One peculiar bee

The poor bloke.

A true story.

One sunny afternoon...

I was frollicking meters upon meters across the glorious meadows of England. I was skipping about in a way one might describe as slightly queer, but that wouldn't bother me because I was happy as can bee. I was picking the glorious daffodils, dancing with the butterflies, and humming with the bumblebees. I was skipping and being SO delightful when I heard a crunching sound under my foot! I suddenly stopped and glanced down to see what had happened! 

Excretory waste hits the fan.

It was a dead bee! But it was still twitching! How ghastly, I thought! I murdered a bee! After crying for nearly twenty long, sorrowful minutes, I finally came to my senses and decided upon what to do. If I kill one bee, I must justify my actions by killing every other bee in the same way! I tore across the meadows insanely, crushing every bee. I was horrified by myself, but it was fun! I didn't stop at the bees, either! I also crushed every butterfly, hummingbird, small animal, and insect and everything in between that occupied those meadows. It was fun and I felt content with my actions, and I believed it rightfully justified my  murder of the bee. Now I must move onto the next meadow and do the same. I mustn't hesitate!