It’s On, Nasonex Bee

All right.  Shit hasn’t been this intense since Meggie started fawning over that overstretched amphibious tool, Michael Phelps (I’m still waiting for the LAND RACE, you pothead!).  There’s a new villain:

The Nasonex Bee.

Yeah, what’s up, Nasonex Bee?  Fuck you, insect.

Meggie and I were watching TV last night.  Well, Meggie was. She was watching Dancing with the Stars, and I was watching Sir Rowdimus Megatron lick his nuts.  I drifted off, wondering, “Would I ever leave the house if I could do that?”  and “Is that gay?”  Then the commercial came on.  THAT commercial.  The commercial with that stupid bee.

I could have sworn he was speaking with a French accent, but I later learned it’s a Spanish accent.  No matter.  The Garcia household is an American household.  Ain’t nothing Spanish, French, Japanese or Icelandic about it.

Meggie started drooling and licking her lips.  Seductively.  I think she got even more pregnant.

“What are you doing, shnookim-face?”

*drooooool* “Nasonex Bee.” *swoon*

“Yo, Meggie! Over here!”

*droool* “Nasonex Bee.” *blush*

I immediately ran out and bought Meggie a dozen roses and some nachos.  When I got back, the nachos were in my belly, and Meggie was re-watching the Nasonex commercial.  Apparently she had DVR’d it.  I gave her the roses and flexed my biceps, convinced the sight of my pellet guns cannons would totally get her attention.

Nope.

She just re-watched the commercial.

That was last night.  As I author this post, Meggie is in the apartment writing love letters to the Nasonex Bee.

The Nasonex Bee is such a creep, and if you look at his commercials, the sexual overtones are blatantly obvious.  It has nothing to do with allergies or stuffy noses.  It has to do with fucking and stuffy crotches.  Little smooth-talking foreigner swooping from flower to flower, pollinating them as he pleases.  Well, guess what, you six-legged bitch, not my wife.  Not her flower!  Guess what, Nasonex Bee, I’m coming after you and I am going to uppercut the bejesus out of your striped thorax.

 To be continued….

- David C. Garcia