To the honorable board,
I respectfully decline your invitation to the next monthly co-op townhall, as I fear the subject of conversation will drift, as always, to my bees.
I came to this city with a couple of dollars in my pocket and a writhing mass of Russian honeybees in my gym bag. 15 years I’ve been in this city, and you can bet there were some tough times, but my bees stuck with me through thick and thin.
Not many people know this, but my bees once stung the hell out of Mario Cuomo, may he rest in peace. That’s right, this deafening horde of insects is an integral part of New York history, and Director Sonnefeld thinks I can just send them away? No, the bees stay with me.
I bought the adjacent apartment with a high-interest loan. It’s nobody’s business that I decided to turn all 800 square feet into a black, pulsating void.
Frankly, it’s unbelievable we can’t come to an agreement. The honorable board had a couple of worries, but I addressed them.
- There were some complaints about the noise from the hives. Fair enough! I graciously bought a brand new $2,000 Bose speaker system to drown them out with Future Islands’ critically and commercially acclaimed single, “Seasons (Waiting on You).”
- The bees did black out the sun when they swarmed in front of neighboring windows. I’ve been keeping them inside during the day. At night, the erratic shadows of the bees cast by streetlights resemble TV static, which I find comforting.
- I again assert that any stings in the building are attributable to unconnected bee colonies.
You have no legal recourse against my bees and me. I was pre-law at Green Mountain College (now defunct) so I know what I’m talking about.
Perhaps as children, you read Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax. As the Lorax spoke for the trees, I speak for the bees. Also like the Lorax, if you harm my bees, I will knock this god-forsaken building to the ground.
With respect,
The resident(s) of Room 403