John launched into a tirade once again, about the bees. Bees in here, they don't mix with the people well, he cried. All the honey drives them crazy. Makes them hungry, energetic, irrascible, angry.

It's always the same fight, every Sunday: us trying to have our mass in our church where all of the surfaces are coated in honey, including the statues and pews, while the thousand or so bees fly around us. John, though, he's always got a complaint about it, either the honey stains on his knees, or stings, or some doggone thing.

You'd think the man could just pipe down and worship Jesus like the rest of us.

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