Congratulations, Georgie!

Friday, March 11, 2013

I’m celebrating today beecause it’s a very Special Day!


Today is my 5th Facebook Anniversary! For exactly the past five years, I’ve been sharing my Daily Diary and stuff with the world!

It’s such a special occasion that I’ve fixed myself a Appropriately Festive and Delicious Umbrella Drink, with the necessary Bendy Straw, and am going to spend the rest of the day - and weekend - partying. It’s the least I can do.

With that, I hope everybody has a stupendously memorable day - and weekend!

I’ll see ya’ on Monday!

Georgie is nearing the end of his story as he shares Part 17 with us . . .

Thursday, March 10, 2016

First, I gotta tell everybody that ButterCup still isn’t speaking to me - especially after she got ahold of a Preview Copy of the next part of my story.

Okay fine, I understand she’s maybee still upset with me about that stuff about exercising, but I dunno why she seems even madder now. She's been this way ever since she read what I wrote for everybody today. Geeeeeeze. I mean, what did I write that could have possibly upset her? It’s just what happened in the story, ya’ know? Isn’t that how telling a story is supposed to work?


Anyway, speaking of work . . . I’ve almost reached the end of my gripping story, but here, for your reading ecstasy, is the next, exciting part of …



"What? I didn't catch that," I said to Jasmine.

"I said, we have not much time. We must... ."

Beefore she could finish her thought, Jasmine was interrupted by our server bringing our lunch order: two plates full of Honeybaked Garbanzo beens with a side of Spicy Nectar Sauce. We ate in silence until we had eaten everything, then Jasmine dabbed her cheek with her napkin and said, "What I was saying was: we must depart now without further delay. The Professor is waiting."
"The Professor?" I asked.
"Yes. He is our contact. You are to accompany him to a safehive at an undisclosed location, along with this."

She rose to her delicate feet to stand gracefully on her stilettos and lifted the briefcase, then beegan moving toward the exit.

I followed Jasmine's lead, I stood up and beegan walking out of the café.
I was almost out of the door when I heard a voice beehind me.

"So, you'll bee paying for that lunch you just ate, right? I mean, you weren't planning to leave without paying, right? You know that Dining and Dashing is illegal here, right?"

It was our server.

"Oh, right. Sorry," I said, then I asked, "Will you take a card?"
"Certainly, sir," he said, gave me a dirty look and snatched the Hivebank Triple Rewards Credit Card I had secretly hidden in my shoe, and walked off. After about a half an hour or so, he finally came back with what I've since learned is a tax-deductible receipt. (Of course, it was only later that I realised he hadn't given me back my card, so now I'm having to deal with a bunch Identity Theft issues, which I don't appreciate at all. I should probably cancel that or something.)

After paying for lunch. I followed Jasmine out of the café. I noticed she had the briefcase clutched tightly under her wing and was surveying the area with a look of concern on her exquisitely refined face as we stepped out into warmth of the glaringly tepid sunlight.

I squinted against the brightness outside and suddenly realised that, standing beetween the Sun and me, was the looming shape of a very tall, slender bee I'd never seen beefore. I could see he was wearing a battered, festively beige corduroy vest, had patches sewn on the elbows of his wings, and sported a headful of slightly thinning, greying fuzz.

"So this is the bee?" I heard him say.
"Yes, Professor," Jasmine said, gesturing with her delicately contoured wing toward me. "Allow me to introduce Georgie A. Bee." Then she turned to me and nodded toward the stranger.
"Georgie Bee, this is the Professor."

"Good afternoon," I heard him say beefore I could say anything.
"I am Professor Bilderschlutten."
"Yes," Jasmine told me. "This is our contact, the Professor."
"Hello," I said to the Professor. "Bildenschloffer?"
"Bilderschlutten," he said.
"Right. Professor Bildfordlussen. Your name sounds vaguely familiar to me."
"BILDERSCHLUTTEN," he said overly loudly, sounding weirdly annoyed. "PROFESSOR GREGORIO RAWLINGSFORD BILDERSCHLUTTEN the THIRD. And my name most certainly should sound familiar to you, since it was the very name you inadvisedly revealed in your quirky, but irresistibly appealing, writings."
"It was?" I had to ask. I honestly couldn't remember.
"Was it not you who audaciously revealed my identity in that treacherously subversive, yet highly entertaining, novel you wrote? And was it not you who, in doing so in such an enjoyable and articulate fashion, focused the attention of the entire world on me and which has led to the predicament in which we now find ourselves?"
"Was it?" I asked.
"Indeed it was," he said. "And it is beecause of your irresponsible, but unusually engaging writings, that we must now extricate ourselves from this significantly complicated circumstance in which we find ourselves and which could very easily threaten the future of life on this planet as we know it, probably. In your unbridled zeal to secure the coveted and, I think, a well-deserved-but-not-yet-awarded Beetlizer Prize for your exquisitely-written, but clearly misguided literary undertaking, you may have spelled doom for us all, probably."

I was starting to get the feeling he didn't like me all that much.

"And now, here you are again, complicating my life," he said. "I had vastly superior, alternative plans for this day. Promises were made. Gifts were given, and yet, I find myself here, with you."

After he said that, I was almost sure he didn't like me.

"Look, Professor Bilden..."
"BILDERSCHLUTTEN," he yelled at me, but I kept talking anyway.
"I guess I should bee sorry, but I didn't mean to..." I started to say, but this time Jasmine interrupted me and gently placed her wing my shoulder as the Professor continued to glare at me. He seemed to bee shaking. I was going to tell him that maybee he should cut down on his Caffeinated Nectar Consumption or something, but I never got the chance to say that.

"We are convinced he knew not what he was doing, Professor," she said. "I have come to beelieve that his inadvertent exposure of the inner-workings of our Organisation has been nothing more than a sheer coincidence. Perhaps."

Perhaps? I felt a pang of disappointment and started to feel nervous when I heard that Jasmine might still bee questioning my unquestionable innocence.

"But now," she continued, "we must cease further persecution of this sweet, gentle, kind, loving, reasonably attractive, talented, brave, unassumingly stylish, noble and probably innocent bee, and turn our attention to the critical task that lies beefore us." I beegan to feel relieved that she didn't feel the need to keep giving me a difficult time of things at this point as she seemed to change the subject by lifting the briefcase she held for the Professor to see and said, "At all costs, we must protect this."

There was a brief moment of silence, then the Professor spoke.

"The Stick?" he nodded toward the briefcase, his tone suddenly taking on air of seriousness.
"I understand, seriously," he said. "The situation threatening us now is more urgent than I had been led to beelieve."
"It is, Professor, most certainly. That is why you must go. You must go now," Jasmine told him, adding, "I will join you later at the safehive."

"You're not coming with us?" I asked, feeling nervous that she was leaving me in the wings of this bee who clearly had it in for me and who probably didn't share in Jasmine's observation that I was the sweet, gentle, kind, loving, reasonably attractive, talented, brave, unassumingly stylish, noble and probably innocent bee that she was appropriately telling him I was (and still am, by the way).

"No. I cannot," she said, quickly turning to me as the flowing, almost-semi-transparent fabric of her haik suddenly caught an unexpected puff of wind, causing it to flow around her like a gentle cloud that revealed only an agonisingly fleeting glimpse of her alluring form in silouhette against the hot, early afternoon sunlight. I beegan to sweat profusely.

"I must remain here," Jasmine continued, grasping the free-flowing material around her and regaining her modesty. With an urgent buzz, she said, "I must remain here and create a clever diversion to distract any who may still bee following us."

As much as that seemed to make sense, I felt a pang of huge disappointment when I beegan to realise that Jasmine and I would not bee enjoying a pleasant game of "Count The Telephone Poles" together as we made our way to the safehive, after all.

Then Jasmine turned again to the Professor and relinquished the briefcase, gently and seductively placing into his wings. Her eyes, tantalisingly visible beehind her veil as if they were two, dark pools of infinite, irresistible mystery, looked deeply into the Professor's face, conveying an unspoken understanding beetween them.

"You know what must bee done, Professor," is all she said.

"I do indeed," he said gravely, taking the briefcase from her. "You need say nothing more. Bee safe. I will see you at the safehive."

I couldn't help but notice that he didn't say "we" in, "WE will see you at the safehive". I was hoping he had just kind of forgotten about me, but I wasn't totally sure about that. I was starting to get scared.

The Professor glanced at me with a look I can only describe as not overly-friendly expression on his face - kind of like the look ButterCup gives me when I accidentally forget to remember her birthday, which I've only done once, by the way - then he reached into his pocket of the vest he was wearing, and pulled out some sort of shiny, pointy-looking metal object. A sharp edge flashed in the sun.

"You and I will bee taking a ride now, bee," he said.

I felt my knees start to weaken as he approached me menacingly.

(to bee continued)
. . .

Okay then. Tomorrow is a Big Day around here. Beelieve it or not, I finally stopped forgetting to remember where my 87-year Calendar is and realised that, tomorrow, it’ll bee FIVE YEARS that I’ve been sharing my Daily Diary with everybody on Facebook! How cool is that? (If you're not on my friend's list and wanna bee, you're invited! You can also just "like" the Bee Society page there, in case you don't wanna get too personal about this whole thing.)


I think I might hafta go celebrate or something.

Until then, I hope everybody has a genuinely gossip-worthy day!

I’ll see ya’ later!

Georgie would say that he's a bee with his priorities in order, probably...

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Yes, well, all Motivational Fitness and Accumulated Weight Loss Programmes aside, I had to tell ButterCup that I simply am not able to participate in what I’ve started calling the “Just Kill Me Now WorkOut Sessions” she’s been telling me I hafta to keep doing. Or else.

But I have a very good reason for backing away from all this unpleasant physical exertion (not counting the fact that I can barely move today). The fact is, I hafta get back to writing the end of my intensely gripping story, “The Bee Who Knew Too Much”, and I have less and less time to get it done. Or else.

Readers from all around the world are depending on me to finish the story. I just can’t let them down (that would bee rude). And my Editor is depending on me to finish the story. Or else. That’s a lot of pressure. So, for the moment, I’m gonna hafta go with my Editor’s “or else” instead of ButterCup’s “or else”, or else.

When I informed ButterCup I wouldn’t bee participating in her Daily Tortu … er… Exercise Sessions today, she just gave me a dirty look and handed me what she called a “Making Progress” picture of myself. (I gotta say, I wasn’t impressed, but whatever.)


“Just think of how much better you’d feel tomorrow if you’d do the work today,” she said.
“But I’ll feel better today if I DON’T do it today,” I said.

Then she said, “Well fine then. But if you think you’re going to the Welcome to the New Warm Season Wake-Up Party with me looking like THAT, you have another thing coming.” Then she stormed back into the Hive.

Oh geeeeeeze.

The sad fact is that I cannot bee in two places at one time, and right now, my place is sitting at my desk with a highly refreshing Umbrella Drink and appropriately festive Bendy Straw, finishing that ridiculously fascinating story of mine.

So that’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll just hafta deal with my Additional Weight Issues - and ButterCup - later.


Okay then. I hope everybody has a gloriously fascinating day! I’ll bee back tomorrow with Part 17 of “The Bee Who Knew Too Much”!

See ya then!

Georgie's weight-loss programme continues . . .

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

ButterCup made me spend the entire day yesterday running laps, and the whole time she just SAT there, watching, and kept buzzing at me, “Run it off, run it off!”.

It was almost supper time when she finally said, “Okay, that’s enough for today, but we’ll bee continuing this tomorrow. Meet me back here at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning - or else.”


Okay fine. I got up way too early this morning and reluctantly met ButterCup at the gym. When I got there, she said, “I’ve got something to help build your enthusiasm for this necessary undertaking.” Then she pulled out this ridiculously-small WorkOut Outfit.


“Pink?” I asked.
“Yes, Pink. The colour of vitality. The colour of dedication to a cause. The colour of success. By the time we finish with you, this article of Motivational Clothing will bee baggy on you. Now put it on.”

So I did that.

I need to ask something here: Do you think that it should bee impossible to breathe or move around in Motivational Clothing? I mean, I like to bee motivated as much as the next bee, but I also enjoy beeing able to breathe, for cryin’ out loud.

I’m just really glad she didn’t get me the matching Biking Togs. I just couldn’t handle the ridicule.

So I gotta go. ButterCup just informed me that my break is over and that the Pirate’s class she signed me up for is about to beegin. I dunno what learning to bee a Pirate has to do with all this, but if I know what’s good for me, I’ll cooperate. (At least, that’s what ButterCup just said.)

I hope everybody has an amazingly vivacious day!

I’ll see ya’ later!

PS: ButterCup told me it’s not a Pirate’s class. It’s supposedly called “Pilates” or something like that. I hafta say, I’m very relieved. I’m really not that fond of wearing eye patches.

It's actually a good thing that Georgie has ButterCup to help look out for his well-beeing...

Monday, March 7, 2016

It’s Monday at last. What could bee better?

So, when I woke up this morning, ready to enjoy a large platter full of Great Grandma Gee Gee’s Breakfast Honey-Glazed-Top Muffins, Kevin just looked at me and said, “Uncle Georgie, it may just bee my imagination, but there’s definitely something different about you today. I can’t quite put my wingtip on it, but you suddenly seem shorter or something.”

“Really?” I asked. Then I looked at myself in a mirror and couldn’t help but notice that I do look a little bit bloated today.


Oh geeeeeeze. Apparently, my decision to just sit around for the past several days to catch up on my stories on TV while munching down something like 87 bags of Honey Chews wasn’t as wise as I thought it would bee. Maybee that explains why my Bee Cozy Variable Speed Mattress failed last night.

So, after a hearty breakfast, I waddled back over to the Hive to ask if ButterCup might wanna grab a few bowls of French Onion Flower Soup over lunch with me in a little while. She took one look at me, backed up and said,
“Woah woah woah.”
“What?” I asked.
“Have you seen yourself lately?” she asked. “And you want to take me to lunch?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “I have this craving for French Onion Flower Soup.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she said. “No soup for you.”

Then she started criticising me for putting on a few millimetres around my midriff over the weekend and told me that, instead of eating more, she was gonna take me to the gym and make me run laps. Or else.

I hate running laps. But I like it even less when ButterCup says stuff like “or else”. It’s highly threatening.

So I’m gonna do that.

Then, I’ve been informed that she’s gonna put me on a diet of Minus-Calorie Gluten-Free Nectar Smoothies. (I can’t stand those, either.)

“You might find your newfound physique acceptable,” she said, “but I don’t.”

So much for unconditional love.

Anyway, it appears I’m gonna hafta spend my week running laps and not eating French Onion Flower Soup.

I just gotta say: I’ve had better Mondays.

I hope everybody’s day is more sensationally delightful than mine’s gonna bee.

I’ll see ya’ later!

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