Gut Rumbles
 

July 28, 2010

Flies

Originally published October 6, 2002

I live out in the country in Effingham County, Georgia. I am surrounded by crop land, cow pastures, dumpster-farms, roadkill and dogshit. It is a veritable housefly heaven. But if I leave my front foor open for five seconds, every housefly in the state abandons the outdoor paradise to invade MY ABODE! Then, the silly bastards knock their brains out by banging against the windows in a futile attempt to get BACK OUTSIDE! Fucking idiots.

I have a Martha Stewart flyswatter. It is green, and it matches my curtains and the lampshades in the living room. It is a very efficient smasher of flies, and I killed eight today, after Quinton and young Jack left the front door open when they ran outside. I kid you not: the door was open for no longer than FIVE SECONDS. A squadron of flies entered before I could close the door. I killed eight of them, so far. I have at least two more fat, bloated, disease-carrying, multiple-eyed, shit-dippers still buzzing around the house.

I am on the hunt. I got the dumb ones first. I have only the smartest flies remaining. But if they were REALLY smart, they never would have flown into my home in the first place. Dumbasses.

They will die.

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