Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Dance of the Bumblebees

Blanket Cobb was inspired by bumblebees. They buzzed and bizzed around his head as he munched on edible weeds. They sang to him about the joys of bonsai, sunbathing and the crafting of miniature figurines. Atop the Watershed Heights apartment building, surrounded by the buzzing bees and a small garden of weeds that had sprung up almost overnight, Blanket Cobb pondered his unique existence.
"Takin care of bzzzzzzzness," Cobb hummed. "Bzzzbzz bzzz bz bzzzzzbzzzzzz," the bumblebees harmonized. The weeds were being digested and didn't feel the need to join in. As the sun beat down on the man and the bees and the weeds, Blanket Cobb lowered himself into a sitting lotus position. Cobb was no stranger to meditation, although he often fell asleep in the act. The bees buzzed in a crown around Cobb's head as he recited a simple prayer.
"Bzzzom," Cobb said. "Bzzzzom shanti shanti bzzzom".
Cobb was startled awake several hours later by the smell of testosterone. He wrinkled his nose and made a crab noise at the back of his throat. "Kchhha," Cobb said. He gagged a little bit and coughed up a bumblebee that had been relaxing in his esophagus.
On the other side of the rooftop garden, a very dangerous situation was about to unfold. It involved two men and a gun, and Cobb was not inclined to interfere. He sat in sitting lotus position and watched some shit go down.
"what THE FUCK are you doing with that gun?" Bzzzzzzzzzzzz went the bumblebees.
"gonna blow that bastard's brains out, that's what I'm gonna do..." Kikensi, kinan, kitai, whispered the bonsai.
"*BAMM*" a shot rang out, and Jesus cried crimson tears.

Blanket Cobb stood up and walked over to the scene of the crime. The men did not pay him any attention, and as Cobb approached them, he noticed something very disturbing. It's name was "crushed edible weeds and a dead bumblebee." In the midst of their argument, the men had stomped on a highly desirable cluster of edible weeds in addition to The Queen Bumblebee, who had bravely ventured out of her hive to see what the commotion was all about. Blanket Cobb was seized with a stomach spasm as he absorbed the full implications of this. The death of The Queen Bumblebee would kill off the whole hive! Cobb gently scooped up the dead bumblebee and carried her behind a Japanese maple, where he laid her down on a lamb's ear and experienced the five stages of grief. As he was moving from Denial to Anger, a police squadron burst onto the scene. When he was an inch away from Bargaining, both men jumped off the roof. The police left Blanket Cobb alone to deal with Depression, and then the cycle started all over again.
Several hours after Cobb had reached "acceptance" for the 17th time, a small worker bee named Zeta arrived in his left ear. She buzzed and bizzed and buzzed some more, and for the first time in 3 hours, Blanket Cobb felt hope.
In the rooftop garden of the Watershed Heights Apartment Building, as the setting sun bled a vibrant shade of crimson into the smoggy sky, Blanket Cobb was crowned Queen of the Bumblebees. The bonsai trees never disrespected him again, the edible weeds were fruitful and multiplied due to frequent pollination, and Blanket Cobb spent the rest of his life dancing to the musical buzzing of the bees.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Radishes Rock

Blanket Cobb headed back to his apartment after his Kebab meal. He was hankering for something fresh, a crisp after-dinner delite, and decided to make a radish sandwich upon arriving home. As he walked, he imagined the sandwich in minute detail: The thinly sliced radish slivers, almost transparent, laid upon a thick slab of hearty bread. But wait! What was the bed of radish slices to sleep upon? Ah, nothing more than a mattress of creamy butter, straight from the udder of a cow, hand-churned by an attractive milkmaid with fairly large bosoms. Cobb experienced his second dribble of the day--"R-rr-rrrrrrrradish," he purred. The drool stayed in his mouth this time, and he chewed on it thoughtfully. Cobb was then interrupted by an odor that nipped his fantasy in the bud. It was the smell of radish pie, and Cobb found himself oblivious to the city-wide blackout as he followed the heavenly wafting odors to their source.
Four of Cobb's five senses shut down, as his body devoted every ounce of its energy to his olfactory glands, which were working overtime and causing Cobb to sweat profusely out of his nostrils. He followed his nose down Maple Avenue. He followed his nose into a cardboard box, three nesting pigeons, and a baby. Blanket Cobb followed his nose into the man standing in the back of the very long line that snaked out of the 28-Hour Diner. He did not notice the back of the man's shirt, which read, "Got Farsk?" He did not notice the festering wound on the back of the man's neck. He noticed only his position in the back of the line, and for that, Blanket Cobb let out a long, mournful cry. It sounded like "Radish," "Ooooooooooooyyy" and the howl of a lone wolf under a full moon. Cobb turned, and, like a lone wolf rejected from his prospective mate, slunk home to make himself a radish sandwich.