The Beekeeper Chronicles

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I fucking love beeswaxed outerwear. It's definitely not a necessary design element in the modern age, but the anecdote of owning a jacket coated with beeswax, like a bunch of new the Nigel Cabourn in stock at The Bureau Belfast, is pretty dope. It's like how you don't have to sit at the chef's table when you eat at the hot new restaurant, but it makes talking about the dinner way more fun. I legit almost raised some bees on my parent's property a few years ago. I was gonna eat mad honey and wax mad vintage shit, but then I remembered that my dad is super allergic to bee stings. I was like, "Fuck, so we can't be apiarists, dad?" (I had recently Googled "fancy way to say beekeeper" FYI.) And he was like, "It's all good. I have an EpiPen." So, we're looking at a hive site later and, just to be crystal clear, I asked, "If you do get stung, I just stab the you in the heart with this shit, right?" He replied, "WHAT? NO. IN MY THIGH, YOU MORON. Maybe this is a terrible idea after all." That's more or less where the entire operation went south before getting completely shut the fuck down and I kinda realized that a jacket that costs a ton of Great British Pounds is still probably cheaper than learning proper EpiPen technique on the fly when you figure in all the death costs and shit.

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