Too Failed to Be Big

None of us can now remember how they got into the hive. All we know is that one day, they were there. We stung a few to death, but they kept coming in. And after a while, the queen took a shine to them.

Since we weren't allowed to sting them anymore, we thought maybe we should figure out what they were. Honi thought they were "Africanized bees."

"I don't think they're bees at all," I replied. "They don't ... look right."

"Heh, heh, heh," chuckled old Hieronymus, the longest-lived drone I ever met. "Now, them's what's known as cock-a-roaches."

"Cock-a-what?" asked Honi, squinting every facet of both eyes.

"Cock-a-roaches," repeated Hieronymus.

"What good are they?" I asked.

"None," said old Hieronymus. "None whatsoever. Nasty, dirty, scavenging varmints."

"Then let's sting the crap out of 'em," I suggested.

The others were more than willing, but alas! We could not. For the cock-a-roaches had slipped under the aegis of the queen.

"A what?" we buzzed in unison.

"A Honey Management Plan," replied the queen evenly. "It's long overdue. We haven't been getting top whack for our honey, and these good roaches have explained to me that we can do better. A lot better. Mr. Ricky Roach will be in charge of the HMP, and Mr. Ronnie Roach will be his assistant. You - all of you - will give them your full cooperation."

"Yes, Your Majesty," we droned.

The Honey Management Plan went swimmingly for a time. No, I tell a lie. I can't do this. It was a disaster from the get-go. It just took a while to become obvious how much of a disaster. Honey shortages became chronic at first, then endemic. The cock-a-roaches, however, never seemed to lack anything.

We started to get angry. We started to buzz. The buzz reached the highest levels, but the queen was unmoved. So we hatched another queen. A queen fight ensued, and our new champion dispatched the old monarch without ado. We cheered and buzzed and buzzed and cheered.

"Right!" I cried. "Let's go get the cock-a-roaches!"

The hive swarmed as one. The cock-a-roaches were as good as dead.

"Wa-a-a-a-ait!"

We looked for the source of the cry. To our surprise and dismay, it was our new queen.

"Um, wait ... why?" asked Honi.

"Bees of the hive, hear me!" called the queen. "The old order is dead. I have personally stung the loathsome Ricky Roach in his ass and deposited his sorry carcass ... outside."

"Hurray!" we cheered.

"I want to introduce you to the new manager of the HMP," continued the queen. "I give you ... Ronnie Roach!"

'"Whoa back just a minute there, Your Highness!" I buzzed. "If by 'I give you Ronnie Roach' you mean that you award him to us to gang sting, we accept. But ... whaddaya mean, 'new manager of the HMP?'"

"We need a new HMP manager," replied the queen, "and Ronnie Roach is the only one who understands it."

"But this is the 'plan' that has brought us to the brink of ruin," objected Honi, "and this is one of its chief architects!"

"It's too hard for us to understand," said the queen. "Only the roaches understand it. It's all right. He works for me now, and he promises to be more careful."

"Oh, good," I said. "Most reassuring."

"We're too big to fail," said Ronnie Roach smugly. "If we fail, everyone fails."

"Well, I reckon that's already happened, hasn't it?" interjected old Hieronymus. "Anyone flops that bad, shouldn't be allowed to get big. The way I figure, you're too failed to be big. Didn't I tell y'all? Nasty, dirty, scavenging varmints."

"We did fine before these jokers showed up," added Honi. "And we can always hatch another queen."

I know you didn't ask, but in case you were wondering. That's why the ground beneath our hive is littered with cock-a-roach carcasses.