Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for September 20, 2018

Makes my thingy want to go pee!

Whoa.

Worker Drones in love!

Besotted, betrayed., Believing betrothal beyond.

Bungle Bee.

“…together in the pointy, pointy end.”

Levitating tiger-striped snails with radar dishes and My Favorite Martian antennae?

As if bees don’t have enough to worry about, this one’s gotta go and get the blues.

Well I’ll bee.

Ah, mon petite buzz butt.

We will always have the nectar of the flowers, yes?

I wonder what the Queen thinks about all of this.

Are you a doobie or a don’t bee?

Anticipation (with apologies to Carly Simon): And tomorrow we might not bee together / … I don’t know nature’s ways / … ‘cause [those were] the good old days.

So take a shot of nectar and buzz off ….

Love stings.

Does it matter? You can’t mate anyway, Sterile Daryl.

Love is a many splendored thing, until you are no longer the reason.

Lavender flowers aside, todays comic strikes me as Frog Applause Lite. Half the calories, all the lame, oh so lame. Is Teresa putting us on a diet? Typically, I would start to bulk up this time of year, adding extra layers of lame in preparation for a long cold winter.

Bees don’t do it that way.

Flipper lived in a gated hive on the good side of town. It wasn’t a long drive, but I still had plenty of time to think. I could see he was trying to draw us out, but I couldn’t tell why. There wasn’t any sense to it. Why ice Uncle Pete? Why put cross-hairs on Kelly, or on me? If there was anything substantial against him, I would have heard about it. Connie would have had odds going and bets down. Nothing was going any way that I thought made sense. But maybe that was just the top shelf, slowing me down. But it was also holding me up, so I had no complaints. Whatever the deal was, we’d know soon enough. The gates were open. We drove in. His palatial estate was at the end of a cul de sac. It didn’t have a One Way sign, but it felt like it did. His gate was open, too. No guards. No goons. I guess Kelly was right. We were expected.

Nothing stings like an unrequited buzz.

Demonstrate that stinga’ thingy thang, bee’autiful..

“Sweet the Sting,” sang Tori Amos. This little buzz attributed to non-orthodox bees is a tale of romance gone bad. It is also reminiscent of some bee-stuff over at Mythtickle. Is it a code message in plain sight? Or is it meta-lame?

Is just us Greasars Ms. Teresa. Buzz a little buzz for me me me me me.