BEES ARE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!

BEES ARE FUCKING EVERYWHERE! [[begin]]

You hear a buzzing and your head is pounding. Maybe you had a few too many jaeger bombs last night. You open your eyes and it takes a minute to orient yourself. This is your apartment, but something is off. The walls seem alive. They're moving... You put on your glasses and HOLY FUCK! BEES ARE FUCKING EVERYWHERE! You try to calm down. Bees can smell fear. Or is that dogs? Bears maybe? What smells fear? Probably nothing. That's how these little factoids usually work. You're allergic to bees. You don't have an epi-pen because they cost a trillion dollars. You don't have a trillion dollars. You might have $50 left after all the jaeger bombs last night. You want to have your morning smoke, but maybe you should call somebody. [[have a smoke]] [[call somebody]]

There are no bees on your cigarettes or your lighter, thankfully. You light up a delicious smoke stick and blast that cig like it's your last. You remember from watching Mr.Rogers or whatever when you were a kid that bees are calmed by smoke. You decide to blow smoke on the bees covering your phone. You can't tell if it worked. How do you tell if a bee is calm? Are they moving slower or is that your imagination? Maybe you should skip the phone and try to find a way out. [[use the phone]] [[find a way out]]

You find your phone and IT'S COVERED IN FUCKING BEES! Like a lot of bees. You never before considered how many bees could fit on your phone. Turns out it's a lot. You can't use this phone. Or can you? [[use the phone]] [[have a smoke]]

You gingerly pick up the phone and try to blow off the bees. One of them flies off, then comes around and stings you in the fucking face! You die an agonizing death. [[restart]]

You very slowly get out of bed and assess your options. There are two ways out from your room. Your apartment is laid out in a circuit. One door goes to the living room; the other to the bathroom, which connects to the kitchen, then the living room, which contains the front door. The door to the living room is closed. The bathroom door is open. Which one should you choose? [[living room]] [[bathroom]]

You go to the door and there are fucking bees on the fucking knob! Why are there so many fucking bees?! Is there some sort of plot against you? Did you get so hammered last night that you made a mortal enemy and then let slip to that mortal enemy that you're deathly allergic to bees? That seems like something you would do. So should you attempt to open the door or go through the bathroom? [[bathroom]] [[open living room door]]

The bathroom is darker. You can't really see too many bees, but you hear them humming all around you. To your left is the way to the kitchen. To your right is the bathtub. You remember from movies that bees don't attack you in water. Maybe you could hide in a bath. [[take a bath]] [[go to the kitchen]]

You find a little space on the doorknob where there are no bees and slowly turn it. You feel a few bees crawl on your hand as you turn. That's fine. Everything's fine. You can deal with a few bees on your hand. Just be calm. You slowly open the door and are greeted by a wall of a billion angry bees that go straight for your face and genitals and everything else, but it's the face and genitals you feel the most. You know you're running out of time. Do you make a break for the front door or lay down and die? [[make a break for it]] [[lay down and die]]

You run, covered in stinging insects, through the living room. You can barely see due to the puffiness of your eyelids. You slam your shin into the coffee table at a wincing speed. Everything sucks. This totally sucks. There's the door. You unlock it and get the fuck out. You run screaming down the street with a pile of bees all over you. People see you and start video recording on their phones. You scream, "Somebody please call 911!" They keep filming. "Please! I'm allergic and I'm going to die!" It gets more and more difficult to breathe. You collapse on the sidewalk. People are still filming. You think, //Well, maybe I'll go viral. "Asshole dies from bee stings." That would be cool. Finally life means something.// Then you die and lay like a sack of shit on the pavement. [[restart]]

As you lay dying, you regret not ever reading William Faulkner. You read the first few pages in the library of your community college when you were geeked out on amphetamines and it seemed pretty good. Now you'll never read Faulkner and you'll never do amphetamines again and you won't have any more sex or eat any more tacos. Everything else you could do without. Everything else kinda sucks. Maybe this is good. You weren't having a great time anyway. Any case, you die an agonizing death and so on. [[restart]]

You start the bath. You forgot how loud baths are. The water probably the loudest thing that's ever happened in history. You can hear the buzzing grow louder, at a more agigated pitch. You hear the bees begin to fly around you. The sound turns into a swarming sound. Some of them find you. Then more find you. It feels like there are thousands of bees on you and then they begin stinging. That's it. You're doomed. Do you accept your fate and die or make a break for the front door. [[lay down and die]] [[make a break for it]]

You can't express your lack of surprise when you find the kitchen covered in more bees. This doesn't even make sense. You're not the best bee counter in the world, but there has to be thousands of bees in this apartment. Compare that to yesterday's bee count (zero), and you will find a dramatic uptick in the amount of bees in this apartment. They're on everything in the kitchen... everything except the honey, oddly enough. If I was a bee, that's where I would go. Gank the honey, call it my own. It's a labor saving device. As you slowly edge your way through you accidentally step on a pile of bees. They don't like that and they sting the everloving fuck out of you. You're done for. What do you want to do? [[make a break for it]] [[lay down and die]]