Hello, fellow hivees! Welcome!

Buzz off M8

You got lint on your fuzz.
- Ow! That's me!


- Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000.
- Bye!


Barry, I told you,
stop flying in the house!


- Hey, Adam.
- Hey, Barry.


- Is that fuzz gel?
- A little. Special day, graduation.


Never thought I'd make it.


Three days grade school,
three days high school.


Those were awkward.


Three days college. I'm glad I took
a day and hitchhiked around the hive.


You did come back different.


- Hi, Barry.
- Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.


- Hear about Frankie?
- Yeah.


- You going to the funeral?
- No, I'm not going.


Everybody knows,
sting someone, you die.


Don't waste it on a squirrel.
Such a hothead.

According to all known laws
of aviation,


there is no way a bee
should be able to fly.


Its wings are too small to get
its fat little body off the ground.


The bee, of course, flies anyway


because bees don't care
what humans think is impossible.


Yellow, black. Yellow, black.
Yellow, black. Yellow, black.


Ooh, black and yellow!
Let's shake it up a little.


Barry! Breakfast is ready!


Ooming!


Hang on a second.


Hello?


- Barry?
- Adam?


- Oan you believe this is happening?
- I can't. I'll pick you up.


Looking sharp.


Use the stairs. Your father
paid good money for those.


Sorry. I'm excited.


Here's the graduate.
We're very proud of you, son.


A perfect report card, all B's.


Very proud.


Ma! I got a thing going here.