Here is a bee fact: all bees enjoy the works of Shakespeare and Aristophanes but find Marlowe too violent. Northern European bees tend to like Ibsen, while North American bees prefer Tennessee Williams. No bees like Brecht.
Also: I have only ever been rascally drunk once and apparently I spent most of the evening telling my sister that bees are basically trousers because they carry pollen around.
Bees came before trousers, so are trousers basically bees?
Thomas: why are you torturing us so? And by us I not only mean all who are salivating while staring at this delightful collage, but also the buttons of your shirt, who cannot keep it together anymorepun intended, I’m so cool.
And ESPECIALLY ALL THAT TIGHTNESS IN THE CROTCHULAR AREA.
This is too much, sir. That shirt is delightfully close fitting, and leaves very little to the imagination. It has the added bonus of bringing out your eyes, thus making any attempts at eyefucking about 2000% more effective (you’re all pregnant now. With triplets). And all that plunging cleavage… Tone it the fuck down, Thomas.
The grey trousers, which can easily be confused with skinny jeans, and make it seem like you have more thigh gap than a Victoria Secret Angel (although that might have more to do with your natural inability to close your legs than with the trousers themselves).
And… ATTENTION! A WILD CURL APPEARED! Who are you, Thomas? Have you left Loki behind in favour of Clark Kent?