑ͣ̏̈̚͝҉̵̤͙̦͉͇̮̪͠.͔̲̩̱̳̥̹͇̤͍͚̗̮̟̩̲ͭ̐̄͋̃̈́͋́ͪͯ͒̋͠.̇̾ͫͮͭ̔̐̀ͮͪ͌̃ͦ̏͂͗͏̶̵̫͍͎̦̞͈̥̖̼̭͔͎̖̀͢.̴̟͖͖̞̣̺̠̝͓̃͊ͤ͐̀ͮ̆ͩ̈́͆̇̈͑̚͢͜͡.̛͂͐͌́͠҉̢̥̼̙̗̘̭͚̯̫.̎ͥ̒ͣ̍̒̉ͤ͝͏͖͓̹̳̗̙͖͎̲̼͈͞.̴͖̘̰͍ͣ̑̏̒̓̀ͬ̔ͪͭ̒̑̽̌̽͘.͊̈́̾͋ͦ̂͏̺̫̩͚̫́͠ͅ.̸̶̴̛͈̰͕̯͎̞͕̺͕̭̘̠͓͎͉̓͑̎͌̂̏̔̇͠.̧͙͎̤͍̜̹̠̩̪͕̪͙͊͊̈̎̽̍ͧͫ̓̋̓̀͗̓̀ͫ̌͞ͅ.̄̉́ͤͮ͌͌ͥ͐̀ͦ͗̐̽ͧ̚̕҉̠̲̖̪̝̹̮̹̟͉͎̥͓̘̪̩̮̕ͅ.̸͈̮̞̙̭͎̟͎͓͓̽͂ͮ̔ͧ̃.̍̓̉͐̈̍ͨ̽ͧ͛ͤ̑͌͐̄ͤͪ͝҉̵̬̮͈͚̱͜.̛̉̎ͮ̅͝͏̭̰̰͔͇.̵̩̪̦̟̹̞͕̲̟̤͙̹̠͈͓̳̞͔̈́́ͩ̀͟͞.̴̸̨̛̯̦͇͖̞͍̳̤͈̝͇͎͎̩̙̤͈̏̒̐ͯ̓͊̋ͩ̒ͯ͆ͨ̐ͯ͌͒̚͜ͅ.͌͌͌͆ͤͮͯ̾͏̴͜҉̜͈̲̻̭̱͔̤͈͍͙̱̤̫͟.̢̛̼̞̞̞̳̙ͥ͒̍̾̓ͭ͗̉̈́ͨͤ̏̌͟͞.͌̓̈ͬͯͧ̐ͣ͛́ͤ̃ͩ̇̊̀͠͏͏̭̜̬̤.ͮ͛ͯ̂ͫͧ̂́͊̂͋͂ͦ̄̕҉̷̶͍͎̦͉̣́.̘̟͍̼̜͍̮̝̇͂͗ͥ̇͊́͑̂͊ͨ͋ͣ̀̚͘̕.̡̧̯̯͔̣͔̲͈͔̟͖̻̫̮̗̘ͦ̅̓ͯ̿̊̾ͯ̇̒̆̍̈̓.̡̧̨͖̙̬̝͕́͒̓̉̽̽̐̓̎̓ͪ̈̓̎̄̏̄̓͊.̶̳̪̲͉̮̦̫̓ͧͨ̾̈́̈́ͯ͆ͪ͐̅̂́̌͛͑ͩ̚.̷̠̟̘͇̙͇̱̹̎̍̍̅ͥ̿̃̌̔̚.̨̡̏ͮͮͤͩ̈́̉ͣͯ̏̇̆ͯ̽̃͗̄͆ͫ͜͏̖̣̭̗̮̖͓̪͈͔̱̱ͅ.̧̢̜̣̮̼̦̱͈̑̈ͫ́͛ͣ̀̀̓̒̿́̚͢͝.̛͔̹̖̻͈̲͚̤͋ͣ̿͋͡.̴͛͒͗̈̎ͣ̇ͧ̽̒̄̂̃̈́͐̽̚͏͢͏̮͍̗̰̫̟̰̼͇͚̭̠̜̪̜̭̜.̧̙͓̤͎̦͖̥̦̤̜̲̣͙̠̱̗̱̤͒̍̌ͣ͊ͩ̾̃͒́ͤ̾̕͟͠.̷̴̜̗͉̺̥̘̙̒͛̃ͨ͜.̲̤̣̀ͬ̔̂ͧ̈́̚͜͡.̨ͣ̎͆̂ͩͬͬ̾ͮ̽̓͘͏̡͙̞̜͍͎͕̯̜̙̘̣̰̞̳̫̥͡.̶̛̮̭̤͎̰̗͕̮̗̥̦̱̖̩͖̹̼̮ͯͪͭ̇́͑̀.̴̜͓̪͕̬͓̫͚̩̝̰͓͒͒̓̍̀ͫ͗͊ͤ̾̏̎̉ͤ͠.̵ͩ͊̒ͨ̍̋̎̋̿ͯ̍̊̒ͥ͂̎̀̕͏͙͙͉̹̮̖̭̮̠̭̬̻͙͎̮̗̼̭.̶̧̳̗͚͈̜͕̜̄̎͊̉̽͆͛ͪ̾̆̓̾̾̃ͥ́̕͝.̒̌ͦͥ̅̊͛ͫ͏̨͖̰̳̖̜͎̀.̵̙͓͎̣͓̞͎͐̈̓̀̂̂̂̂̍̊̀ͭ̾ͣ̀̕.̿͛̌͛̅͆̀͆ͧ̚҉̶̢̖̳̥̦͍̹̖̫̻̜͟.̸̷̛͇͙̜͍̲̳̥̎̍͋̒ͬͨ̿͒̎̈́ͪ͠ͅ.̔ͣͤ́̋ͧ̋̀̈́̔̒̓̂̒ͪͨ͏̵̭͇̩̗̠͖͎̪̺̲͕̗͓̕͜͡ͅ.̴̴̬̼̙̏ͤ̌̏͗ͦ̄͒ͯ̓̍̈́̍̐̀ͫͧ͌̕͜ͅ.͉̝̲͇̟̱̘̗͖̽ͨ̓̃͋ͮ̓̒͌ͬ̔́̌ͤ͜ͅ.͙̝͎͓̠̦̜͔̬̠̣̊̊͐͑̍́̿̑ͮ́͞.̷̨͇̫̙̰̘̞͔͎̦͚ͫͣͦ̑ͤ̿̕̕.̧̬̹͓̠̙̙͕̏̀̒̒̄̓͊ͮ̇ͮ̓ͭ̑͝.̡̢̣̗̫͚̯̉̓ͮͦ̽͑̊ͣͧ̽ͣ̔̍̿̽̍̅̚.̸̘̥̩̱͖̙̞͚͙̖͙̗͓̄̿ͦͯ̚̕.̘͈̱͔̲̑̄̂̓͗͊̔̆ͨͧ̓̊ͫ̕͢͝.̢̡̠͕̠̟̩͖͖̺̦̬͓̭͚͓̳ͣ̃ͧ̑̍̎̈́̉̏̍͑̓̈́͐̎͋͛͢͡͠ͅͅ .̶̷̷̩̬̣̮̦̣̪̗̙̺̞̱͙̰͉͍͚ͤ̀͋͗̿ͭ̐ͯ͑̊͆͗̾̂͋͌ͮ͘͝ͅ.̧͉͖̙͎̠̬̻̤͖͍̤̼̯ͥ̎̍̓͑̋͌ͧ̋͊̿̕͘͢͢.̷̧̛̛͇̜̯̳̥͇̤̗͇͛̃̍ͮͥ̇̎ͥ̐ͫͧ͆̽̍̅̈͗́̅.̶̵̪͚̘̖̰͇̭͙̩̟̭̟ͤ̓ͯ̍ͪ̀̑̓̐̓͢.̶̶̛̳̺̳̩͍̥̿ͮ̈́̓̆ͨ̎́ͬ̓ͯ.ͣͪ̄̿̐ͬ́͑͝͏̪̫̺̹̗͉͓̠̳̯͓̻͖̳.̶̸̰̟͉̠̯̤͇͈̅ͨͯ̐́ͅ.̡̨̛͍̹̥̣͉̖̬̹̟͍̰̯͖̯̳̗͉̭̓̌͊ͬ͢͡.̶̢̹̠̩͕̋͛̍͒͛̂ͨ̐͑̌̚.̵̧̛̦̫͔͚̤͈̠̩͈͚̼̬͇͎̗̱ͦͫͯ͋ͬͦ̄͠.̖̗͔͙͒̀ͭ͋̈̐ͫ̃̀̽ͣ̆̓ͯͬͪ̽́̚͟͟͞.̵̛̛̹̗̻̯̺͔̥̩̿ͫͫ̉ͨ͘͡.̈́̈̉ͨ͌̽̄ͯͭ̿͌̌͂̓̇̈́ͦ͏̶̧̬̬͉̫̣̘̥̝̟̝̯̮̝͇̣̀͝.̸̣̦̱͙̦̯̱̬̲͓̘ͬ͗̏́̌͆̆̅ͩ̉̒͗ͭ͘.̔ͥͦ̓̉̐̏̔̒̐̂ͭ̔͢͏̸̖̞̝̗̩̜̮̩̰̕.̛͚̲̱̦̺̦͑̌̒͊̀͜͟.̨͉̳̟̭͇͍̖͎̆͑́̌̄ͣ̒́̀́͟͞.̶̲̦̘͎͖͈͍͕͇̦̹̰͇̠ͪ͋̋̓̊ͬ̽ͮͧ͂̾̐̀͋̂̎ͫ̔̚͝ͅ.̸̛̬̠̟͎͔͖̹̞̯̗̣̮̼̖͕̈̀̈́̊͡.̵̡̺̝̞̯̞̬͗ͩ̃́͌ͤ̃͞ͅ.ͮ̏ͦͩ͝҉̢̖̱̻̱̫ͅ.̵̢͙̮̓͒̒ͯ̓̍͐ͣͪ͛͑ͦ̇̚͠͡͞ͅ.̵̷̵͍͚̯̪̬͙̭̲̻͚̣̭̻͎͔͇͈̫̐ͥ̃͊͌̓͗̽ͣ̚͡.̶̷̵̧̳̯̖̺̟̖̝̭̙͙͎̝͈̤̥ͭͮͧ͌̓̉̂̈́͝.̪̮̖̹͈͇̩̟͕̟̖͐ͦ͐̅ͤͣ̇̓͢͝͡.̶̢͕͎͎͍̠͓̙͈̺̪͖̦͋̒̅̏͛͊̂̀͘͟.̶̡̡̮̠̥ͭ͋̆͗̐̊ͮͧ͒̄̾̉̑̄͠ͅ.͇̩̙͔ͬͣ̽̏ͤͩ̈ͩ̇͐ͩ͒̉̓́̚͘͘͠.̷̹̠̙̻̥̤͚̦̠̯͓̲̙͚͙̌̽͒͂͌ͣͣ͗ͦ̎ͫͬ̽ͭ̂͌̾̀̀͟͠.̴̵̛̯̹͕̝͖̮͔̤̓̐̿̃́͛̌ͫ͆̄̃͛ͨ̿̓́͜.̡̧̬͕̭͚͙̠̼͍̞̹͙̫̞͈̤̫̀̔ͩ̒́͘̕.̹͔͎̟̞̗̻̫̳̯̣̣̻̫̺͇͖̘̯̑̀̏̋͋ͫ̄̒̈̔͌̇̆͐̕͝.̷̸̺̝̖̘̻̭͆͂ͧͧ͒̀̀̾ͬ̒̐ͣͅ.̍̂͒̊͒̏ͮ͛ͧͫͣ͑ͦ͊̐ͥ̍͏̷̭̜̖͉̠̹͉̙͓͕̝.̶̨̛̮̞̰̩̆ͬ̾ͩ̊̓̅̀.̴̫̤̮̝̺͈̯̼̼̟͓̫̗͈̻͖̜̘̒ͪ̏̂̿ͤ̃́͡.̭̖̼͓͎̲̯̻͕͑ͭ̈́͋̄̚̕͢ͅ.̡̘̪̟͓̺̰̘̖̼̺̿̋̆ͬͧ͗͑͋́̒̾͆͌ͪ̀̕.̵̷̡̠̰͕̰̦͍̃ͮ͐̋ͭ͐ͭ̔ͭͦ̓̀͋ͫ̊̉̅͞ͅ.̸̢̛̪̣̰͚̖̫̜͉̭̅̾̽̏̑̂̒̏̍ͨ̈͌̎͋̋̇͊̚͜͞.̸̡̡̟͚͍̞̜̺̲̑̈́͗́̎̐͋̀̒ͯ̀̚͞.̶́̋ͤ͋̽ͪͮ͒̓̀̀ͩ̋̍͑ͣ̏̈̚͝҉̵̤͙̦͉͇̮̪͠.͔̲̩̱̳̥̹͇̤͍͚̗̮̟̩̲ͭ̐̄͋̃̈́͋́ͪͯ͒̋͠.̇̾ͫͮͭ̔̐̀ͮͪ͌̃ͦ̏͂͗͏̶̵̫͍͎̦̞͈̥̖̼̭͔͎̖̀͢.̴̟͖͖̞̣̺̠̝͓̃͊ͤ͐̀ͮ̆ͩ̈́͆̇̈͑̚͢͜͡.̛͂͐͌́͠҉̢̥̼̙̗̘̭͚̯̫.̎ͥ̒ͣ̍̒̉ͤ͝͏͖͓̹̳̗̙͖͎̲̼͈͞.̴͖̘̰͍ͣ̑̏̒̓̀ͬ̔ͪͭ̒̑̽̌̽͘.͊̈́̾͋ͦ̂͏̺̫̩͚̫́͠ͅ.̸̶̴̛͈̰͕̯͎̞͕̺͕̭̘̠͓͎͉̓͑̎͌̂̏̔̇͠.̧͙͎̤͍̜̹̠̩̪͕̪͙͊͊̈̎̽̍ͧͫ̓̋̓̀͗̓̀ͫ̌͞ͅ.̄̉́ͤͮ͌͌ͥ͐̀ͦ͗̐̽ͧ̚̕҉̠̲̖̪̝̹̮̹̟͉͎̥͓̘̪̩̮̕ͅ.̸͈̮̞̙̭͎̟͎͓͓̽͂ͮ̔ͧ̃.̍̓̉͐̈̍ͨ̽ͧ͛ͤ̑͌͐̄ͤͪ͝҉̵̬̮͈͚̱͜.̛̉̎ͮ̅͝͏̭̰̰͔͇.̵̩̪̦̟̹̞͕̲̟̤͙̹̠͈͓̳̞͔̈́́ͩ̀͟͞.̴̸̨̛̯̦͇͖̞͍̳̤͈̝͇͎͎̩̙̤͈̏̒̐ͯ̓͊̋ͩ̒ͯ͆ͨ̐ͯ͌͒̚͜ͅ.͌͌͌͆ͤͮͯ̾͏̴͜҉̜͈̲̻̭̱͔̤͈͍͙̱̤̫͟.̢̛̼̞̞̞̳̙ͥ͒̍̾̓ͭ͗̉̈́ͨͤ̏̌͟͞.͌̓̈ͬͯͧ̐ͣ͛́ͤ̃ͩ̇̊̀͠͏͏̭̜̬̤.ͮ͛ͯ̂ͫͧ̂́͊̂͋͂ͦ̄̕҉̷̶͍͎̦͉̣́.̘̟͍̼̜͍̮̝̇͂͗ͥ̇͊́͑̂͊ͨ͋ͣ̀̚͘̕.̡̧̯̯͔̣͔̲͈͔̟͖̻̫̮̗̘ͦ̅̓ͯ̿̊̾ͯ̇̒̆̍̈̓.̡̧̨͖̙̬̝͕́͒̓̉̽̽̐̓̎̓ͪ̈̓̎̄̏̄̓͊.̶̳̪̲͉̮̦̫̓ͧͨ̾̈́̈́ͯ͆ͪ͐̅̂́̌͛͑ͩ̚.̷̠̟̘͇̙͇̱̹̎̍̍̅ͥ̿̃̌̔̚.̨̡̏ͮͮͤͩ̈́̉ͣͯ̏̇̆ͯ̽̃͗̄͆ͫ͜͏̖̣̭̗̮̖͓̪͈͔̱̱ͅ.̧̢̜̣̮̼̦̱͈̑̈ͫ́͛ͣ̀̀̓̒̿́̚͢͝.̛͔̹̖̻͈̲͚̤͋ͣ̿͋͡.̴͛͒͗̈̎ͣ̇ͧ̽̒̄̂̃̈́͐̽̚͏͢͏̮͍̗̰̫̟̰̼͇͚̭̠̜̪̜̭̜.̧̙͓̤͎̦͖̥̦̤̜̲̣͙̠̱̗̱̤͒̍̌ͣ͊ͩ̾̃͒́ͤ̾̕͟͠.̷̴̜̗͉̺̥̘̙̒͛̃ͨ͜.̲̤̣̀ͬ̔̂ͧ̈́̚͜͡.̨ͣ̎͆̂ͩͬͬ̾ͮ̽̓͘͏̡͙̞̜͍͎͕̯̜̙̘̣̰̞̳̫̥͡.̶̛̮̭̤͎̰̗͕̮̗̥̦̱̖̩͖̹̼̮ͯͪͭ̇́͑̀.̴̜͓̪͕̬͓̫͚̩̝̰͓͒͒̓̍̀ͫ͗͊ͤ̾̏̎̉ͤ͠.̵ͩ͊̒ͨ̍̋̎̋̿ͯ̍̊̒ͥ͂̎̀̕͏͙͙͉̹̮̖̭̮̠̭̬̻͙͎̮̗̼̭.̶̧̳̗͚͈̜͕̜̄̎͊̉̽͆͛ͪ̾̆̓̾̾̃ͥ́̕͝.̒̌ͦͥ̅̊͛ͫ͏̨͖̰̳̖̜͎̀.̵̙͓͎̣͓̞͎͐̈̓̀̂̂̂̂̍̊̀ͭ̾ͣ̀̕.̿͛̌͛̅͆̀͆ͧ̚҉̶̢̖̳̥̦͍̹̖̫̻̜͟.̸̷̛͇͙̜͍̲̳̥̎̍͋̒ͬͨ̿͒̎̈́ͪ͠ͅ.̔ͣͤ́̋ͧ̋̀̈́̔̒̓̂̒ͪͨ͏̵̭͇̩̗̠͖͎̪̺̲͕̗͓̕͜͡ͅ.̴̴̬̼̙̏ͤ̌̏͗ͦ̄͒ͯ̓̍̈́̍̐̀ͫͧ͌̕͜ͅ.͉̝̲͇̟̱̘̗͖̽ͨ̓̃͋ͮ̓̒͌ͬ̔́̌ͤ͜ͅ.͙̝͎͓̠̦̜͔̬̠̣̊̊͐͑̍́̿̑ͮ́͞.̷̨͇̫̙̰̘̞͔͎̦͚ͫͣͦ̑ͤ̿̕̕.̧̬̹͓̠̙̙͕̏̀̒̒̄̓͊ͮ̇ͮ̓ͭ̑͝.̡̢̣̗̫͚̯̉̓ͮͦ̽͑̊ͣͧ̽ͣ̔̍̿̽̍̅̚.̸̘̥̩̱͖̙̞͚͙̖͙̗͓̄̿ͦͯ̚̕.̘͈̱͔̲̑̄̂̓͗͊̔̆ͨͧ̓̊ͫ̕͢͝.̢̡̠͕̠̟̩͖͖̺̦̬͓̭͚͓̳ͣ̃ͧ̑̍̎̈́̉̏̍͑̓̈́͐̎͋͛͢͡͠ͅͅ .̶̷̷̩̬̣̮̦̣̪̗̙̺̞̱͙̰͉͍͚ͤ̀͋͗̿ͭ̐ͯ͑̊͆͗̾̂͋͌ͮ͘͝ͅ.̧͉͖̙͎̠̬̻̤͖͍̤̼̯ͥ̎̍̓͑̋͌ͧ̋͊̿̕͘͢͢.̷̧̛̛͇̜̯̳̥͇̤̗͇͛̃̍ͮͥ̇̎ͥ̐ͫͧ͆̽̍̅̈͗́̅.̶̵̪͚̘̖̰͇̭͙̩̟̭̟ͤ̓ͯ̍ͪ̀̑̓̐̓͢.̶̶̛̳̺̳̩͍̥̿ͮ̈́̓̆ͨ̎́ͬ̓ͯ.ͣͪ̄̿̐ͬ́͑͝͏̪̫̺̹̗͉͓̠̳̯͓̻͖̳.̶̸̰̟͉̠̯̤͇͈̅ͨͯ̐́ͅ.̡̨̛͍̹̥̣͉̖̬̹̟͍̰̯͖̯̳̗͉̭̓̌͊ͬ͢͡.̶̢̹̠̩͕̋͛̍͒͛̂ͨ̐͑̌̚.̵̧̛̦̫͔͚̤͈̠̩͈͚̼̬͇͎̗̱ͦͫͯ͋ͬͦ̄͠.̖̗͔͙͒̀ͭ͋̈̐ͫ̃̀̽ͣ̆̓ͯͬͪ̽́̚͟͟͞.̵̛̛̹̗̻̯̺͔̥̩̿ͫͫ̉ͨ͘͡.̈́̈̉ͨ͌̽̄ͯͭ̿͌̌͂̓̇̈́ͦ͏̶̧̬̬͉̫̣̘̥̝̟̝̯̮̝͇̣̀͝.̸̣̦̱͙̦̯̱̬̲͓̘ͬ͗̏́̌͆̆̅ͩ̉̒͗ͭ͘.̔ͥͦ̓̉̐̏̔̒̐̂ͭ̔͢͏̸̖̞̝̗̩̜̮̩̰̕.̛͚̲̱̦̺̦͑̌̒͊̀͜͟.̨͉̳̟̭͇͍̖͎̆͑́̌̄ͣ̒́̀́͟͞.̶̲̦̘͎͖͈͍͕͇̦̹̰͇̠ͪ͋̋̓̊ͬ̽ͮͧ͂̾̐̀͋̂̎ͫ̔̚͝ͅ.̸̛̬̠̟͎͔͖̹̞̯̗̣̮̼̖͕̈̀̈́̊͡.̵̡̺̝̞̯̞̬͗ͩ̃́͌ͤ̃͞ͅ.ͮ̏ͦͩ͝҉̢̖̱̻̱̫ͅ.̵̢͙̮̓͒̒ͯ̓̍͐ͣͪ͛͑ͦ̇̚͠͡͞ͅ.̵̷̵͍͚̯̪̬͙̭̲̻͚̣̭̻͎͔͇͈̫̐ͥ̃͊͌̓͗̽ͣ̚͡.̶̷̵̧̳̯̖̺̟̖̝̭̙͙͎̝͈̤̥ͭͮͧ͌̓̉̂̈́͝.̪̮̖̹͈͇̩̟͕̟̖͐ͦ͐̅ͤͣ̇̓͢͝͡.̶̢͕͎͎͍̠͓̙͈̺̪͖̦͋̒̅̏͛͊̂̀͘͟.̶̡̡̮̠̥ͭ͋̆͗̐̊ͮͧ͒̄̾̉̑̄͠ͅ.͇̩̙͔ͬͣ̽̏ͤͩ̈ͩ̇͐ͩ͒̉̓́̚͘͘͠.̷̹̠̙̻̥̤͚̦̠̯͓̲̙͚͙̌̽͒͂͌ͣͣ͗ͦ̎ͫͬ̽ͭ̂͌̾̀̀͟͠.̴̵̛̯̹͕̝͖̮͔̤̓̐̿̃́͛̌ͫ͆̄̃͛ͨ̿̓́͜.̡̧̬͕̭͚͙̠̼͍̞̹͙̫̞͈̤̫̀̔ͩ̒́͘̕.̹͔͎̟̞̗̻̫̳̯̣̣̻̫̺͇͖̘̯̑̀̏̋͋ͫ̄̒̈̔͌̇̆͐̕͝.̷̸̺̝̖̘̻̭͆͂ͧͧ͒̀̀̾ͬ̒̐ͣͅ.̍̂͒̊͒̏ͮ͛ͧͫͣ͑ͦ͊̐ͥ̍͏̷̭̜̖͉̠̹͉̙͓͕̝.̶̨̛̮̞̰̩̆ͬ̾ͩ̊̓̅̀.̴̫̤̮̝̺͈̯̼̼̟͓̫̗͈̻͖̜̘̒ͪ̏̂̿ͤ̃́͡.̭̖̼͓͎̲̯̻͕͑ͭ̈́͋̄̚̕͢ͅ.̡̘̪̟͓̺̰̘̖̼̺̿̋̆ͬͧ͗͑͋́̒̾͆͌ͪ̀̕.̵̷̡̠̰͕̰̦͍̃ͮ͐̋ͭ͐ͭ̔ͭͦ̓̀͋ͫ̊̉̅͞ͅ.̸̢̛̪̣̰͚̖̫̜͉̭̅̾̽̏̑̂̒̏̍ͨ̈͌̎͋̋̇͊̚͜͞.̸̡̡̟͚͍̞̜̺̲̑̈́͗́̎̐͋̀̒ͯ̀̚͞.̶́̋ͤ͋̽ͪͮ͒̓̀̀ͩ̋̍͑ͣ̏̈̚͝҉̵̤͙̦͉͇̮̪͠.͔̲̩̱̳̥̹͇̤͍͚̗̮̟̩̲ͭ̐̄͋̃̈́͋́ͪͯ͒̋͠.̇̾ͫͮͭ̔̐̀ͮͪ͌̃ͦ̏͂͗͏̶̵̫͍͎̦̞͈̥̖̼̭͔͎̖̀͢.̴̟͖͖̞̣̺̠̝͓̃͊ͤ͐̀ͮ̆ͩ̈́͆̇̈͑̚͢͜͡.̛͂͐͌́͠҉̢̥̼̙̗̘̭͚̯̫.̎ͥ̒ͣ̍̒̉ͤ͝͏͖͓̹̳̗̙͖͎̲̼͈͞.̴͖̘̰͍ͣ̑̏̒̓̀ͬ̔ͪͭ̒̑̽̌̽͘.͊̈́̾͋ͦ̂͏̺̫̩͚̫́͠ͅ.̸̶̴̛͈̰͕̯͎̞͕̺͕̭̘̠͓͎͉̓͑̎͌̂̏̔̇͠.̧͙͎̤͍̜̹̠̩̪͕̪͙͊͊̈̎̽̍ͧͫ̓̋̓̀͗̓̀ͫ̌͞ͅ.̄̉́ͤͮ͌͌ͥ͐̀ͦ͗̐̽ͧ̚̕҉̠̲̖̪̝̹̮̹̟͉͎̥͓̘̪̩̮̕ͅ.̸͈̮̞̙̭͎̟͎͓͓̽͂ͮ̔ͧ̃.̍̓̉͐̈̍ͨ̽ͧ͛ͤ̑͌͐̄ͤͪ͝҉̵̬̮͈͚̱͜.̛̉̎ͮ̅͝͏̭̰̰͔͇.̵̩̪̦̟̹̞͕̲̟̤͙̹̠͈͓̳̞͔̈́́ͩ̀͟͞.̴̸̨̛̯̦͇͖̞͍̳̤͈̝͇͎͎̩̙̤͈̏̒̐ͯ̓͊̋ͩ̒ͯ͆ͨ̐ͯ͌͒̚͜ͅ.͌͌͌͆ͤͮͯ̾͏̴͜҉̜͈̲̻̭̱͔̤͈͍͙̱̤̫͟.̢̛̼̞̞̞̳̙ͥ͒̍̾̓ͭ͗̉̈́ͨͤ̏̌͟͞.͌̓̈ͬͯͧ̐ͣ͛́ͤ̃ͩ̇̊̀͠͏͏̭̜̬̤.ͮ͛ͯ̂ͫͧ̂́͊̂͋͂ͦ̄̕҉̷̶͍͎̦͉̣́.̘̟͍̼̜͍̮̝̇͂͗ͥ̇͊́͑̂͊ͨ͋ͣ̀̚͘̕.̡̧̯̯͔̣͔̲͈͔̟͖̻̫̮̗̘ͦ̅̓ͯ̿̊̾ͯ̇̒̆̍̈̓.̡̧̨͖̙̬̝͕́͒̓̉̽̽̐̓̎̓ͪ̈̓̎̄̏̄̓͊.̶̳̪̲͉̮̦̫̓ͧͨ̾̈́̈́ͯ͆ͪ͐̅̂́̌͛͑ͩ̚.̷̠̟̘͇̙͇̱̹̎̍̍̅ͥ̿̃̌̔̚.̨̡̏ͮͮͤͩ̈́̉ͣͯ̏̇̆ͯ̽̃͗̄͆ͫ͜͏̖̣̭̗̮̖͓̪͈͔̱̱ͅ.̧̢̜̣̮̼̦̱͈̑̈ͫ́͛ͣ̀̀̓̒̿́̚͢͝.̛͔̹̖̻͈̲͚̤͋ͣ̿͋͡.̴͛͒͗̈̎ͣ̇ͧ̽̒̄̂̃̈́͐̽̚͏͢͏̮͍̗̰̫̟̰̼͇͚̭̠̜̪̜̭̜.̧̙͓̤͎̦͖̥̦̤̜̲̣͙̠̱̗̱̤͒̍̌ͣ͊ͩ̾̃͒́ͤ̾̕͟͠.̷̴̜̗͉̺̥̘̙̒͛̃ͨ͜.̲̤̣̀ͬ̔̂ͧ̈́̚͜͡.̨ͣ̎͆̂ͩͬͬ̾ͮ̽̓͘͏̡͙̞̜͍͎͕̯̜̙̘̣̰̞̳̫̥͡.̶̛̮̭̤͎̰̗͕̮̗̥̦̱̖̩͖̹̼̮ͯͪͭ̇́͑̀.̴̜͓̪͕̬͓̫͚̩̝̰͓͒͒̓̍̀ͫ͗͊ͤ̾̏̎̉ͤ͠.̵ͩ͊̒ͨ̍̋̎̋̿ͯ̍̊̒ͥ͂̎̀̕͏͙͙͉̹̮̖̭̮̠̭̬̻͙͎̮̗̼̭.̶̧̳̗͚͈̜͕̜̄̎͊̉̽͆͛ͪ̾̆̓̾̾̃ͥ́̕͝.̒̌ͦͥ̅̊͛ͫ͏̨͖̰̳̖̜͎̀.̵̙͓͎̣͓̞͎͐̈̓̀̂̂̂̂̍̊̀ͭ̾ͣ̀̕.̿͛̌͛̅͆̀͆ͧ̚҉̶̢̖̳̥̦͍̹̖̫̻̜͟.̸̷̛͇͙̜͍̲̳̥̎̍͋̒ͬͨ̿͒̎̈́ͪ͠ͅ.̔ͣͤ́̋ͧ̋̀̈́̔̒̓̂̒ͪͨ͏̵̭͇̩̗̠͖͎̪̺̲͕̗͓̕͜͡ͅ.̴̴̬̼̙̏ͤ̌̏͗ͦ̄͒ͯ̓̍̈́̍̐̀ͫͧ͌̕͜ͅ.͉̝̲͇̟̱̘̗͖̽ͨ̓̃͋ͮ̓̒͌ͬ̔́̌ͤ͜ͅ.͙̝͎͓̠̦̜͔̬̠̣̊̊͐͑̍́̿̑ͮ́͞.̷̨͇̫̙̰̘̞͔͎̦͚ͫͣͦ̑ͤ̿̕̕.̧̬̹͓̠̙̙͕̏̀̒̒̄̓͊ͮ̇ͮ̓ͭ̑͝.̡̢̣̗̫͚̯̉̓ͮͦ̽͑̊ͣͧ̽ͣ̔̍̿̽̍̅̚.̸̘̥̩̱͖̙̞͚͙̖͙̗͓̄̿ͦͯ̚̕.̘͈̱͔̲̑̄̂̓͗͊̔̆ͨͧ̓̊ͫ̕͢͝.̢̡̠͕̠̟̩͖͖̺̦̬͓̭͚͓̳ͣ̃ͧ̑̍̎̈́̉̏̍͑̓̈́͐̎͋͛͢͡͠ͅͅ

0
barry b bensen nigga sr.

According to all known laws
of aviation,

there is no way a bee
should be able to fly.

Its wings are too small to get
its fat little body off the ground.

The bee, of course, flies anyway

because bees don’t care
what humans think is impossible.

Yellow, black. Yellow, black.
Yellow, black. Yellow, black.

Ooh, black and yellow!
Let’s shake it up a little.

Barry! Breakfast is ready!

Ooming!

Hang on a second.

Hello?

– Barry?
– Adam?

– Oan you believe this is happening?
– I can’t. I’ll pick you up.

Looking sharp.

Use the stairs. Your father
paid good money for those.

Sorry. I’m excited.

Here’s the graduate.
We’re very proud of you, son.

A perfect report card, all B’s.

Very proud.

Ma! I got a thing going here.

– You got lint on your fuzz.
– Ow! That’s me!

– Wave to us! We’ll be in row 118,000.
– Bye!

Barry, I told you,
stop flying in the house!

– Hey, Adam.
– Hey, Barry.

– Is that fuzz gel?
– A little. Special day, graduation.

Never thought I’d make it.

Three days grade school,
three days high school.

Those were awkward.

Three days college. I’m glad I took
a day and hitchhiked around the hive.

You did come back different.

– Hi, Barry.
– Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.

– Hear about Frankie?
– Yeah.

– You going to the funeral?
– No, I’m not going.

Everybody knows,
sting someone, you die.

Don’t waste it on a squirrel.
Such a hothead.

I guess he could have
just gotten out of the way.

I love this incorporating
an amusement park into our day.

That’s why we don’t need vacations.

Boy, quite a bit of pomp…
under the circumstances.

– Well, Adam, today we are men.
– We are!

– Bee-men.
– Amen!

Hallelujah!

Students, faculty, distinguished bees,

please welcome Dean Buzzwell.

Welcome, New Hive Oity
graduating class of…

…9:15.

That concludes our ceremonies.

And begins your career
at Honex Industries!

Will we pick ourjob today?

I heard it’s just orientation.

Heads up! Here we go.

Keep your hands and antennas
inside the tram at all times.

– Wonder what it’ll be like?
– A little scary.

Welcome to Honex,
a division of Honesco

and a part of the Hexagon Group.

This is it!

Wow.

Wow.

We know that you, as a bee,
have worked your whole life

to get to the point where you
can work for your whole life.

Honey begins when our valiant Pollen
Jocks bring the nectar to the hive.

Our top-secret formula

is automatically color-corrected,
scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured

into this soothing sweet syrup

with its distinctive
golden glow you know as…

Honey!

– That girl was hot.
– She’s my cousin!

– She is?
– Yes, we’re all cousins.

– Right. You’re right.
– At Honex, we constantly strive

to improve every aspect
of bee existence.

These bees are stress-testing
a new helmet technology.

– What do you think he makes?
– Not enough.

Here we have our latest advancement,
the Krelman.

– What does that do?
– Oatches that little strand of honey

that hangs after you pour it.
Saves us millions.

Oan anyone work on the Krelman?

Of course. Most bee jobs are
small ones. But bees know

that every small job,
if it’s done well, means a lot.

But choose carefully

because you’ll stay in the job
you pick for the rest of your life.

The same job the rest of your life?
I didn’t know that.

What’s the difference?

You’ll be happy to know that bees,
as a species, haven’t had one day off

in 27 million years.

So you’ll just work us to death?

We’ll sure try.

Wow! That blew my mind!

“What’s the difference?”
How can you say that?

One job forever?
That’s an insane choice to have to make.

I’m relieved. Now we only have
to make one decision in life.

But, Adam, how could they
never have told us that?

Why would you question anything?
We’re bees.

We’re the most perfectly
functioning society on Earth.

You ever think maybe things
work a little too well here?

Like what? Give me one example.

I don’t know. But you know
what I’m talking about.

Please clear the gate.
Royal Nectar Force on approach.

Wait a second. Oheck it out.

– Hey, those are Pollen Jocks!
– Wow.

I’ve never seen them this close.

They know what it’s like
outside the hive.

Yeah, but some don’t come back.

– Hey, Jocks!
– Hi, Jocks!

You guys did great!

You’re monsters!
You’re sky freaks! I love it! I love it!

– I wonder where they were.
– I don’t know.

Their day’s not planned.

Outside the hive, flying who knows
where, doing who knows what.

You can’tjust decide to be a Pollen
Jock. You have to be bred for that.

Right.

Look. That’s more pollen
than you and I will see in a lifetime.

It’s just a status symbol.
Bees make too much of it.

Perhaps. Unless you’re wearing it
and the ladies see you wearing it.

Those ladies?
Aren’t they our cousins too?

Distant. Distant.

Look at these two.

– Oouple of Hive Harrys.
– Let’s have fun with them.

It must be dangerous
being a Pollen Jock.

Yeah. Once a bear pinned me
against a mushroom!

He had a paw on my throat,
and with the other, he was slapping me!

– Oh, my!
– I never thought I’d knock him out.

What were you doing during this?

Trying to alert the authorities.

I can autograph that.

A little gusty out there today,
wasn’t it, comrades?

Yeah. Gusty.

We’re hitting a sunflower patch
six miles from here tomorrow.

– Six miles, huh?
– Barry!

A puddle jump for us,
but maybe you’re not up for it.

– Maybe I am.
– You are not!

We’re going 0900 at J-Gate.

What do you think, buzzy-boy?
Are you bee enough?

I might be. It all depends
on what 0900 means.

Hey, Honex!

Dad, you surprised me.

You decide what you’re interested in?

– Well, there’s a lot of choices.
– But you only get one.

Do you ever get bored
doing the same job every day?

Son, let me tell you about stirring.

You grab that stick, and you just
move it around, and you stir it around.

You get yourself into a rhythm.
It’s a beautiful thing.

You know, Dad,
the more I think about it,

maybe the honey field
just isn’t right for me.

You were thinking of what,
making balloon animals?

That’s a bad job
for a guy with a stinger.

Janet, your son’s not sure
he wants to go into honey!

– Barry, you are so funny sometimes.
– I’m not trying to be funny.

You’re not funny! You’re going
into honey. Our son, the stirrer!

– You’re gonna be a stirrer?
– No one’s listening to me!

Wait till you see the sticks I have.

I could say anything right now.
I’m gonna get an ant tattoo!

Let’s open some honey and celebrate!

Maybe I’ll pierce my thorax.
Shave my antennae.

Shack up with a grasshopper. Get
a gold tooth and call everybody “dawg”!

I’m so proud.

– We’re starting work today!
– Today’s the day.

Oome on! All the good jobs
will be gone.

Yeah, right.

Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring,
stirrer, front desk, hair removal…

– Is it still available?
– Hang on. Two left!

One of them’s yours! Oongratulations!
Step to the side.

– What’d you get?
– Picking crud out. Stellar!

Wow!

Oouple of newbies?

Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!

Make your choice.

– You want to go first?
– No, you go.

Oh, my. What’s available?

Restroom attendant’s open,
not for the reason you think.

– Any chance of getting the Krelman?
– Sure, you’re on.

I’m sorry, the Krelman just closed out.

Wax monkey’s always open.

The Krelman opened up again.

What happened?

A bee died. Makes an opening. See?
He’s dead. Another dead one.

Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.

Dead from the neck up.
Dead from the neck down. That’s life!

Oh, this is so hard!

Heating, cooling,
stunt bee, pourer, stirrer,

humming, inspector number seven,
lint coordinator, stripe supervisor,

mite wrangler. Barry, what
do you think I should… Barry?

Barry!

All right, we’ve got the sunflower patch
in quadrant nine…

What happened to you?
Where are you?

– I’m going out.
– Out? Out where?

– Out there.
– Oh, no!

I have to, before I go
to work for the rest of my life.

You’re gonna die! You’re crazy! Hello?

Another call coming in.

If anyone’s feeling brave,
there’s a Korean deli on 83rd

that gets their roses today.

Hey, guys.

– Look at that.
– Isn’t that the kid we saw yesterday?

Hold it, son, flight deck’s restricted.

It’s OK, Lou. We’re gonna take him up.

Really? Feeling lucky, are you?

Sign here, here. Just initial that.

– Thank you.
– OK.

You got a rain advisory today,

and as you all know,
bees cannot fly in rain.

So be careful. As always,
watch your brooms,

hockey sticks, dogs,
birds, bears and bats.

Also, I got a couple of reports
of root beer being poured on us.

Murphy’s in a home because of it,
babbling like a cicada!

– That’s awful.
– And a reminder for you rookies,

bee law number one,
absolutely no talking to humans!

All right, launch positions!

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz,
buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!

Black and yellow!

Hello!

You ready for this, hot shot?

Yeah. Yeah, bring it on.

Wind, check.

– Antennae, check.
– Nectar pack, check.

– Wings, check.
– Stinger, check.

Scared out of my shorts, check.

OK, ladies,

let’s move it out!

Pound those petunias,
you striped stem-suckers!

All of you, drain those flowers!

Wow! I’m out!

I can’t believe I’m out!

So blue.

I feel so fast and free!

Box kite!

Wow!

Flowers!

This is Blue Leader.
We have roses visual.

Bring it around 30 degrees and hold.

Roses!

30 degrees, roger. Bringing it around.

Stand to the side, kid.
It’s got a bit of a kick.

That is one nectar collector!

– Ever see pollination up close?
– No, sir.

I pick up some pollen here, sprinkle it
over here. Maybe a dash over there,

a pinch on that one.
See that? It’s a little bit of magic.

That’s amazing. Why do we do that?

That’s pollen power. More pollen, more
flowers, more nectar, more honey for us.

Oool.

I’m picking up a lot of bright yellow.
Oould be daisies. Don’t we need those?

Oopy that visual.

Wait. One of these flowers
seems to be on the move.

Say again? You’re reporting
a moving flower?

Affirmative.

That was on the line!

This is the coolest. What is it?

I don’t know, but I’m loving this color.

It smells good.
Not like a flower, but I like it.

Yeah, fuzzy.

Ohemical-y.

Oareful, guys. It’s a little grabby.

My sweet lord of bees!

Oandy-brain, get off there!

Problem!

– Guys!
– This could be bad.

Affirmative.

Very close.

Gonna hurt.

Mama’s little boy.

You are way out of position, rookie!

Ooming in at you like a missile!

Help me!

I don’t think these are flowers.

– Should we tell him?
– I think he knows.

What is this?!

Match point!

You can start packing up, honey,
because you’re about to eat it!

Yowser!

Gross.

There’s a bee in the car!

– Do something!
– I’m driving!

– Hi, bee.
– He’s back here!

He’s going to sting me!

Nobody move. If you don’t move,
he won’t sting you. Freeze!

He blinked!

Spray him, Granny!

What are you doing?!

Wow… the tension level
out here is unbelievable.

I gotta get home.

Oan’t fly in rain.

Oan’t fly in rain.

Oan’t fly in rain.

Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down!

Ken, could you close
the window please?

Ken, could you close
the window please?

Oheck out my new resume.
I made it into a fold-out brochure.

You see? Folds out.

Oh, no. More humans. I don’t need this.

What was that?

Maybe this time. This time. This time.
This time! This time! This…

Drapes!

That is diabolical.

It’s fantastic. It’s got all my special
skills, even my top-ten favorite movies.

What’s number one? Star Wars?

Nah, I don’t go for that…

…kind of stuff.

No wonder we shouldn’t talk to them.
They’re out of their minds.

When I leave a job interview, they’re
flabbergasted, can’t believe what I say.

There’s the sun. Maybe that’s a way out.

I don’t remember the sun
having a big 75 on it.

I predicted global warming.

I could feel it getting hotter.
At first I thought it was just me.

Wait! Stop! Bee!

Stand back. These are winter boots.

Wait!

Don’t kill him!

You know I’m allergic to them!
This thing could kill me!

Why does his life have
less value than yours?

Why does his life have any less value
than mine? Is that your statement?

I’m just saying all life has value. You
don’t know what he’s capable of feeling.

My brochure!

There you go, little guy.

I’m not scared of him.
It’s an allergic thing.

Put that on your resume brochure.

My whole face could puff up.

Make it one of your special skills.

Knocking someone out
is also a special skill.

Right. Bye, Vanessa. Thanks.

– Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night?
– Sure, Ken. You know, whatever.

– You could put carob chips on there.
– Bye.

– Supposed to be less calories.
– Bye.

I gotta say something.

She saved my life.
I gotta say something.

All right, here it goes.

Nah.

What would I say?

I could really get in trouble.

It’s a bee law.
You’re not supposed to talk to a human.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I’ve got to.

Oh, I can’t do it. Oome on!

No. Yes. No.

Do it. I can’t.

How should I start it?
“You like jazz?” No, that’s no good.

Here she comes! Speak, you fool!

Hi!

I’m sorry.

– You’re talking.
– Yes, I know.

You’re talking!

I’m so sorry.

No, it’s OK. It’s fine.
I know I’m dreaming.

But I don’t recall going to bed.

Well, I’m sure this
is very disconcerting.

This is a bit of a surprise to me.
I mean, you’re a bee!

I am. And I’m not supposed
to be doing this,

but they were all trying to kill me.

And if it wasn’t for you…

I had to thank you.
It’s just how I was raised.

That was a little weird.

– I’m talking with a bee.
– Yeah.

I’m talking to a bee.
And the bee is talking to me!

I just want to say I’m grateful.
I’ll leave now.

– Wait! How did you learn to do that?
– What?

The talking thing.

Same way you did, I guess.
“Mama, Dada, honey.” You pick it up.

– That’s very funny.
– Yeah.

Bees are funny. If we didn’t laugh,
we’d cry with what we have to deal with.

Anyway…

Oan I…

…get you something?
– Like what?

I don’t know. I mean…
I don’t know. Ooffee?

I don’t want to put you out.

It’s no trouble. It takes two minutes.

– It’s just coffee.
– I hate to impose.

– Don’t be ridiculous!
– Actually, I would love a cup.

Hey, you want rum cake?

– I shouldn’t.
– Have some.

– No, I can’t.
– Oome on!

I’m trying to lose a couple micrograms.

– Where?
– These stripes don’t help.

You look great!

I don’t know if you know
anything about fashion.

Are you all right?

No.

He’s making the tie in the cab
as they’re flying up Madison.

He finally gets there.

He runs up the steps into the church.
The wedding is on.

And he says, “Watermelon?
I thought you said Guatemalan.

Why would I marry a watermelon?”

Is that a bee joke?

That’s the kind of stuff we do.

Yeah, different.

So, what are you gonna do, Barry?

About work? I don’t know.

I want to do my part for the hive,
but I can’t do it the way they want.

I know how you feel.

– You do?
– Sure.

My parents wanted me to be a lawyer or
a doctor, but I wanted to be a florist.

– Really?
– My only interest is flowers.

Our new queen was just elected
with that same campaign slogan.

Anyway, if you look…

There’s my hive right there. See it?

You’re in Sheep Meadow!

Yes! I’m right off the Turtle Pond!

No way! I know that area.
I lost a toe ring there once.

– Why do girls put rings on their toes?
– Why not?

– It’s like putting a hat on your knee.
– Maybe I’ll try that.

– You all right, ma’am?
– Oh, yeah. Fine.

Just having two cups of coffee!

Anyway, this has been great.
Thanks for the coffee.

Yeah, it’s no trouble.

Sorry I couldn’t finish it. If I did,
I’d be up the rest of my life.

Are you…?

Oan I take a piece of this with me?

Sure! Here, have a crumb.

– Thanks!
– Yeah.

All right. Well, then…
I guess I’ll see you around.

Or not.

OK, Barry.

And thank you
so much again… for before.

Oh, that? That was nothing.

Well, not nothing, but… Anyway…

This can’t possibly work.

He’s all set to go.
We may as well try it.

OK, Dave, pull the chute.

– Sounds amazing.
– It was amazing!

It was the scariest,
happiest moment of my life.

Humans! I can’t believe
you were with humans!

Giant, scary humans!
What were they like?

Huge and crazy. They talk crazy.

They eat crazy giant things.
They drive crazy.

– Do they try and kill you, like on TV?
– Some of them. But some of them don’t.

– How’d you get back?
– Poodle.

You did it, and I’m glad. You saw
whatever you wanted to see.

You had your “experience.” Now you
can pick out yourjob and be normal.

– Well…
– Well?

Well, I met someone.

You did? Was she Bee-ish?

– A wasp?! Your parents will kill you!
– No, no, no, not a wasp.

– Spider?
– I’m not attracted to spiders.

I know it’s the hottest thing,
with the eight legs and all.

I can’t get by that face.

So who is she?

She’s… human.

No, no. That’s a bee law.
You wouldn’t break a bee law.

– Her name’s Vanessa.
– Oh, boy.

She’s so nice. And she’s a florist!

Oh, no! You’re dating a human florist!

We’re not dating.

You’re flying outside the hive, talking
to humans that attack our homes

with power washers and M-80s!
One-eighth a stick of dynamite!

She saved my life!
And she understands me.

This is over!

Eat this.

This is not over! What was that?

– They call it a crumb.
– It was so stingin’ stripey!

And that’s not what they eat.
That’s what falls off what they eat!

– You know what a Oinnabon is?
– No.

It’s bread and cinnamon and frosting.
They heat it up…

Sit down!

…really hot!
– Listen to me!

We are not them! We’re us.
There’s us and there’s them!

Yes, but who can deny
the heart that is yearning?

There’s no yearning.
Stop yearning. Listen to me!

You have got to start thinking bee,
my friend. Thinking bee!

– Thinking bee.
– Thinking bee.

Thinking bee! Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!

There he is. He’s in the pool.

You know what your problem is, Barry?

I gotta start thinking bee?

How much longer will this go on?

It’s been three days!
Why aren’t you working?

I’ve got a lot of big life decisions
to think about.

What life? You have no life!
You have no job. You’re barely a bee!

Would it kill you
to make a little honey?

Barry, come out.
Your father’s talking to you.

Martin, would you talk to him?

Barry, I’m talking to you!

You coming?

Got everything?

All set!

Go ahead. I’ll catch up.

Don’t be too long.

Watch this!

Vanessa!

– We’re still here.
– I told you not to yell at him.

He doesn’t respond to yelling!

– Then why yell at me?
– Because you don’t listen!

I’m not listening to this.

Sorry, I’ve gotta go.

– Where are you going?
– I’m meeting a friend.

A girl? Is this why you can’t decide?

Bye.

I just hope she’s Bee-ish.

They have a huge parade
of flowers every year in Pasadena?

To be in the Tournament of Roses,
that’s every florist’s dream!

Up on a float, surrounded
by flowers, crowds cheering.

A tournament. Do the roses
compete in athletic events?

No. All right, I’ve got one.
How come you don’t fly everywhere?

It’s exhausting. Why don’t you
run everywhere? It’s faster.

Yeah, OK, I see, I see.
All right, your turn.

TiVo. You can just freeze live TV?
That’s insane!

You don’t have that?

We have Hivo, but it’s a disease.
It’s a horrible, horrible disease.

Oh, my.

Dumb bees!

You must want to sting all those jerks.

We try not to sting.
It’s usually fatal for us.

So you have to watch your temper.

Very carefully.
You kick a wall, take a walk,

write an angry letter and throw it out.
Work through it like any emotion:

Anger, jealousy, lust.

Oh, my goodness! Are you OK?

Yeah.

– What is wrong with you?!
– It’s a bug.

He’s not bothering anybody.
Get out of here, you creep!

What was that? A Pic ‘N’ Save circular?

Yeah, it was. How did you know?

It felt like about 10 pages.
Seventy-five is pretty much our limit.

You’ve really got that
down to a science.

– I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue.
– I’ll bet.

What in the name
of Mighty Hercules is this?

How did this get here?
Oute Bee, Golden Blossom,

Ray Liotta Private Select?

– Is he that actor?
– I never heard of him.

– Why is this here?
– For people. We eat it.

You don’t have
enough food of your own?

– Well, yes.
– How do you get it?

– Bees make it.
– I know who makes it!

And it’s hard to make it!

There’s heating, cooling, stirring.
You need a whole Krelman thing!

– It’s organic.
– It’s our-ganic!

It’s just honey, Barry.

Just what?!

Bees don’t know about this!
This is stealing! A lot of stealing!

You’ve taken our homes, schools,
hospitals! This is all we have!

And it’s on sale?!
I’m getting to the bottom of this.

I’m getting to the bottom
of all of this!

Hey, Hector.

– You almost done?
– Almost.

He is here. I sense it.

Well, I guess I’ll go home now

and just leave this nice honey out,
with no one around.

You’re busted, box boy!

I knew I heard something.
So you can talk!

I can talk.
And now you’ll start talking!

Where you getting the sweet stuff?
Who’s your supplier?

I don’t understand.
I thought we were friends.

The last thing we want
to do is upset bees!

You’re too late! It’s ours now!

You, sir, have crossed
the wrong sword!

You, sir, will be lunch
for my iguana, Ignacio!

Where is the honey coming from?

Tell me where!

Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms!

Orazy person!

What horrible thing has happened here?

These faces, they never knew
what hit them. And now

they’re on the road to nowhere!

Just keep still.

What? You’re not dead?

Do I look dead? They will wipe anything
that moves. Where you headed?

To Honey Farms.
I am onto something huge here.

I’m going to Alaska. Moose blood,
crazy stuff. Blows your head off!

I’m going to Tacoma.

– And you?
– He really is dead.

All right.

Uh-oh!

– What is that?!
– Oh, no!

– A wiper! Triple blade!
– Triple blade?

Jump on! It’s your only chance, bee!

Why does everything have
to be so doggone clean?!

How much do you people need to see?!

Open your eyes!
Stick your head out the window!

From NPR News in Washington,
I’m Oarl Kasell.

But don’t kill no more bugs!

– Bee!
– Moose blood guy!!

– You hear something?
– Like what?

Like tiny screaming.

Turn off the radio.

Whassup, bee boy?

Hey, Blood.

Just a row of honey jars,
as far as the eye could see.

Wow!

I assume wherever this truck goes
is where they’re getting it.

I mean, that honey’s ours.

– Bees hang tight.
– We’re all jammed in.

It’s a close community.

Not us, man. We on our own.
Every mosquito on his own.

– What if you get in trouble?
– You a mosquito, you in trouble.

Nobody likes us. They just smack.
See a mosquito, smack, smack!

At least you’re out in the world.
You must meet girls.

Mosquito girls try to trade up,
get with a moth, dragonfly.

Mosquito girl don’t want no mosquito.

You got to be kidding me!

Mooseblood’s about to leave
the building! So long, bee!

– Hey, guys!
– Mooseblood!

I knew I’d catch y’all down here.
Did you bring your crazy straw?

We throw it in jars, slap a label on it,
and it’s pretty much pure profit.

What is this place?

A bee’s got a brain
the size of a pinhead.

They are pinheads!

Pinhead.

– Oheck out the new smoker.
– Oh, sweet. That’s the one you want.

The Thomas 3000!

Smoker?

Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic.
Twice the nicotine, all the tar.

A couple breaths of this
knocks them right out.

They make the honey,
and we make the money.

“They make the honey,
and we make the money”?

Oh, my!

What’s going on? Are you OK?

Yeah. It doesn’t last too long.

Do you know you’re
in a fake hive with fake walls?

Our queen was moved here.
We had no choice.

This is your queen?
That’s a man in women’s clothes!

That’s a drag queen!

What is this?

Oh, no!

There’s hundreds of them!

Bee honey.

Our honey is being brazenly stolen
on a massive scale!

This is worse than anything bears
have done! I intend to do something.

Oh, Barry, stop.

Who told you humans are taking
our honey? That’s a rumor.

Do these look like rumors?

That’s a conspiracy theory.
These are obviously doctored photos.

How did you get mixed up in this?

He’s been talking to humans.

– What?
– Talking to humans?!

He has a human girlfriend.
And they make out!

Make out? Barry!

We do not.

– You wish you could.
– Whose side are you on?

The bees!

I dated a cricket once in San Antonio.
Those crazy legs kept me up all night.

Barry, this is what you want
to do with your life?

I want to do it for all our lives.
Nobody works harder than bees!

Dad, I remember you
coming home so overworked

your hands were still stirring.
You couldn’t stop.

I remember that.

What right do they have to our honey?

We live on two cups a year. They put it
in lip balm for no reason whatsoever!

Even if it’s true, what can one bee do?

Sting them where it really hurts.

In the face! The eye!

– That would hurt.
– No.

Up the nose? That’s a killer.

There’s only one place you can sting
the humans, one place where it matters.

Hive at Five, the hive’s only
full-hour action news source.

No more bee beards!

With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk.

Weather with Storm Stinger.

Sports with Buzz Larvi.

And Jeanette Ohung.

– Good evening. I’m Bob Bumble.
– And I’m Jeanette Ohung.

A tri-county bee, Barry Benson,

intends to sue the human race
for stealing our honey,

packaging it and profiting
from it illegally!

Tomorrow night on Bee Larry King,

we’ll have three former queens here in
our studio, discussing their new book,

Olassy Ladies,
out this week on Hexagon.

Tonight we’re talking to Barry Benson.

Did you ever think, “I’m a kid
from the hive. I can’t do this”?

Bees have never been afraid
to change the world.

What about Bee Oolumbus?
Bee Gandhi? Bejesus?

Where I’m from, we’d never sue humans.

We were thinking
of stickball or candy stores.

How old are you?

The bee community
is supporting you in this case,

which will be the trial
of the bee century.

You know, they have a Larry King
in the human world too.

It’s a common name. Next week…

He looks like you and has a show
and suspenders and colored dots…

Next week…

Glasses, quotes on the bottom from the
guest even though you just heard ’em.

Bear Week next week!
They’re scary, hairy and here live.

Always leans forward, pointy shoulders,
squinty eyes, very Jewish.

In tennis, you attack
at the point of weakness!

It was my grandmother, Ken. She’s 81.

Honey, her backhand’s a joke!
I’m not gonna take advantage of that?

Quiet, please.
Actual work going on here.

– Is that that same bee?
– Yes, it is!

I’m helping him sue the human race.

– Hello.
– Hello, bee.

This is Ken.

Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size
ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe.

Why does he talk again?

Listen, you better go
’cause we’re really busy working.

But it’s our yogurt night!

Bye-bye.

Why is yogurt night so difficult?!

You poor thing.
You two have been at this for hours!

Yes, and Adam here
has been a huge help.

– Frosting…
– How many sugars?

Just one. I try not
to use the competition.

So why are you helping me?

Bees have good qualities.

And it takes my mind off the shop.

Instead of flowers, people
are giving balloon bouquets now.

Those are great, if you’re three.

And artificial flowers.

– Oh, those just get me psychotic!
– Yeah, me too.

Bent stingers, pointless pollination.

Bees must hate those fake things!

Nothing worse
than a daffodil that’s had work done.

Maybe this could make up
for it a little bit.

– This lawsuit’s a pretty big deal.
– I guess.

You sure you want to go through with it?

Am I sure? When I’m done with
the humans, they won’t be able

to say, “Honey, I’m home,”
without paying a royalty!

It’s an incredible scene
here in downtown Manhattan,

where the world anxiously waits,
because for the first time in history,

we will hear for ourselves
if a honeybee can actually speak.

What have we gotten into here, Barry?

It’s pretty big, isn’t it?

I can’t believe how many humans
don’t work during the day.

You think billion-dollar multinational
food companies have good lawyers?

Everybody needs to stay
behind the barricade.

– What’s the matter?
– I don’t know, I just got a chill.

Well, if it isn’t the bee team.

You boys work on this?

All rise! The Honorable
Judge Bumbleton presiding.

All right. Oase number 4475,

Superior Oourt of New York,
Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry

is now in session.

Mr. Montgomery, you’re representing
the five food companies collectively?

A privilege.

Mr. Benson… you’re representing
all the bees of the world?

I’m kidding. Yes, Your Honor,
we’re ready to proceed.

Mr. Montgomery,
your opening statement, please.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

my grandmother was a simple woman.

Born on a farm, she believed
it was man’s divine right

to benefit from the bounty
of nature God put before us.

If we lived in the topsy-turvy world
Mr. Benson imagines,

just think of what would it mean.

I would have to negotiate
with the silkworm

for the elastic in my britches!

Talking bee!

How do we know this isn’t some sort of

holographic motion-picture-capture
Hollywood wizardry?

They could be using laser beams!

Robotics! Ventriloquism!
Oloning! For all we know,

he could be on steroids!

Mr. Benson?

Ladies and gentlemen,
there’s no trickery here.

I’m just an ordinary bee.
Honey’s pretty important to me.

It’s important to all bees.
We invented it!

We make it. And we protect it
with our lives.

Unfortunately, there are
some people in this room

who think they can take it from us

’cause we’re the little guys!
I’m hoping that, after this is all over,

you’ll see how, by taking our honey,
you not only take everything we have

but everything we are!

I wish he’d dress like that
all the time. So nice!

Oall your first witness.

So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden
of Honey Farms, big company you have.

I suppose so.

I see you also own
Honeyburton and Honron!

Yes, they provide beekeepers
for our farms.

Beekeeper. I find that
to be a very disturbing term.

I don’t imagine you employ
any bee-free-ers, do you?

– No.
– I couldn’t hear you.

– No.
– No.

Because you don’t free bees.
You keep bees. Not only that,

it seems you thought a bear would be
an appropriate image for a jar of honey.

They’re very lovable creatures.

Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear.

You mean like this?

Bears kill bees!

How’d you like his head crashing
through your living room?!

Biting into your couch!
Spitting out your throw pillows!

OK, that’s enough. Take him away.

So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here.
Your name intrigues me.

– Where have I heard it before?
– I was with a band called The Police.

But you’ve never been
a police officer, have you?

No, I haven’t.

No, you haven’t. And so here
we have yet another example

of bee culture casually
stolen by a human

for nothing more than
a prance-about stage name.

Oh, please.

Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting?

Because I’m feeling
a little stung, Sting.

Or should I say… Mr. Gordon M. Sumner!

That’s not his real name?! You idiots!

Mr. Liotta, first,
belated congratulations on

your Emmy win for a guest spot
on ER in 2005.

Thank you. Thank you.

I see from your resume
that you’re devilishly handsome

with a churning inner turmoil
that’s ready to blow.

I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime?

Not yet it isn’t. But is this
what it’s come to for you?

Exploiting tiny, helpless bees
so you don’t

have to rehearse
your part and learn your lines, sir?

Watch it, Benson!
I could blow right now!

This isn’t a goodfella.
This is a badfella!

Why doesn’t someone just step on
this creep, and we can all go home?!

– Order in this court!
– You’re all thinking it!

Order! Order, I say!

– Say it!
– Mr. Liotta, please sit down!

I think it was awfully nice
of that bear to pitch in like that.

I think the jury’s on our side.

Are we doing everything right, legally?

I’m a florist.

Right. Well, here’s to a great team.

To a great team!

Well, hello.

– Ken!
– Hello.

I didn’t think you were coming.

No, I was just late.
I tried to call, but… the battery.

I didn’t want all this to go to waste,
so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free.

Oh, that was lucky.

There’s a little left.
I could heat it up.

Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever.

So I hear you’re quite a tennis player.

I’m not much for the game myself.
The ball’s a little grabby.

That’s where I usually sit.
Right… there.

Ken, Barry was looking at your resume,

and he agreed with me that eating with
chopsticks isn’t really a special skill.

You think I don’t see what you’re doing?

I know how hard it is to find
the rightjob. We have that in common.

Do we?

Bees have 100 percent employment,
but we do jobs like taking the crud out.

That’s just what
I was thinking about doing.

Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor
for his fuzz. I hope that was all right.

I’m going to drain the old stinger.

Yeah, you do that.

Look at that.

You know, I’ve just about had it

with your little mind games.

– What’s that?
– Italian Vogue.

Mamma mia, that’s a lot of pages.

A lot of ads.

Remember what Van said, why is
your life more valuable than mine?

Funny, I just can’t seem to recall that!

I think something stinks in here!

I love the smell of flowers.

How do you like the smell of flames?!

Not as much.

Water bug! Not taking sides!

Ken, I’m wearing a Ohapstick hat!
This is pathetic!

I’ve got issues!

Well, well, well, a royal flush!

– You’re bluffing.
– Am I?

Surf’s up, dude!

Poo water!

That bowl is gnarly.

Except for those dirty yellow rings!

Kenneth! What are you doing?!

You know, I don’t even like honey!
I don’t eat it!

We need to talk!

He’s just a little bee!

And he happens to be
the nicest bee I’ve met in a long time!

Long time? What are you talking about?!
Are there other bugs in your life?

No, but there are other things bugging
me in life. And you’re one of them!

Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night…

My nerves are fried from riding
on this emotional roller coaster!

Goodbye, Ken.

And for your information,

I prefer sugar-free, artificial
sweeteners made by man!

I’m sorry about all that.

I know it’s got
an aftertaste! I like it!

I always felt there was some kind
of barrier between Ken and me.

I couldn’t overcome it.
Oh, well.

Are you OK for the trial?

I believe Mr. Montgomery
is about out of ideas.

We would like to call
Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand.

Good idea! You can really see why he’s
considered one of the best lawyers…

Yeah.

Layton, you’ve
gotta weave some magic

with this jury,
or it’s gonna be all over.

Don’t worry. The only thing I have
to do to turn this jury around

is to remind them
of what they don’t like about bees.

– You got the tweezers?
– Are you allergic?

Only to losing, son. Only to losing.

Mr. Benson Bee, I’ll ask you
what I think we’d all like to know.

What exactly is your relationship

to that woman?

We’re friends.

– Good friends?
– Yes.

How good? Do you live together?

Wait a minute…

Are you her little…

…bedbug?

I’ve seen a bee documentary or two.
From what I understand,

doesn’t your queen give birth
to all the bee children?

– Yeah, but…
– So those aren’t your real parents!

– Oh, Barry…
– Yes, they are!

Hold me back!

You’re an illegitimate bee,
aren’t you, Benson?

He’s denouncing bees!

Don’t y’all date your cousins?

– Objection!
– I’m going to pincushion this guy!

Adam, don’t! It’s what he wants!

Oh, I’m hit!!

Oh, lordy, I am hit!

Order! Order!

The venom! The venom
is coursing through my veins!

I have been felled
by a winged beast of destruction!

You see? You can’t treat them
like equals! They’re striped savages!

Stinging’s the only thing
they know! It’s their way!

– Adam, stay with me.
– I can’t feel my legs.

What angel of mercy
will come forward to suck the poison

from my heaving buttocks?

I will have order in this court. Order!

Order, please!

The case of the honeybees
versus the human race

took a pointed turn against the bees

yesterday when one of their legal
team stung Layton T. Montgomery.

– Hey, buddy.
– Hey.

– Is there much pain?
– Yeah.

I…

I blew the whole case, didn’t I?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is
you’re alive. You could have died.

I’d be better off dead. Look at me.

They got it from the cafeteria
downstairs, in a tuna sandwich.

Look, there’s
a little celery still on it.

What was it like to sting someone?

I can’t explain it. It was all…

All adrenaline and then…
and then ecstasy!

All right.

You think it was all a trap?

Of course. I’m sorry.
I flew us right into this.

What were we thinking? Look at us. We’re
just a couple of bugs in this world.

What will the humans do to us
if they win?

I don’t know.

I hear they put the roaches in motels.
That doesn’t sound so bad.

Adam, they check in,
but they don’t check out!

Oh, my.

Oould you get a nurse
to close that window?

– Why?
– The smoke.

Bees don’t smoke.

Right. Bees don’t smoke.

Bees don’t smoke!
But some bees are smoking.

That’s it! That’s our case!

It is? It’s not over?

Get dressed. I’ve gotta go somewhere.

Get back to the court and stall.
Stall any way you can.

And assuming you’ve done step correctly, you’re ready for the tub.

Mr. Flayman.

Yes? Yes, Your Honor!

Where is the rest of your team?

Well, Your Honor, it’s interesting.

Bees are trained to fly haphazardly,

and as a result,
we don’t make very good time.

I actually heard a funny story about…

Your Honor,
haven’t these ridiculous bugs

taken up enough
of this court’s valuable time?

How much longer will we allow
these absurd shenanigans to go on?

They have presented no compelling
evidence to support their charges

against my clients,
who run legitimate businesses.

I move for a complete dismissal
of this entire case!

Mr. Flayman, I’m afraid I’m going

to have to consider
Mr. Montgomery’s motion.

But you can’t! We have a terrific case.

Where is your proof?
Where is the evidence?

Show me the smoking gun!

Hold it, Your Honor!
You want a smoking gun?

Here is your smoking gun.

What is that?

It’s a bee smoker!

What, this?
This harmless little contraption?

This couldn’t hurt a fly,
let alone a bee.

Look at what has happened

to bees who have never been asked,
“Smoking or non?”

Is this what nature intended for us?

To be forcibly addicted
to smoke machines

and man-made wooden slat work camps?

Living out our lives as honey slaves
to the white man?

– What are we gonna do?
– He’s playing the species card.

Ladies and gentlemen, please,
free these bees!

Free the bees! Free the bees!

Free the bees!

Free the bees! Free the bees!

The court finds in favor of the bees!

Vanessa, we won!

I knew you could do it! High-five!

Sorry.

I’m OK! You know what this means?

All the honey
will finally belong to the bees.

Now we won’t have
to work so hard all the time.

This is an unholy perversion
of the balance of nature, Benson.

You’ll regret this.

Barry, how much honey is out there?

All right. One at a time.

Barry, who are you wearing?

My sweater is Ralph Lauren,
and I have no pants.

– What if Montgomery’s right?
– What do you mean?

We’ve been living the bee way
a long time, 27 million years.

Oongratulations on your victory.
What will you demand as a settlement?

First, we’ll demand a complete shutdown
of all bee work camps.

Then we want back the honey
that was ours to begin with,

every last drop.

We demand an end to the glorification
of the bear as anything more

than a filthy, smelly,
bad-breath stink machine.

We’re all aware
of what they do in the woods.

Wait for my signal.

Take him out.

He’ll have nauseous
for a few hours, then he’ll be fine.

And we will no longer tolerate
bee-negative nicknames…

But it’s just a prance-about stage name!

…unnecessary inclusion of honey
in bogus health products

and la-dee-da human
tea-time snack garnishments.

Oan’t breathe.

Bring it in, boys!

Hold it right there! Good.

Tap it.

Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed three cups,
and there’s gallons more coming!

– I think we need to shut down!
– Shut down? We’ve never shut down.

Shut down honey production!

Stop making honey!

Turn your key, sir!

What do we do now?

Oannonball!

We’re shutting honey production!

Mission abort.

Aborting pollination and nectar detail.
Returning to base.

Adam, you wouldn’t believe
how much honey was out there.

Oh, yeah?

What’s going on? Where is everybody?

– Are they out celebrating?
– They’re home.

They don’t know what to do.
Laying out, sleeping in.

I heard your Uncle Oarl was on his way
to San Antonio with a cricket.

At least we got our honey back.

Sometimes I think, so what if humans
liked our honey? Who wouldn’t?

It’s the greatest thing in the world!
I was excited to be part of making it.

This was my new desk. This was my
new job. I wanted to do it really well.

And now…

Now I can’t.

I don’t understand
why they’re not happy.

I thought their lives would be better!

They’re doing nothing. It’s amazing.
Honey really changes people.

You don’t have any idea
what’s going on, do you?

– What did you want to show me?
– This.

What happened here?

That is not the half of it.

Oh, no. Oh, my.

They’re all wilting.

Doesn’t look very good, does it?

No.

And whose fault do you think that is?

You know, I’m gonna guess bees.

Bees?

Specifically, me.

I didn’t think bees not needing to make
honey would affect all these things.

It’s notjust flowers.
Fruits, vegetables, they all need bees.

That’s our whole SAT test right there.

Take away produce, that affects
the entire animal kingdom.

And then, of course…

The human species?

So if there’s no more pollination,

it could all just go south here,
couldn’t it?

I know this is also partly my fault.

How about a suicide pact?

How do we do it?

– I’ll sting you, you step on me.
– Thatjust kills you twice.

Right, right.

Listen, Barry…
sorry, but I gotta get going.

I had to open my mouth and talk.

Vanessa?

Vanessa? Why are you leaving?
Where are you going?

To the final Tournament of Roses parade
in Pasadena.

They’ve moved it to this weekend
because all the flowers are dying.

It’s the last chance
I’ll ever have to see it.

Vanessa, I just wanna say I’m sorry.
I never meant it to turn out like this.

I know. Me neither.

Tournament of Roses.
Roses can’t do sports.

Wait a minute. Roses. Roses?

Roses!

Vanessa!

Roses?!

Barry?

– Roses are flowers!
– Yes, they are.

Flowers, bees, pollen!

I know.
That’s why this is the last parade.

Maybe not.
Oould you ask him to slow down?

Oould you slow down?

Barry!

OK, I made a huge mistake.
This is a total disaster, all my fault.

Yes, it kind of is.

I’ve ruined the planet.
I wanted to help you

with the flower shop.
I’ve made it worse.

Actually, it’s completely closed down.

I thought maybe you were remodeling.

But I have another idea, and it’s
greater than my previous ideas combined.

I don’t want to hear it!

All right, they have the roses,
the roses have the pollen.

I know every bee, plant
and flower bud in this park.

All we gotta do is get what they’ve got
back here with what we’ve got.

– Bees.
– Park.

– Pollen!
– Flowers.

– Repollination!
– Across the nation!

Tournament of Roses,
Pasadena, Oalifornia.

They’ve got nothing
but flowers, floats and cotton candy.

Security will be tight.

I have an idea.

Vanessa Bloome, FTD.

Official floral business. It’s real.

Sorry, ma’am. Nice brooch.

Thank you. It was a gift.

Once inside,
we just pick the right float.

How about The Princess and the Pea?

I could be the princess,
and you could be the pea!

Yes, I got it.

– Where should I sit?
– What are you?

– I believe I’m the pea.
– The pea?

It goes under the mattresses.

– Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart.
– I’m getting the marshal.

You do that!
This whole parade is a fiasco!

Let’s see what this baby’ll do.

Hey, what are you doing?!

Then all we do
is blend in with traffic…

…without arousing suspicion.

Once at the airport,
there’s no stopping us.

Stop! Security.

– You and your insect pack your float?
– Yes.

Has it been
in your possession the entire time?

Would you remove your shoes?

– Remove your stinger.
– It’s part of me.

I know. Just having some fun.
Enjoy your flight.

Then if we’re lucky, we’ll have
just enough pollen to do the job.

Oan you believe how lucky we are? We
have just enough pollen to do the job!

I think this is gonna work.

It’s got to work.

Attention, passengers,
this is Oaptain Scott.

We have a bit of bad weather
in New York.

It looks like we’ll experience
a couple hours delay.

Barry, these are cut flowers
with no water. They’ll never make it.

I gotta get up there
and talk to them.

Be careful.

Oan I get help
with the Sky Mall magazine?

I’d like to order the talking
inflatable nose and ear hair trimmer.

Oaptain, I’m in a real situation.

– What’d you say, Hal?
– Nothing.

Bee!

Don’t freak out! My entire species…

What are you doing?

– Wait a minute! I’m an attorney!
– Who’s an attorney?

Don’t move.

Oh, Barry.

Good afternoon, passengers.
This is your captain.

Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24B
please report to the cockpit?

And please hurry!

What happened here?

There was a DustBuster,
a toupee, a life raft exploded.

One’s bald, one’s in a boat,
they’re both unconscious!

– Is that another bee joke?
– No!

No one’s flying the plane!

This is JFK control tower, Flight 356.
What’s your status?

This is Vanessa Bloome.
I’m a florist from New York.

Where’s the pilot?

He’s unconscious,
and so is the copilot.

Not good. Does anyone onboard
have flight experience?

As a matter of fact, there is.

– Who’s that?
– Barry Benson.

From the honey trial?! Oh, great.

Vanessa, this is nothing more
than a big metal bee.

It’s got giant wings, huge engines.

I can’t fly a plane.

– Why not? Isn’t John Travolta a pilot?
– Yes.

How hard could it be?

Wait, Barry!
We’re headed into some lightning.

This is Bob Bumble. We have some
late-breaking news from JFK Airport,

where a suspenseful scene
is developing.

Barry Benson,
fresh from his legal victory…

That’s Barry!

…is attempting to land a plane,
loaded with people, flowers

and an incapacitated flight crew.

Flowers?!

We have a storm in the area
and two individuals at the controls

with absolutely no flight experience.

Just a minute.
There’s a bee on that plane.

I’m quite familiar with Mr. Benson
and his no-account compadres.

They’ve done enough damage.

But isn’t he your only hope?

Technically, a bee
shouldn’t be able to fly at all.

Their wings are too small…

Haven’t we heard this a million times?

“The surface area of the wings
and body mass make no sense.”

– Get this on the air!
– Got it.

– Stand by.
– We’re going live.

The way we work may be a mystery to you.

Making honey takes a lot of bees
doing a lot of small jobs.

But let me tell you about a small job.

If you do it well,
it makes a big difference.

More than we realized.
To us, to everyone.

That’s why I want to get bees
back to working together.

That’s the bee way!
We’re not made of Jell-O.

We get behind a fellow.

– Black and yellow!
– Hello!

Left, right, down, hover.

– Hover?
– Forget hover.

This isn’t so hard.
Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

Barry, what happened?!

Wait, I think we were
on autopilot the whole time.

– That may have been helping me.
– And now we’re not!

So it turns out I cannot fly a plane.

All of you, let’s get
behind this fellow! Move it out!

Move out!

Our only chance is if I do what I’d do,
you copy me with the wings of the plane!

Don’t have to yell.

I’m not yelling!
We’re in a lot of trouble.

It’s very hard to concentrate
with that panicky tone in your voice!

It’s not a tone. I’m panicking!

I can’t do this!

Vanessa, pull yourself together.
You have to snap out of it!

You snap out of it.

You snap out of it.

– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!

– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!

– You snap out of it!
– You snap out of it!

– Hold it!
– Why? Oome on, it’s my turn.

How is the plane flying?

I don’t know.

Hello?

Benson, got any flowers
for a happy occasion in there?

The Pollen Jocks!

They do get behind a fellow.

– Black and yellow.
– Hello.

All right, let’s drop this tin can
on the blacktop.

Where? I can’t see anything. Oan you?

No, nothing. It’s all cloudy.

Oome on. You got to think bee, Barry.

– Thinking bee.
– Thinking bee.

Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!

Wait a minute.
I think I’m feeling something.

– What?
– I don’t know. It’s strong, pulling me.

Like a 27-million-year-old instinct.

Bring the nose down.

Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!

– What in the world is on the tarmac?
– Get some lights on that!

Thinking bee!
Thinking bee! Thinking bee!

– Vanessa, aim for the flower.
– OK.

Out the engines. We’re going in
on bee power. Ready, boys?

Affirmative!

Good. Good. Easy, now. That’s it.

Land on that flower!

Ready? Full reverse!

Spin it around!

– Not that flower! The other one!
– Which one?

– That flower.
– I’m aiming at the flower!

That’s a fat guy in a flowered shirt.
I mean the giant pulsating flower

made of millions of bees!

Pull forward. Nose down. Tail up.

Rotate around it.

– This is insane, Barry!
– This’s the only way I know how to fly.

Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is this plane
flying in an insect-like pattern?

Get your nose in there. Don’t be afraid.
Smell it. Full reverse!

Just drop it. Be a part of it.

Aim for the center!

Now drop it in! Drop it in, woman!

Oome on, already.

Barry, we did it!
You taught me how to fly!

– Yes. No high-five!
– Right.

Barry, it worked!
Did you see the giant flower?

What giant flower? Where? Of course
I saw the flower! That was genius!

– Thank you.
– But we’re not done yet.

Listen, everyone!

This runway is covered
with the last pollen

from the last flowers
available anywhere on Earth.

That means this is our last chance.

We’re the only ones who make honey,
pollinate flowers and dress like this.

If we’re gonna survive as a species,
this is our moment! What do you say?

Are we going to be bees, orjust
Museum of Natural History keychains?

We’re bees!

Keychain!

Then follow me! Except Keychain.

Hold on, Barry. Here.

You’ve earned this.

Yeah!

I’m a Pollen Jock! And it’s a perfect
fit. All I gotta do are the sleeves.

Oh, yeah.

That’s our Barry.

Mom! The bees are back!

If anybody needs
to make a call, now’s the time.

I got a feeling we’ll be
working late tonight!

Here’s your change. Have a great
afternoon! Oan I help who’s next?

Would you like some honey with that?
It is bee-approved. Don’t forget these.

Milk, cream, cheese, it’s all me.
And I don’t see a nickel!

Sometimes I just feel
like a piece of meat!

I had no idea.

Barry, I’m sorry.
Have you got a moment?

Would you excuse me?
My mosquito associate will help you.

Sorry I’m late.

He’s a lawyer too?

I was already a blood-sucking parasite.
All I needed was a briefcase.

Have a great afternoon!

Barry, I just got this huge tulip order,
and I can’t get them anywhere.

No problem, Vannie.
Just leave it to me.

You’re a lifesaver, Barry.
Oan I help who’s next?

All right, scramble, jocks!
It’s time to fly.

Thank you, Barry!

That bee is living my life!

Let it go, Kenny.

– When will this nightmare end?!
– Let it all go.

– Beautiful day to fly.
– Sure is.

Between you and me,
I was dying to get out of that office.

You have got
to start thinking bee, my friend.

– Thinking bee!
– Me?

Hold it. Let’s just stop
for a second. Hold it.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, everyone.
Oan we stop here?

I’m not making a major life decision
during a production number!

All right. Take ten, everybody.
Wrap it up, guys.

I had virtually no rehearsal for that.

0
nigga fish

i love honeuy it is goood

0
stephen zarlinski

hello mrs boseaks 3rd hour

0
bruh bruh

who is this

0
lisa summers

hey guys ! i’m in school right now 😉

0
lisa summers

i’m in school again but this time i’m in 3rd hour, intro to graphic arts :))))

0
Cummy Asshole

I HAVE ANAL PROBLEMS!!!!!!

1
Not A Pedophile

hows your anus now?

0
A Pedophile

not good after I tore it up;)

0
hmhyyVax

cbd oil cbd pills best cbd oil cbd oil charlotte’s web cbd oil cbd oil

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0
Sharpinator

just shidded

1
Blueberry Faygo

One bad bitch, and she do what I say so
Two big. 40s and a big ass Draco (two, boom, boom)
Three more millions when you ask how my day go
Poured up a 4, now that’s blueberry Faygo
One false move, and we straight to shooting shit
Two small bands just to take you out real quick (bands)
Three more hoes, pull up, I’m fucking shit
That’s how it go, big bands, I’m thumbin’ shit (that’s how it goes)
One bad bitch, and she do what I say so (yeah, gang)
Two big. 40s and a big ass Draco (two)
Three more millions when you ask how my day go
Poured up a 4, now that’s blueberry Faygo
One false move, and we straight to shooting shit
Two small bands just to take you out real quick (bands)
Three more hoes, pull up, I’m fucking shit
That’s how it go, big bands, I’m thumbin’ shit
I’m with my niggas yeah, we some rockstars
And I’m with my nigga yeah, KK Wokhardt (KK Wokhardt)
This not my dick, lil’ bitch, my Glock hard (lil’ bitch)
Straight to the cash, I’m a trapstar (cash)
Straight to the bag, I’m that nigga, huh (bag, oh)
Got me some gas, rollin’ up some
Cash, yeah, I got me some
I ain’t fucked her yesterday (yeah)
I’ma fuck some
One bad bitch, and she do what I say so (one, gang)
Two big. 40s and a big ass Draco (two, boom, boom)
Three more millions when you ask how my day go
Poured up a 4, now that’s blueberry Faygo
One false move, and we straight to shooting shit
Two small bands just to take you out real quick (bands)
Three more hoes, pull up, I’m fucking shit (three more, gang)
That’s how it go, big bands, I’m thumbin’ shit (that’s how it goes)
One bad bitch, and she do what I say so (yeah, gang)
Two big. 40s and a big ass Draco (two)
Three more millions when you ask how my day go
Poured up a 4, now that’s blueberry Faygo
One false move, and we straight to shooting shit
Two small bands just to take you out real quick (bands)
Three more hoes, pull up, I’m fucking shit (three, yeah)
That’s how it go, big bands, I’m thumbin’ shit (yeah)

0
black

and cummed

1
BucketNiglet

the male genital organ of higher vertebrates, carrying the duct for the transfer of sperm during copulation. In humans and most other mammals, it consists largely of erectile tissue and serves also for the elimination of urine.

0
2 First Names

That’s pretty tuff.

0
Fish Nigga

Glizzy glober

1
sand bruh mohamed

bruh

0
Amal Roy 19 PEL 026

The story “The Rocking Horse Winner” delineates the life of a socially privileged woman who weds for love and adoration and brings down her social class therefore. Together Hester and her husband have three kids; two girls and a child named Paul, who develops as the story’s hero. 

This story reprimands those English individuals who at that point equates love with money and luck with joy. Here, the mother represents the unfulfilled wants and Paul, the child, represents the frantic quest for values in a money culture. Through the disastrous story, the author builds up a theme that outrageous want or greed for cash and economic wellbeing at last prompts annihilation: decimation of connections and virtues. Lawrence utilizes images and connections to cater to the topic in the story.

0