IT'S WARTIME BEEatch!!

That's right. I'm not pointing fingers, but I'm blaming Mumbles. This week he told me about the fact that there are hardly any bee's left in Britain. Long time readers will understand how happy this makes me. My seemingly endless battle with the yellow/black bellied bastards seems to be coming to a final close. Of course I'm not counting my bee's until they've failed to hatch.

"Why would any blame be put onto Mumbles for that?" I hear you say (if you remembered that part anyway). Well, as you may remember, it wasn't always bee's. Sometimes it was a fly, sometimes one of those crazy wasp-looking flies, or sometimes a big 'ol wasp itself. I walked into the kitchen the other day to find a wasp held as a Prisoner Of War under a glass. The day after it dies I get woken up at 8:30am with a wasp at my window. Why change from 10:30? That's just mean. It's not as if I made the POW read a list of demands and mail it to his family. Some people just have no respect for modern warfare.

I may be down one can of aerosol after this mornings attack, but the war isn't over