Is that how you spell it? I always wondered if there was a little trammeled branch of the hive where a happily Darwinian selected bee converts pollen to beer. And if so, the queen must have spent most of her life pissed. Still with that much procreation going on, she was entitled to a few sharpeners before the next thousand eggs were due.
Or is it a cross between a Bee and a Moth? Hell of a mating ritual that must have been – “fuck off out of it, I’m shagging this light“. Ok, just to prove that occasionally I embark in a crusade of research trawling at least one venerable institute of known facts before giving up and typing it into Wiki, here’s the official version “the word is most likely a plural form of ×‘×”×ž×” (bÉ’hÄ“mÄh (“animal”)). It may be an example of pluralis excellentiae, a Hebrew method of expressing greatness by pluralising a noun; it thus indicates that Behemoth is the largest and most powerful animal.”
There will be a scorpion of behemoth proportion waiting to be dropped into the trousers of whoever decided plural was a verb. However, aside from this, it’s a pretty accurate description of the monster which held me hostage this evening.
That picture doesn’t even begin to do it justice. If I’d be brave enough to place a compact family car next to the angrily buzzing killer, it would barely have cast it into shadow. Trapped in the barn, it flipped the internal psycho lever and proceeded to headbutt every flat service including frightened bits of me. At one terrifying juncture, it had me trapped in a corner so I cravenly called for Carol to come and deal with it. Using extreme violence if necessary.
Her attempts to pacify the winged phantom of death were based on a no nonsense approach of prodding it from the safety of a long brush. Strangely enough, this had the opposite effect, and soon the crazed beast crossed the boundary from “bloody angry” to suicidally insane” – a change identified by an increase in buzzing volume accompanied by a lowering of the frequency. Essentially, at this point it had turned into the animal equivalent of a Stuka dive bomber.
After failing to actually mortally wound anyone, it retired to a light fitting to regain its’ strength. I wasn’t sure if it was dead or merely having a breather while calling in the artillery. I desperately attempted to out stare it until it became apparent that Genetically Modified Bees don’t blink- it wastes good killing time.
Eventually through an act of selfless bravery that I am far too modest to recount, the flying reaper was dispatched from whence it came. Which I assume is one of Dante’s nine levels of hell. Probably near the bottom.
Anyway I’m fine thanks for asking. A little preoccupied though as eBay isn’t offering up any previously enjoyed motion sensitive machine guns last seen being looted off the Berlin Wall. Next time, I’ll be ready.