. . . the days of so-called "natural" honey were long gone by the end of the Second World War. Just as this conflict brought an end to the time when tires grew on trees and ladies wore worm barf as leggings, the impractical expectation that a nasty, stinging insect could be induced to live in painted boxes and fill them with an edible version of flower nectar for mass human consumption became as archaic as buggy whips. As anyone who's been inside a modern greenhouse well knows, tiny mechanical drones are continually swooping down from the rafters to suck some floral juice into their load-carrying cavities before they fly up to deposit said blossom sap into one of the super-efficient food processors of Big Honey. The resulting product may not taste like great grandma's loving spoonful, but she's dead, so who cares?
