With pointed fangs, I sit in wait, With piercing force, I dole out fate, Over bloodless victims proclaiming its might, Eternally joining in a single bite. What am I?

Often I’m debated, determined a fallacy or legacy. Some find me essential. Some find me obtuse and ridiculous at times. Everyone fawns over me for my beauty for I am made by the hand.

I have movies named for me, but that's just for fun. I move about your face-in this context, I'm the noun. I zig and zag, with a buzz in tow; though I lack a stinger, so sit and relax. I eat food too, though yours as it rots, along with remains, and feces for fun.

Literally noncorporeal, this may haunt you. Some do not believe this exists in one sense, but in another meaning of the word, everyone may have one.

Green and sticky, some of my names have icky. OG is very common, as many of my originals are toast. I’ve been around forever, a natural resource, but I’m illegal for greed, for those we depose.