Bees Don't Belong in the Toaster

March 29, 2018
By E---W---- BRONZE, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
E---W---- BRONZE, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments


The toaster sprang up, the bread popping up into sight before gravity kicked in, causing the bread to fall back down. The man watched in amazement as the bread had come out in a completely different form than it went in as. Before it was soft and fluffy but now it was hard and crunchy. The bread had even changed colors. As he pondered, a honeybee, not uncommon in the these parts, flew into the open kitchen window and landed on the sill. There the bee stayed until the man caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. He rolled up newspaper and tried to smack the bee back to where it came from. Then all hell broke loose. Johann, that was the man’s name, swung his arms in a panic, attempting to kill the bee. There wasn't one thing he hated more than bees. He failed miserably when it came to killing the bee. Instead, the bee stung him behind his right ear. The pain and pent up anger was too much for Johann to handle. In a blind outrage, he attacked the bee and left it in a pile of mush and guts on the window as if he intended to warn the other bees of what's to come. The mighty bee was sacred in Sweden, everybody knew that. Johann never understood everybody's fascination with the rotten little beasts. They were nothing but anatomical defiances who had one goal in life, sting people. There were only a handful of laws in Schtockenberg, Johann’s hometown, but there was one law in which breaking was punishable by death: Bees don't belong in the toaster. This irritated Johann. Why not? Who cared? It was a silly rule anyways, he thought. Who puts bees in a toaster anyways? Johann didn't know anyone who had nor had he ever heard of anyone doing it, but he decided that he would. Very, very, soon. First he'd collect every bee in Sweden in a jar. Then he'd shake the jar and anger all the bees. Then when that's over with, he'd put them in the toaster and see why you weren’t supposed to put these wretched little beasts into the magnificent machines known as toasters. Ohhhh it was diabolical, he thought. He just needed a jar, and so his journey began.


The next day, Johann traveled to West on Jerkin, the Swedish Container Store in his town, and purchased a total of five containers. That should work, he thought. Each container was as big as a 5 gallon bucket and could hold an estimated 2,000-3,000 bees at one time, bringing the total number of bees he could toast at once to 10,000-15,000. Next he was off to BlommaButik, the botanical store in his neighborhood. Here he would buy oregano, mint, and lavender to attract the bees. He’d plant all the herbs around his house and then capture the bees one by one before they’d even be able to expect it. Johann would then secure the lids tightly and roll the containers in his yard for a solid 5 minutes before placing the bees in each of his 7 toasters. Diabolical, thought Johann. “Toodloo!” Johann recognized that high-pitched voice anywhere and it brought him back to reality. Bjorn, the toodlooer, came down the street on his IKEA bought bike towards Johann.
“Hallå Bjorn. How are you?” Johann asked.


“Fine and dandy JoJo. What is this?” Bjorn asked, pointing to the buckets.


“Oh nothing, just a project of mine. And don't call me that.” “Project? You can barely do your gardening let alone a whole extra-curricular project. The herbs, for what do you need them?” “Haven't I already told you, you ignorant donkey?” Johann was annoyed, for Bjorn, this good-for-nothing simpleton was interrupting his diabolical thinking. “Good day,” Johann said as made his way home.


Upon arriving at his humble abode, Johann frantically sprinted through the door, slamming it quickly behind him. He peeked out of the blinds in his kitchen window to make sure nobody had followed him. If anyone had noticed him his plan would be a flop and he couldn’t have that. To ensure the production of his identity, Johann put on a rather large cowboy hat from his trip to American and a pair of black Ray-Bans. He put on gloves that didn’t fit him, a trick he learned from his buddy OJ, and boots that were two sizes too big. Maybe this was a little overkill. Afterall, he was just planting herbs at the moment. Gathering his supplies he went outside and began to plant the herbs.

Three days later a call came in to the station late at night. Lieutenant Erik answered the phone. “HELP! HELP! THE BEES! A TOASTER! OH THE HUMANITY! HELP!” And then the line cut dead. Erik hadn’t a choice except to alert the chief of the phone call which he just received. “Chief Karlsson,” Erik started, “I’ve just received a very very disturbing phone call at 2100 hours.” To this Chief Karlsson was somewhat bewildered. “And what exactly was said in this call?” For this the Lieutenant played back the recording of the phone call. Whenever the line cut out, Chief Karlsson looked terrified. “R-r-r-r-rule numb-b-b-er o-one,” he said with a tremble. Wilson and Lieutenant Erik traced the call, ordered backup, and alerted the Swedish Militia. Lieutenant Erik had never seen a look like this on his chief’s face before. Then again, nothing like this had ever happened here in Schtockenberg.


Racing over to the place where the call had come from, the entire police force was out to stop this atrocity. The  odd thing was, nobody knew what they were about to walk into. Nobody knew about the bees, the bee stings, the bees lost in the frenzy. Those poor, poor bees. The cars all came to a screeching halt outside of the scene of the crime. It was a warzone. There were toasters everywhere. Containers rolled around and buzzed in the chaos. Flames were shooting out of the ground as if the Earth had split straight to its core and was releasing the demons it held prisoner. Women and children watched in horror as the bees flew around in a state of panic. The men were holding down the creator of all this havoc, Johann Van Wildermount, as he laughed a crazed maniacal laugh and kicked his legs and arms. The stench in the air was awful.You could hear the bees which had been forced into the toasters scream as they were cooked alive until the toasters popped and released a new creature to this hellish scene- wasps. Now Johann had his answer. That’s why bees don’t belong in the toaster. They create a much worse and much more evil enemy, wasps. Now wasps were whizzing around biting people and creating an even more hellish scene. The cops were useless, the national guard was useless. Everybody was useless and the wasps were ruthless, tearing the heads off of the bees and repeatedly biting all the bystanders. Ambulances were constantly rushing to the scene in an effort to get the victims out of there before they all were gone for good. Amidst the chaos was the BPA, the Bee Protection Agency, pulling up in their big vibrant yellow work vans with agents pouring out of the back. In their black gloved hands they held smokers and metal canisters, presumably for the bees once they were smoked up. Gathering the bees had lasted throughout the cold Swedish night, but finally, at sunrise, the BPA had finally rounded up all of the bees. Johann Van Wildermount was detained and Bjorn Gutenhagen, the key witness had given his testimony. Unfortunately, all but one of the bees had either been turned into a wasp or died as they were being treated for their wounds. That lone survivor was Gustav.


Due the complexity of having bees that speak the language of the humans, the trial for Johann Van Wildermount had to be held in front of two judges, one in front of Jergen the Supreme Lawmaker in Sweden and the judge was in front of the meanest judge in all of beekind, Birken. They had their evidence, they had their witness, and they had their suspect. All they needed was a ruling to have this savage being put to death by wasp.


“First the prosecution would like to call Bjorn Gutenhagen, our one non-bee witness, to the stand to deliver his testimony,” began Mr. Lindström, the lawyer who was representing the bees. “May we proceed?” the judges gave each other a satisfying nod and the trial began. After delivering his questions and waiting for Bjorn to answer, Mr.  Lindström gave the witness over to the defense for cross examination. Johann had thought it would be a clever idea to represent himself in the court of law. It hadn’t been. His first question to the witness was more of an accusation than a question and warranted little to no response:


“Why did you break the only Supreme and Ultimate law of the land, which reads, ‘One may not think, consider, or even commit the crime of placing bees of any kind into a toaster of any make, model, or year unless they wish to be met with the highest authority of the law. Any civilian found committing an act as such will be put to death.’ sir?” asked Johann. In an effort to get on Johann’s nerves, Bjorn simply answered with, “ Well JoJo, if I’m not mistaken that was you.” And he wasn’t. Growing increasingly frustrated, the crazed Johann continued to cross examine the witness, asking of his whereabouts and knowledge of the crime the day it was committed. Realizing he was gaining no ground, Johann let out a boisterous, “No further questions, your Honors,” and frantically scrambled to his seat. The opposing Mr. Lindström then took the opportunity to call his other key witness to the stand, Gustav.


“Mr. Bee sir, can you please state your full name for the record please?


“ Hello my name is Gustav Bee.”


“And why are you here today?”


“I was horrifically maimed and tortured by that monster over there.” Gustav’s testimony went on for about forty to forty five minutes and the whole time the jury and audience were gasping and seemed horrified at the bee’s accounts of what had happened to him and his fellow bees. Gustav told stories of giant plastic buckets and how his best friend was dragged into a toaster as he was holding Gustav’s hand. A sense of disgust filled the room. Found guilty on every possible count of assaulting bees, Johann was sentenced to death by wasp. This was the capital punishment in Sweden and had never ever before been used to punish someone. This was a first in history


Once the heavy bullet-proof steel door slid shut and locked into place, it would begin. The officers wheeled Johann in and strapped him to a post in the middle of the room. Once they had finished Johann tried to move his arms but was unsuccessful; the same went for his legs. A buzzer sounded and the officials left the room. The heavy door slammed shut with a clunk. From there, holes the size of baseballs opened up in the ceiling. Down dropped metal canisters the size of tin cans that bounced around on the floor of the all steel cell. Johann realized what was in these cans, indicated by the growing humming sound. The cans rattled  One single camera would record his death from a corner of the room, as this had never been seen before and need documented. A voice came from somewhere above and told Johann that the bees would be released after a count of three. A red light blinked on the wall. “3...2...1,” the voice counted down. Before he had a chance to blink the cans spun around and then opened and out came hundreds of angry wasps with one goal in mind; kill. Within seconds Johann had suffered thousands of bites and went into shock. It wasn’t long before Johann’s allergies reacted to the wasp bites and his face puffed up and turned a shade of red. Seconds later, Johann Van Wildermount died as the only person ever put to death in Sweden, mass murderer, terrorist, and enemy to all bees. The moral of the story here is quite simply this: Bees never have and never will belong in the toaster.
 


The author's comments:

This was a waste of 7 pages of paper but I hope you like it!


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