Death of the flies

Don't get me wrong, I don't go around murdering bunnies and stealing cats to drown them.
But I do have this personal thing with flies. Maybe they just buzz in my ears way too much, or it could be that the flies in NJ are actually mutants that phase through solid walls and get into my house even when we've locked the doors, windows, and dryer vents, as well as putting duct tape over anything that looks remotely like a crack, even when it's in an inner wall.
Well, masking tape is more truthful, since it doesn't leave that crappy residue, but I'm sure that you get the idea.

So of course, they're out to get me too. Which is why I found myself, on a hot day, struggling to open one of those granola bars submerged in chocolate, only to see a large fly, sitting contentedly two feet in front of me, with two flyswatters behind me, sitting on their shelf, just waiting to spill the blood of small pests.

I couldn't wait. But, I also did not want to put down my delicious granola bar, since it would glue itself to the counter with chocolate and probably contract all manner of salmonella and viruses. (I don't trust our counters, even on the rare occasions that they actually look clean. Usually that just means that they've grown a layer of shiny oils. What from, I don't know or care to know either. )

So I compromised of course. With one hand on my mighty fly gutter, and the other hand on my slowly melting chocolate bar, I attempted to simultaneously chew and kill the fly.

Let me get the record straight- I can walk, talk, and chew gum. I can listen to music, write this blog post, and listen to my family scheming to sell old school books on ebay.

But for some reason, the mundane task of digestion coupled with the art of war was beyond my completely non-existent motor skills. For this reason, I found that though I got several smacks on him, he still fluttered weakly around, and my hand was soon submerged in chocolate. (My other hand.)

I eventually wrestled him to the ground, where he lay, still alive, and apparently in agonizing pain. This pulled at my heart strings, since even though I have nothing against a clean swipe, the fly who attempts to struggle along, despite missing several legs and an eye, is certainly a distressing sight.

Normally I would grab a tissue, wrap him up, and toss him into the garbage can, all of which would take no more hands then I had open at the moment, but for some reason, I attempted to scoop him up on the end of my flyswatter, in a valiant attempt to save the trees. (Because using one less Kleenax= saving a whole dang oak forest.)

Each time, he painfully spasmed, even as he fell from the swatter, back to the ground, buzzing in extreme pain.

I was starting to think I should just go get the tissue, when I finally got him to stay, and unceremoniously dumped him into the garbage can. I then realized that since I had neglected to fully finish him off, I would in all likelihood be sealing his fate as one of several more hours of extreme pain, surrounded by cast off banana peels and rotten garlic we had accidentally obtained from Lord-knows-where.

But the act was done, and I was, to an extent, victorious.


And my granola bar had deteriorated to a state of extreme in-edibility. You can decide for yourself whether or not I ate the rest.