"I think you've had enough, sir," the bartender replied jovially. "You're small and your tolerance is low."

"I'LL KILL YOU!" the bee exclaimed, shattering his glass upon the floor and lunging for the bartender's exposed neck.

The bartender tore off his shirt, allowing his puny muscles to glisten under the dim bar lights, and came out from behind the counter, to the eager cheers of his associates. This was the most excitement they'd had in weeks - they were pretty pathetic.

"C'mon, bee. I'll teach you some manners," the bartender growled as he raised his fists threateningly.

"Who do you think you are, Miss Manners or something?" the bee replied. "I'll have you know I happen to have a certificate from one of the finest finishing schools in Ireland."

"Which one?" asked one of the bartender's colleagues.

"Hey! I'm trying to have a fight here, you imbeciles," protested the bartender, getting very tired from holding up his dukes. He decided to compromise and hold them at half mast, while resting up against a bar stool.

"You givin' up already, ya wuss?" the bee hollered, as he flew defiantly in front of the bartender, dodging blow after pointless blow.

"Jus' restin'," the bartender panted breathlessly as he flailed his arms about desperately.

"Beaten by a bee," the bee said smugly.

The bartender tried to stammer out a reply, but found he had no air left in his lungs. He slumped over and wheezed, and then fell to the floor, stone cold dead. The bartender's colleagues put their arms around the bee's shoulders, cheering. They then propped the triumphant bee atop their shoulders and burst into a rousing chorus of "Hail, Hail the Victory Bee":

Hail, hail the victory bee!
Bee, as mentioned, you are victorious!
Oh, triumphant yellow and black striped honey-making hive-dwelling insect,
we are glad to have made your acquaintance and you can have any stuff of ours you want.
bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee
bee bee bee bee bee bee bee bee--

The singing broke off suddenly and the bee noticed the other bar patrons whispering to one another and pointing suspicious fingers in his direction.

After a few minutes, one of the patrons slapped his hands to his cheeks and exclaimed in terror, "He's a bee!"

"Let's get him!" yelled another. The men grabbed their torches and chased the bee from the bar, yelling curses and insults after him. The bee flew for his life, driven onward by the feeling of heat on his wings. The riotous mob chased him for mile after mile, over land and over sea. The chase wore on for weeks, then months, then years. The men grew old and died, but their children continued the desperate, hate-driven pursuit of the bee.

Eventually, however, the bee fell off a cliff.