Tag Archives: writing

I had totally forgotten a title until after I published. Whelp!

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

It started off as an otherwise peaceful night. I was sound asleep on a normal Friday evening. Why I awoke I’ll never know but I felt a strong need to get some water.

Meandering my way to the living room the unusually clear sky caught my attention. Nothing stood out at first. Could almost see some stars through the light pollution of the city and there was a half moon. All of a sudden a shooting star flew across the sky. Or . . . I thought it was a shooting star but it struck the earth nearby with a bright flash? That’s not how stars work right? I couldn’t believe my eyes and it bothered me.

After thinking about it for a few I decided to investigate. Carefully getting dressed and leaving without waking my fiancée I snuck out of the apartment, flashlight in hand. It was oddly easy to find the spot. It was even more odd that I was the only one there what with all the glowing and all.

The source of the glowing was in the middle of a small pond. I got down on my hands and needs. Shining my flashlight into the water a fish the size of an adult trout swam over to me. Something was off though. Was that . . . Was that a hand? Like a human hand? On a fish?

The fish quizzically looked me over for a minute. Then it took its hand and . . . Formed an ‘L’ shape with its finger and thumb in the middle of its forehead. Its mouth opened as it began to vocalize:

“HEY NOW, YOU’RE AN ALL STAR, GET YOUR GAME ON GO PLAY.
HEY NOW, YOU’RE A RO . . . ”

I learned two things as a result of that moment.

1: I’m surprisingly good at beating a fish over the head with my walking stick.
2: Mystical singing space fish is surprisingly delicious.

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“Draw me like one of your jilted lovers.”
“Uh, I only do pixel art and I ain’t that great to be honest.”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
“Well, okay. But this is still an odd thing to be asked of by an insect or whatever you are.”

 

Plucked from the nightmares of the most terrified of children.

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

It’s spiraling out of control like a rabbit soaked with petrol, it’s time to watch out because you won’t ever see this coming.

Fourteen out of fifteen experts really hate that fifteenth  expert for not knowing this was gonna happen. Thankfully they were ready. Are you?

Just what am I talking about?

This picture:

A post-modern look at the future of selective breeding.

A post-modern look at the future of selective breeding.

Okay, so I gotta stop practicing for my charity Sonic Marathon long enough to start packing for a move.

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

5:42 PM: Let’s make some food and then get this thing started!

5:46 PM: Don’t give up! I can do this!

6:20 PM: Okay, I should probably start now.

6:43 PM: Not sure why that goat attacked me just now but here I am.

6:59 PM: There is visible sign of progress in the kitchen. A service will soon be held for those who were lost.

7:11 PM: I’ve finally stopped crying enough to resuming packing the pots and pans.

7:27 PM: Having one’s nether regions transported to the netherworld is a bit disconcerting at first, but I’m over it now.

7:40 PM: Oh hey, stickers!

7:53 PM: The clouds are beginning to thicken. Pretty annoying that this had to happen inside of my apartment.

7:58 PM: I think I’ve gotten enough scars for the time being. Coffee break!

8:07 PM: Their ghosts still haunt me. I offer the stickers. They weep. I weep.

8:25 PM: I think that’s enough for tonight.

8:57 PM: Yeah, that’s enough for tonight.

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It rained today.

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

I had been up since 5:30, awoken by the sound of the rain. The sounds of the water falling against my window served as a reminder of many details of my past.

Memories included the time that my classmates were chosen by two team captains to play some kickball, but since there were an odd number of students I was the odd one out and as such I was the one who had to run out into traffic to get the ball, and sometimes to do so when there was no ball.

Or the time I drank some odd looking apple juice out of a clear container in my dad’s fridge when I was eleven. It was actually beer, and I became a raging alcoholic until I sobered up thanks to AA at the age of fourteen. Twelve years sober and counting!

A few years ago I had some issues and went to what I thought was a registered psychologist. Turns out she was actually a reverse psychologist. I told her about how stressed out I was, she agreed with me and I immediately got better.

It had reminded me of the time that, with the aid of a panda, I had massaged the soil of a potted plant until the plant shrunk and I grew a copy of myself large enough to consume the entire planet. 

Lastly I thought about the time I had watched in despair, soaking wet, as a cat ran over my bike. Well, okay. The cat was technically a lion and I guess I should be thankful I escaped with my life but that bike was of a perfect color and I didn’t know where to buy the paint to repaint it!

In short, it reminded me of simpler times . . .

If the US government can't be bothered to keep operating, then I can't be bothered to color this all the way in.

If the US government can’t be bothered to keep operating, then I can’t be bothered to color this all the way in.

Just so you know, I’m totally going to die in the bathroom. Calling it now.

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

I’m going to start by saying it’s not going to be from slipping on the floor or something embarrassing like that. No. This will be a bathroom death for the ages. The kind that will be remembered in song long after this era is gone.

I’ll just be sitting there doing my thing while the ceiling begins to ooze high-fructose corn syrup. You think I’d be ready for what would happen next since I had an incident at work just last year that literally started the same way. But no, I still won’t see this coming. Even though I’m telling you about this now I still won’t see it coming. I guess my foresight isn’t 20/20 like hindsight. As the ooze takes an androgynous human form, it’ll invite me for another ride into the sky. I will refuse for I’m not entirely sure that it’s not trying to kill me.

Will I die in an epic battle? No, not quite. Life is rarely that exciting, and death even more rarely so.

Actually, you know what? No spoilers.

A fashionable bee drawn by Sophie. Thanks again!

A fashionable bee drawn by Sophie. Thanks again!

I know I’ve been sparse on the updates lately. It’s because of work!

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

I am a glass blower.

Let me tell you all about something that isn’t my daily job. I . . . I am a glass blower. But not in the way you may be accustomed to with the heat and the oh dog why am I on fire followed by the weeks in intensive care. No, no, no . . . I just find glass objects in the wild and blow on them.

Sometimes I like to find something that’s curved so that my breath will blow back into my face and I can close my eyes while pretending that I’m on a boat. Sometimes I just wanna feel the waves crash against the side of my boat, you know? Go on the seven seas looking for adventure and just find myself out in the open . . .

But enough of my infantile fantasies of being a pirate that I try to hide by omitting certain details like the robbing of cruise ships. Let’s get back to the glass blowing. Another thing that I like to do is find shards of glass from broken beer bottles and the like, crush them up in my hands and blow them out into a wind as they sparkle in the sunlight. This makes me think about how much I’d love to be some sort of magical being with the ability to blow magic dust on things to bring them to life and make them my friends.

I probably shouldn’t take this time to describe my secret desire to be a fairy though. Getting back on track here, I’ll often blow on glass buildings while I think about how it would be awesome to be able to have some sort of crazy powers that allow me to manipulate glass Magneto-style and . . .

Oh jeez, I can’t even get distracted from my job to talk about my fake job without being distracted from my fake job to talk about other fake jobs.

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A good bee is one that pays your phone bill!

 

A partial list of things that I can realistically suplex: Part 3.

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

(Click here for Part 2)

(Click here for Part 1)

– The mail.

– The mailman.

– A straw man, don’t even argue with me on this.

– A bag filled with your worthless Beanie Babies.

– A bag filled with bags.

– Lumber.

– Office chairs.

– This post if it was printed off and pinned to a small post.

– I could list a lot of things I could suplex if they’re in bags. Let’s just go with bags of stuff in general.

– Mythical creatures that turn into copies of anything I’ve listed in this three part series.

– You?

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Man, time to become a hack writer. Here are some terrible child-friendly bee jokes!

Posted by Poorly Drawn Bees on

– A bee can only count to fifteen. I can count up to 30 though.

– Do bees in a hurry travel in a zip line?

Man, forget it. I’m so sorry ha ha. Here’s something I drew at work not knowing it was Pride Week in Halifax. Happy Pride Week Halifax!

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