This is Beehive Island. It's in New Zealand. Are the bees there? Maybe. Perhaps the bees there have tattoos all over their faces and fly around doing angry chanting rituals where they stomp around and beat their little bee chests. Maybe... maybe. But who cares the fuck cares either way? I spend most of my days waiting around for the icy embrace of death. Let the bees go to their own private island and stay there for all I care. Kill me now. Kill me with stings of a thousand lonely bees.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Blah blah blah... bees.
This is Beehive Island. It's in New Zealand. Are the bees there? Maybe. Perhaps the bees there have tattoos all over their faces and fly around doing angry chanting rituals where they stomp around and beat their little bee chests. Maybe... maybe. But who cares the fuck cares either way? I spend most of my days waiting around for the icy embrace of death. Let the bees go to their own private island and stay there for all I care. Kill me now. Kill me with stings of a thousand lonely bees.
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