By the age of twenty-one Jackie “His Hiveness” Rivens controlled over sixty-two percent of America’s beekeeping colonies. He was a millionaire tens of twenty of times over. He was a philanthropist, a Libertarian, a table-tennis enthusiast, a freemason, a recluse, and a reformed Jehovah’s Witness.Now at the age of thirty-three, Jackie reveals it all in his memoir: “Bee-Fore I Knew It: The Truth Stings”  From his addictions to Bolivian cocaine and Latvian spongecake to his addictions to Latvian supermodel’s and Bolivian keno, nothing is held back. All the rumors are finally put to rest: Why did he fake his step-brother’s death over forty times? How did he escape from Guadalajara with just a tablecloth, chives, and an Uno card? Does he really sting it before sex to make it bigger?? Here now, is an excerpt from Jackie Rivens: “Bee-Fore I Knew It: The Truth Stings”


I wanted to be a beekeeper as far back as I can remember… beekeepers are a different type of breed. In Arizona, where I grew up, they were the absolute coolest man. They lived life on the fucking edge. They got pussy 24/7… I’m talking sixty-two hours a week man. They got tattoos of birds, threw bags of dog shit at the police, over-tipped at Chinese restaurants…  they did whatever the FUCK they wanted.  They kept bees for christsakes.

Drug-fueled orgies. Candy dishes full of ecstasy, viagra and prilosec. Piles of money. Drunken motorcycle races through Tuscon. Gallons, I mean GALLONS of fresh honey everywhere…. those were the good old days. But that’s all beehind me now….

Chapter 1: Here We Bee Again

I got my first beekeepers outfit the day before my ninth birthday. My old man got it at a garage sale for three bucks. It was the best day of my life. That’s a pretty big deal coming from a guy that’s bungee-jumped off the Space Needle, free-based in the Louvre, and had sex with a woman that looked like Wolverine (not Hugh Jackman… Wolverine).

That outfit. I wore it fucking everywhere: School, the zoo, old man Carruther’s house… EVERYWHERE. I slept in it. I showered in it. I even tricked it out: laser beams stitched into the elbows, scratch-n-sniff zippers, and two custom-made badass patches. The one in the front said: “Who’s in Charge Here?” and the one in the back said “I Bee!”

My parents didn’t want me to have anything to do with beekeeping. In fact, they were dead-set opposed to it. Mostly because their parents died from bee attacks and they knew how dangerous a job it was… and a little because they had hoped I’d follow in my father’s footsteps and sell homemade meth to rodeo clowns. But I had a talent. That much was obvious. By the age of thirteen I was taking care of over 80 colonies in my parent’s backyard. I was harvesting twenty pounds of liquid gold by eighteen. That’s when the money started rolling in… and that’s when things really started to get sweet…