Swarm of bees (actually wasps) leads to endless punning

What happens when artists meet insects?

The paramedic stood staring at the bikes in front of him unsure of what to do. It wasn’t every day, and was in fact the first day, that he’d been called to respond to a swarm of bees. When he got where he needed to go he realized there were no injuries as of yet but as a crowd began to gather around what could only be referred to as the situation, he knew his hardest work was yet to come.

He recognized most of the people at the scene—they were a group of local slam punners who trolled the world of Twitter and Facebook looking for breaking news events that could be pun slammed. He had responded to their events before and inevitably, one of them would get to involved in a slam and need treatment.

The bees (or more accurately, wasps) looked irritable and the slammers were already getting underway.

“I’ve bee(n) to more dangerous places than this!” one shouted out before slapping the bees on the head.

“What’s all the buzz about over here? All I see is some stupid wasps,” another one said before mooning the insects who didn’t seem fazed by the pun slamming they were taking.

“Ok guys, I think that’s enough slamming for now,” the paramedic asked gently, motioning for the nearly frenzied slammists to move away from the swarm.

“What, are you afraid we’re going to swarm you?!” a goateed man yelled as he stuck his tongue out from in between the spokes of one of the bicycles as wasps started landing on his head.

“I’m a little more worried that there’s only one of me, like ten of you, and about three hundo of them. I can’t save you all when they start stinging.”

“Don’t worry about us medicine man, we’re all pretty fly,” a corduroy jacketed man said as he flashed the wasps.

“Come on guys, these aren’t even good puns. Aren’t there better stories to go out and pun slam?”

“Got a bee in your bonnet buddy,” said another of the slammers who was now juggling with two separate swarms.

The paramedic decided to take his best shot at getting the crowd of slammers to disperse. He called over the man with the goatee and the long brown floppy hair who was at the time tucking piles of wasps into his boat shoes. This was the man all the other slammers turned to once they had completed their punning. Depending on the validity of the pun they had dropped, he would give the yay or nay on whether or not they were permitted to taunt the wasps.

“Why are you guys doing this?” the paramedic asked straightforwardly. “Someone’s going to get really hurt out here. Those are real wasps with real stingers that that man is currently putting in his ears,” he added, pointing to a man who was in fact, packing wasps into every open orifice he had.

“I didn’t even give him the nod,” goatee said. “Did you hear what his slam was? It could have been really good and if it was I don’t want to repeat it later.”

“Something about me being yellow for trying to stop you guys,” the paramedic answered.

“Meh, not bad but kind of straddles the line between a pun and a taunt.”

“That’s not the point. He now has live insects in his body, they could kill him if he stuffs too many in there. Does that not concern you at all?”

“Have you ever slammed a pun?” the man asked. “I mean have you ever just taken a pun, rubbed it up on your body, chewed it up, spit it out, rubbed it on your body again, hogtied it with a rope and slammed it to the ground?”

“I’ve written some reports for some doctors about people dying from insect stings. Is that about the same as slamming a pun?”

“Did you rub the letter on his privates or anything?”

“No, I handed it to him.”

“That’s not really slamming.”

“Yeah, no it’s note writing. So are you guys going to stop this crap or should I call more people in?”

“There’s no bark to your bite,” goatee said before scooping up some wasps and trying to put them in his beard before turning away.

“Wasps don’t ever bark!” the paramedic yelled after him to no avail.

Both the slammers and the wasps were now fully excited. The wasps were stinging the bike tires so excessively that they were losing air. The pun slammers were flailing their arms about as if talking into a microphone and sharing it with a crowd.

“What’s the buzz?...We should just wing it…This bites…” and other terribly formed pun slams were being thrown about by the human side of the confrontation.

The paramedic could see the bees shifting their swarm. One second they were hovering around their recently deflated bike tires, and the next they were moving with a purpose toward the pun slammers.

Realizing the inevitable, he sat back to at least enjoy the show the punners were sure to put on as the wasps closed around them.

“Let’s just wing it…” were the last words he heard from the goatee before he lost site of the slammers amidst the drone of the overwhelmingly unimpressed wasps. 

The End

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