I shame the matriarchy

so, er, uh...now that I've rejoined the land of the living, what's the buzz?

oh, ha.

I should make it clear from the beginning: I have a rather cumbersome fear of REAL bees. also wasps. anything sting-y, really. because all hymenoptera want to kill me. I know this way down deep in every cell in my body.

And they're all the same to me. from the most harmless, innocent bumbler to the most aggressive killer yellowjacket - my phobia makes no distinction. they're all Heidi-eating baldfaced hornets in my mind, out to devour me while I shriek in agony until I die.

funny thing is, I'm totally not allergic. I'm just really sweat-pouringly tongue-swellingly head-spinningly stomach-turningly heart-stoppingly afraid of stinging insects. Even just typing about how deeply and irrationally I fear all bees is making me a little queasy-uneasy.

Now all I can think about is the fact that our local bee/wasp population is mere seconds from attacking my ass, since it's not been cold enough to put the stinging menace to sleep this winter. they could be anywhere, lurking and angry, hungry and predatory, whole nests of them just waiting for me to pass by, unwary and oh-so-irresistably sting-able...so, yeah, thanks for the trigger.

as to the biting and incisive (dare I say "stinging") political commentary bumbling around the blogosphere?

I debated long and hard before even dignifying it with an answer. Seriously, why stoop to conquer?

But, here I am anyway. I have a few thoughts on the subject of allegorical and metaphorical and highly symbolic bees, if anyone's interested.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't. I don't really care about your fake bees, Stormcloud. But say whatcha gotta say, however you gotta say it. Hope you feel better, getting it all off your chest with such style, grace, wit, elegance, artistry. Sheer comic genius, that, as you've proudly said yourself. You'll go far in your career as humorous pundit, I have no doubt.

Let us all know when The Daily Show calls you. Meantime, you might wish to examine whether you really want to quit your day job.

The problem with political satire is that it only really works on a visceral, gut-shot, shivers-up-the-spine, laugh-til-you-puke level if it's based on reality, and not, you know, wild mischaracterizations, personal grudges and bullshit.

Seriously - here's the problem with sorting people into categories, with one category more "desirable" to be in than others - that action is the first step on the long road to forgetting that people in other categories are actually human. (not that I take exception to anthropomorphic allegory - ever read Animal Farm? now there's some highly symbolic animals! - but that's not really the point.)

So, that's a problem if you're working toward a sane theory of liberation. History tells us that's fucking dangerous.

The clever and oh-so-incisive wordplay on the names of folks? yeah, that's quite something. Real Oscar Wilde stuff, there. I bet your english professor is real proud.

When I was a kid, just a little bespectacled filthy dirty contagious pro-pornie, no taller than a jug of wine, I'd often come home from school all crying and wretched, all emotionally shattered after some savage run-in or another with whatever pack of vicious monster children were at the top of the barbaric social heap, and my mother would be all soothing and kind, and say "they only pick on you because they like you, honey. they really want to be your friends."

After some careful consideration and discussion with a good friend of mine, I've come to the decision that Stormcloud's little parable was no less than a clumsily-phrased, poorly-considered, snide, insulting overture of friendship.

to which I say - Awww. Bless your heart.

But the take-home point?

Call me what you want. "Name" me as you will. make me the butt of whatever pathetic little joke your feeble mind is capable of. go for it.

Stretch out a little. try to make it actually funny next time.

But I will not be humiliated into changing my mind. No.