Wild Bee Swarm
 

A bunch of bees crashing for the night on a neightbor's tree; they will hopefully leave to find a nice hollow place to form a hive...

I double dog dare ya to :stickpoke:

I saw a guy once next door trying to get bees at night from a tree. He had a tub and made some smoke. I watched this crap from my kitchen window. Next morning the bees were still in tree. What a dance he was doing as they stung him. HAHAHAH

Give me a heart attack why dont'cha? I have a phobia about bees - its the only one I've got but what I lack in quantity I make up for in intensity.

Once, when I was little, my dad got up on the step ladder to remove an old birdhouse from our oak tree that my brother had built and mounted years prior as a boy scout project. We hadn't seen any birds use it in a long time so my can't-leave-well-enough-alone dad wanted to get rid of it. So, I'm "holding the ladder" and my dad scales up and swings his big hammer at the side of the birdhouse to dislodge it from the tree: WHACK!

Well, a black cloud with yellow trim poured out of that birdhouse like a volcano plume of scalding hot fury - about a zillion massive giant bumblebees. And they were PISSED! Dad fell off the ladder and, being little as well as terrified, I ran. And ran. And ran. Still running, I turn around and about six of 'em are hot on my trail. I ran next to a lamppost, hooked it with my arm, did a 180° but the bees kept going straight.

They messed up my dad pretty good. And the hammer fell on his head after he fell off the ladder. All in all, not a good day.

Another time, also as a little kid in rural Georgia, I stepped on a yellow jacket nest. Yellow jackets are actually wasps. And wasps are mean little bastards. They live in below-ground nests and you'd never notice them. Until you step on one. Then, they swarm up your pants legs and start stinging the living shit out of you. So now, you have two pant legs full of angry, vengeful, venom-dripping bees who just can't sting you fast enough or hard enough. Meanwhile, another posse is taking aim at my neck as I limp away like I just had one of those ambiguous diarrhea farts. And and they don't just land softly and poke around for a tender spot. They actually slam into you with stinger already extended - tucked under their thorax - aiming straight ahead. As I lumbered towards the safety of the screened-in porch, one Tobasco-dipped dart after another are being fired out of a slingshot into my flesh. Forget about outrunning them, anyway - they move through the air with astonishing speed. I swelled up like a balloon and was throwing up half the night.

No wonder I hate bees. Brrrrrrrrrr! [shudder!] [uninteligible shiver mumble]

I got stung in the neck by a brown wasp at work 2 months ago, and it was still winter. I felt something on my neck, but I wasn't thinking insects because it was still cold out.

Just grab the Queen and hold a gun to her head, then tell the others to back off. Don't let her go till they give up the honey.

Christ, I hope one of those Homeland Security computers doesn't read that. :mg:

Scopulus, check your local phone book for beekeepers ... one of them might be very happy to take that swarm off your friend's hands.

Heck, maybe one of them has been posted "Missing" posters all night long. :biggrin:

Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
Fight the power
We've got to Fight the powerful bee!

My favorite reading moment of the day, and perhaps the month, was when a bee story, without warning, delivered the words "ambiguous diarrhea farts."

Agreed. That was highly entertaining, educational and just plain vivid. I felt like I was stung myself! Great job :lol:

Actually they don't sting...they're more of a squishy butt-clap.

sorry, tmi.

I have an old friend who refers to these unfortunate events as a "failure to properly identify the physical state of matter...liquid, gas or a solid".

Man, this thread has gone to shit. :blush:
Well, like they say...shit happens. It's the where and when...and with whom that governs the embarrassment factor.