I’m quite the sucker for the New Yorker’s “Shouts & Murmurs” section, as it’s often just funny enough to lift my mood a bit. With that in mind, I thought I’d share Noah Baumbach’s contribution from the May 4th issue of this year: Buzzed, in which we’re treated to a look at a bee with one bad habit: Cocaine.
Oh, my God, get over here . . . hurry . . . come on come on come on. Taste this nectar, taste it, taste it. . . . Slurp. . . . Is that not, is that not the best fucking thing youâ€™ve ever had? Like nectar of the fucking Gods! Itâ€™s like the greatest hits of nectar. A double-album greatest hits, like those red and blue Beatles records where theyâ€™re looking down at us off a balcony but they have facial hair in one of them. Oh, my God, I just flew over to this, to this lily. Look at me on the lily?! Is that not, is that not so weird? Iâ€™m like buzzing around and then I land. . . . I donâ€™t know why that struck me as so odd just then. My little feet on the petal. Is that odd? It seems so funny to me. Oh, my God, you gotta try this pollen. Itâ€™s so fucking . . . itâ€™s better than the nectar, even. This is the best fucking pollen Iâ€™ve ever had. God, I so badly wanna just go sting the fuck out of someone, you know? Just land on their ass and sting. . . . Iâ€™m so fucking jazzed right now. And then I hope theyâ€™re allergic and they just blow up! We gotta get out of this hive, we gotta get mobile . . . â€œGoing Mobileâ€! The Who was a good band. Letâ€™s go find a picnic or some sunbathers or something. . . .