I have fantasized about doing it since I first heard about it and wondered if it could actually be done, as well as if I would actually enjoy myself during the experience. Last night I got home and made two peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and then ate both of them to my tummies delight.

I first learned about this combo of foods on a sandwich at around the age of 13 from a special on TV about Elvis, the King. I remember as a child that I was disgusted at the idea of putting a perfectly good banana in a peanut butter sandwich, and then eating them together. YUCK!

Then as I grew older I decided to experiment with eating different things, king crab legs, sushi, XXX, and yet all that time I had the thought of eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich lingering in the back of my mind the entire time.

Last night was an off night of training, so I didn’t have my usual post training session food devouring session, and I didn’t feel like making anything that needed to be heated up in some fashion. As I walked in the cold from the subway to my place I pondered what to eat and decided that I would make some PB & J sandwiches, which I’m really not all that into, yet I still went through the process of getting everything out and ready to make.

As I opened the drawer to get out utensils to make one of my patented PB & J’s I spotted some ripened bananas out of the corner of my eye, then slowly but surely the proverbial light bulb went on above my head with an idea, and then my cat walked into the kitchen and looked at me as if I was crazy for imagining a lit light bulb shining above my head.

Having never had formal training in preparing such an exotic meal of PB & banana sandwiches I spread the PB first onto two slices of whole wheat bread, then proceeded to cut the banana into slices ranging from about three to eight millimeters thick, then placed them onto the laid out slices of bread with PB, then I covered both with fresh from the bag slices of whole wheat, and then cut both sandwiches into rectangles.

I sat down to eat and examined my sandwiches. To my surprise the combination of PB & Banana doesn’t look all that back together, kind of like when Jenny McCarthy & Pam Anderson had that double Playboy centerfold issue and it just kind of worked and made sense, so I went in for the taste test with the sandwiches.

BINGO!!! The King was right!!!

These sandwiches taste great, and were way better than I was expecting. For some years I thought that maybe the sandwiches were a concoction invented by a bloated, drugged up, boozed up man that had no more taste buds left inside his pallet to realize that he was eating awful tasting sandwiches. I must say that I was completely wrong, and I feel so blessed for having finally tasted such a good sandwich that if I ever get married I want my best man to be a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

Uncle Jimmy,

At your show this upcoming Friday night will there be a full show with puppets and the works? Or, will it be a show that has the works without the puppets? I’m hoping for the works with the puppets, and I’m just not sure if you will have a full show with puppets since from what I hear you are opening for the New York Howl.

I hope that an answer magically finds its way onto my plate. Can you please magically let me know?

Warmest Regards,
A Fan Named Beehive

**********************************************

Dearest Mr. Elevator,

Yesterday you were very mean to me, and based off of yesterday’s incident you took away my innocence. This morning when I slipped myself into you you scared the bejesus out of me. I just want to let you know that it will most likely take quite some time in order for things to even appear as if they are back to normal.

Regards,
A Cowering Beehive Underneath A Cold Shower

**********************************************

To Mr. George Michael,

For the love of God why did you make so much good music in the 1980s that I absolutely love to listen to? Music that as a 26 year old man in the year 2007, I shouldn’t in my right mind actually love listening to, let alone let anyone know else know of my love for it.

It’s just so catchy, and I love catchy songs. I’m a sucker for them.

Seriously,
A Humming Beehive

If I wasn’t, I’m sure you’d be reading about me in tomorrows New York Post, along with the seven other people that were almost killed during our elevator ride this morning. The Post would have some bad headline line along the lines of

“Earnings Hit Dead On In **** bank Elevator! ”

Over the summer there was a 21 year old woman killed in a fiery crash that the NY Post had an awful headline for, that I recall seeing that made me think to myself, when I go, I don’t want to have my photo on the cover of the NY Post with any type of headline.

That would be the worst way to die no matter what the cause of death. Also, if my photo was on the cover, then everyone would know that I was dead, and people would come out of the woodwork shouting, “That asshole, he deserved it!” Just like when a certain guy from my neighborhood adorned the cover of the NY Post a few years back, for being killed by a hit and run while crossing the street to play lotto on his birthday, but that’s another story altogether.

This morning there were two open elevators that I could have gotten on without waiting whatsoever. I chose the one on the right hand side, since most everyone else that had been waiting for an elevator was going into the one on the left. Before the doors could close seven more people entered the elevator bring the occupancy to a total of eight humans. We were well under the stated maximum weight limit, of a ridiculous amount in thousands of pounds.

There were around five or six buttons lit up for various floors that our elevator should have stopped on. The doors closed, and we began to rise into the sky. I don’t know how high we were for sure since the first floor that would show is the 18th floor, and that only takes less than five seconds to reach.

About a second into our ascent the elevator stopped, and all of the lighted floored for our designated stops went off, as the overhead lights stayed on. I’ve heard others stuck in the elevators before, and know enough to push the alarm button. As I was in the back corner of the elevator I asked the guy closest to the buttons to press it. This should have been a simple no brainer for the man.

There is a diagram of a bell next to the button, with Braille underneath it, and the word “ALARM” written in English on the button that he should push. He managed to press every single button but the alarm bell, the entire time both myself and the woman standing next to me were saying, “No, down. No, to the left. Nope, not that one. Nope, the alarm.” He finally was able to figure it out when he was left with no other buttons to push, and the alarm went off for a split second.

As this was my first time being stuck in an elevator like this, (I’ve been stuck in old freight ones) I thought to myself, “Was that enough of a push?” And I thought that maybe we should ring it again, repeatedly.

Before I could voice my thoughts a phone was ringing inside the elevator, it was built into the paneling of the elevator, and the building security picked up. “We don’t need security, we need a licensed elevator mechanic”, I thought quietly.

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

The man closest to the speaker informed the security guard of our situation, and she inquired as to how many people were on the elevator. For some reason, this man didn’t know how to count, and blurted out nine people. Then asked what floor we were on, and that question we did not have an answer to. The security guard offered up the news that she would send out a dispatch for an elevator mechanic to swing on by.

“Swing??? Tell him to get his ass over her and help us.” Ran through my mind immediately.

It sounded as though this elevator mechanic would take a while, so we all called up our bosses to inform them of our situation.

Then the security guard asked us all for our extensions. By this time I realized that she was asking us all general questions in an attempt to keep us all calm. It was working at first.

Then all of a sudden the floor lights read 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, in a very fast manner, at which point the elevator flat out dropped.

It fell fast and hard.

Everyone yelped out a scream, I braced my knees for impact, and held on to the bar in the back. Which I finally found out what the actual use for it is, and apparently it is the “I hope I don’t die, so let me hold onto this bar” bar.

BOOM!!!!

Dust was everywhere. It kept coming in more and more. It got too thick to breath comfortably, so I covered my face with my coat.

We landed on something. What we landed on and where we were we did not know. No one inside the elevator was hurt physically.

Security came back on the phone, “Is everything alright in there?”

Everyone shouted that the elevator just fell.

“Okay, stay right there.” She told us, as if one of us would dare attempt to climb out of our near certain death trap.

I could feel the elevator begin to slowly move up, I asked if anyone else could feel it. Some did, others didn’t.

Then there was some more jerking up and down, not nearly as bad as our plunge.

The security guard came back on again and asked, “Is the elevator making any sounds that don’t sound normal?”

WTF??????!!!!!!!!

At that point all of us stood quietly and heard things that didn’t sound good. What those sounds actually were no one was for sure, all we knew is that it was “sounds” that were definitely not normal.

Up and down we went some more.

This was when I reached my breaking point of peacefully and calmly allowing the situation to unfold itself, and did not care how rude and loud I sounded to the other elevator riders.

I shouted to the security guard, “Get us out now!!! No more up and down! Tell the mechanic to open the doors wherever we are and just let us out!!! I don’t care where we are, just let us out. No more bringing the elevator up and down.”

Everyone looked at me as if I was crazy for voicing my opinion about a situation that was not normal and had all of our lives and safety in the hands of other people.

Less than 20 seconds later the doors opened, we were at the ground floor, and a group of people wanted to get on the elevator that we all just walked off of a dusty mess.

We told them not to.

While I’m fairly certain my shouts and demands had nothing to do with the doors opening.

Call me crazy, as I would rather be killed in an elevator accident screaming and yelling for help than quietly and passively allowing the elevator mechanic to screw up and kill us.

As I waited for the next elevator I held onto the wall and breathed deeply. I got upstairs safely and went to wash my hands, I looked into the mirror and could see that I was white as a ghost.
I’m alive.

If I wasn’t, I’m sure you’d be reading about me in tomorrows New York Post, along with the seven other people that were almost killed during our elevator ride this morning. The Post would have some bad headline line along the lines of

“Earnings Hit Dead On In **** bank Elevator! ”

Over the summer there was a 21 year old woman killed in a fiery crash that the NY Post had an awful headline for, that I recall seeing that made me think to myself, when I go, I don’t want to have my photo on the cover of the NY Post with any type of headline.

That would be the worst way to die no matter what the cause of death. Also, if my photo was on the cover, then everyone would know that I was dead, and people would come out of the woodwork shouting, “That asshole, he deserved it!” Just like when a certain guy from my neighborhood adorned the cover of the NY Post a few years back, for being killed by a hit and run while crossing the street to play lotto on his birthday, but that’s another story altogether.

This morning there were two open elevators that I could have gotten on without waiting whatsoever. I chose the one on the right hand side, since most everyone else that had been waiting for an elevator was going into the one on the left. Before the doors could close seven more people entered the elevator bring the occupancy to a total of eight humans. We were well under the stated maximum weight limit, of a ridiculous amount in thousands of pounds.

There were around five or six buttons lit up for various floors that our elevator should have stopped on. The doors closed, and we began to rise into the sky. I don’t know how high we were for sure since the first floor that would show is the 18th floor, and that only takes less than five seconds to reach.

About a second into our ascent the elevator stopped, and all of the lighted floored for our designated stops went off, as the overhead lights stayed on. I’ve heard others stuck in the elevators before, and know enough to push the alarm button. As I was in the back corner of the elevator I asked the guy closest to the buttons to press it. This should have been a simple no brainer for the man.

There is a diagram of a bell next to the button, with Braille underneath it, and the word “ALARM” written in English on the button that he should push. He managed to press every single button but the alarm bell, the entire time both myself and the woman standing next to me were saying, “No, down. No, to the left. Nope, not that one. Nope, the alarm.” He finally was able to figure it out when he was left with no other buttons to push, and the alarm went off for a split second.

As this was my first time being stuck in an elevator like this, (I’ve been stuck in old freight ones) I thought to myself, “Was that enough of a push?” And I thought that maybe we should ring it again, repeatedly.

Before I could voice my thoughts a phone was ringing inside the elevator, it was built into the paneling of the elevator, and the building security picked up. “We don’t need security, we need a licensed elevator mechanic”, I thought quietly.

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

The man closest to the speaker informed the security guard of our situation, and she inquired as to how many people were on the elevator. For some reason, this man didn’t know how to count, and blurted out nine people. Then asked what floor we were on, and that question we did not have an answer to. The security guard offered up the news that she would send out a dispatch for an elevator mechanic to swing on by.

“Swing??? Tell him to get his ass over her and help us.” Ran through my mind immediately.

It sounded as though this elevator mechanic would take a while, so we all called up our bosses to inform them of our situation.

Then the security guard asked us all for our extensions. By this time I realized that she was asking us all general questions in an attempt to keep us all calm. It was working at first.

Then all of a sudden the floor lights read 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, in a very fast manner, at which point the elevator flat out dropped.

It fell fast and hard.

Everyone yelped out a scream, I braced my knees for impact, and held on to the bar in the back. Which I finally found out what the actual use for it is, and apparently it is the “I hope I don’t die, so let me hold onto this bar” bar.

BOOM!!!!

Dust was everywhere. It kept coming in more and more. It got too thick to breath comfortably, so I covered my face with my coat.

We landed on something. What we landed on and where we were we did not know. No one inside the elevator was hurt physically.

Security came back on the phone, “Is everything alright in there?”

Everyone shouted that the elevator just fell.

“Okay, stay right there.” She told us, as if one of us would dare attempt to climb out of our near certain death trap.

I could feel the elevator begin to slowly move up, I asked if anyone else could feel it. Some did, others didn’t.

Then there was some more jerking up and down, not nearly as bad as our plunge.

The security guard came back on again and asked, “Is the elevator making any sounds that don’t sound normal?”

WTF??????!!!!!!!!

At that point all of us stood quietly and heard things that didn’t sound good. What those sounds actually were no one was for sure, all we knew is that it was “sounds” that were definitely not normal.

Up and down we went some more.

This was when I reached my breaking point of peacefully and calmly allowing the situation to unfold itself, and did not care how rude and loud I sounded to the other elevator riders.

I shouted to the security guard, “Get us out now!!! No more up and down! Tell the mechanic to open the doors wherever we are and just let us out!!! I don’t care where we are, just let us out. No more bringing the elevator up and down.”

Everyone looked at me as if I was crazy for voicing my opinion about a situation that was not normal and had all of our lives and safety in the hands of other people.

Less than 20 seconds later the doors opened, we were at the ground floor, and a group of people wanted to get on the elevator that we all just walked off of a dusty mess.

We told them not to.

While I’m fairly certain my shouts and demands had nothing to do with the doors opening.

Call me crazy, as I would rather be killed in an elevator accident screaming and yelling for help than quietly and passively allowing the elevator mechanic to screw up and kill us.

As I waited for the next elevator I held onto the wall and breathed deeply. I got upstairs safely and went to wash my hands, I looked into the mirror and could see that I was white as a ghost.
I’m alive.

Back in the early summer of 2000 I met a tremendously funny stand up comic named Jason Rouse.

Onstage the man is one of the funniest, most brilliant comics that have ever graced a stage, plain and simple. He might be crude for some, but if you’re into seeing live stand up comedy, Jason is one of the very few comics you MUST see live. Offstage he is just an all around good, kind, and still hysterically funny man.

Anyways, I had only met Jason a few days earlier; we were sitting around in a hallway of some rehearsal studio space waiting to rehearse some sketches for a stage show. There were a handful of other Canadian comics there that new Jason way better than me.

Jason excused himself to go buy some tea. He went out to the corner and bought his tea. When he came back upstairs he sat down next to me with a worried look on his face.

He said, “Beehive, when I bought this tea I accidentally spilled some on myself, and I think I burned myself a little.”

Jason raised his shirt and showed me something that looked like a huge blister, and said, “See it made me get this big blister. Do you think I should go to the hospital for it??

I looked at his stomach, the blistery looking thing was up and over his jeans and beltline, right around his belly button, and I couldn’t figure out what it really was, and replied, “That doesn’t look like a blister. What is it?”

By this point none of the Canadians could hold their laughter inside themselves anymore.

I didn’t know what was so funny over the man burning himself badly.

Jason then said, “Do you know what that is?” Pointing to his blister.

“No, I don’t.” I replied.

Everyone was yelping with their laughs now.

With the most serious of looks Jason replied, “It’s one of my balls.”

WHAT????

Now everyone was laughing, including me.

I just kept thinking, one of his balls??? How??? But it is so high??? Balls aren’t supposed to stretch that far from their hanging spot under the penis. How did he? What did he do to get it out and over his jeans?

Jason then pushed his bulging ball (blister) back down into his pants, everyone continued to have a good time, then some people let out of rehearsal, and Jason excused himself only to come back from “Buying hot tea, and having spilt some on himself causing a blister.” This fooled person after person, and it was just great.

To this day I don’t have a clue as to how he was able to stretch his balls out that far, and to be honest I’m not sure I really want to know.