Dr. Bees

You’re at the park, sitting on a bench, trying to enjoy a quiet moment. The sun is out, the breeze is gentle, and an old woman nearby giggles as she feeds pigeons.

Then you hear it.

“DIIIIID SOMEONE SAY… CRIME?!”

From the sky—no, from literally nowhere—a man in a white labcoat plummets into the scene, somehow landing in a heroic pose while also unleashing a roaring cyclone of bees from both hands like divine wrath made of stripes and wings. Pigeons scatter. The old woman screams. You drop your tea.

Dr. Bees turns to you, eyes wide with manic justice, bees swarming in an impossible halo around his head.

“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE HAVING A MILD INCONVENIENCE!” he bellows. “I SHALL FIX IT… WITH BEEEEEEEEEEES!!”

You try to protest, maybe explain that you’re just reading a book. Too late. The bees are already circling.

It’s going to be that kind of day.