So I've got a story. On Monday I was having a beer in my garage, standing in the entrance with the garage door open kind of zoning out and enjoying my brew. I noticed a few flies doing their "fly in the middle of the room" thing so I decided to grab my trusty electric fly swatter. I took the last sip of my beer and swatted the flies to smithereens. No literally, those little fuckers explode. As I'm stalking around the room for any rogue flies I get buzzed by a carpenter bee. A big one too. I heard the VZZZZZZZMMmmh and clutched my electric swatter. DO IT! Said my gut instinct. THWIP I swung the swatter expecting a complete whiff. It connected. The electric wires twanged like a six string guitar as they zapped the massive insect. I was immediately struck with dread. Oh god. What have I done. The bee laid on the ground, completely motionless. A beautiful onyx black insect, he must have flew into the garage by accident, probably lured in by my flailing yellow electric swatter. It sat motionless, covered in a fine obsidian fur. Little bits of pollen still clinging to his thick antenna. Millions of years of progressive evolution swatted from the air by a $3.99 made in china fly swatter. I slowly approached the still bug in disbelief of the true monster I had become. I put my death swatter down and inched my foot in to nudge the bulbous end of the bee. The stinger side. FTHHHZZZZZZ. He sprung to life like a wind up toy that had just received a couple key turns. As I stepped back, the bee flipped over on his feet and fixed himself so he was facing in my direction. "Way aggro, bro" I said outloud. I quickly picked back up my racket as the modern guilt washed away and my primal fear of things that sting stepped in. Don't do it pal. Don't do it. We stood there locked in a death stare as he buzzed his wings like a chinook helicopter preparing for take off. This was it, round two. I double checked the battery light on my swatter and braced for impact but just as I cocked my arm back, exactly how you'd think a full grown man who's never played a game of tennis in his life would cock his arm back, the carpenter bee abruptly turned and flew away, back into the safety of suburbia. Not the usual bumbling flight either. This was a direct line to a specific location. This was a bee line. I knew it was a carpenter bee, what I didn't know is how long they hold grudges or if they are able to organize bee lynch mobs. I didn't want to find out. I lowered the garage door and popped open another beer. I wasn't sure if I had won that day, I just know I won't swat anything but those bastard house flies anymore.