Wasp, what are you doing in here? Yes, you want to get out now, I can see that from the way you keep banging your head against the glass like a fucking moron. (Incidentally, why doesn't that kill you, like it does to birds?) But what made you come in here? There's a whole big world out there, wasp, yet time and again you and your ilk come strolling into whatever building I'm in, your inflated sense of entitlement blazing in the sun. Except there's only ever one of you - what's that about? Do you fancy yourself as something of a lone wolf, wasp? I've met wolves, I've sung and drank with wolves, and you're no wolf, wasp, you're a wasp.
I think you simply have no friends. Do you expect me to be your friend, wasp? Do you think I'd like it if we drank coffee together and said things like "Ohmygod, I can't wait to see The Killers at Oxegen!" I don't think I'd like that at all. I already have a friend, wasp, and they don't buzz as incessantly in my ear as you do. And if they want a bit of my muffin they fucking well ask, instead of plonking all fours on it and doing a tiny little poo, as seems to be your way. That's the behaviour of a dickhead. Are you a dickhead, wasp? You lack a sense of propriety anyway, that's for damn sure.
No, we shan't be friends. I've been burned by this kind of thing before, wasp. A promising relationship with a bee came to a most regrettable end during an ill-advised pillowfight. Jemima made honey, glorious honey, wasp. You can't even offer me that much. We shan't be swapping books and sharing earphones, you and I. I care not for that "what happened you man, you used to be cool" rhetoric that you always bank on in such circumstances. I am unmoved. So you can just sit there staring balefully at me whilst you bop your stupid stripey distended arse up and down. And I, I'll bide my time, wasp.