My mother hated them like nobody’s business. If she saw one in the house, all activity immediately ceased until the intruder was vanquished.
Snakes, no problem.
Her hatred of the little buggers prompted her to promise me a bounty on the head of each of the little pests if I showed her the evidence. When you are five, 10 cents-a-fly represented a fortune.
So, what do you think I did?
I parked my butt outside of a garbage dumpster which was sitting full outside in the hot Japanese sun.
With a flyswatter and a brown paper bag.
I spent the entire day killing flies and filling up my bag.
I stopped counting when my net worth grew past five dollars.
I honestly thought I would be paid for my efforts, and as I approached my Mom with a half-full sack of dead flies.
She took one look inside, instructed me to “get that bag out of this house,” and to this day, I still have this item listed as a delinquent account receivable.
But what are you gonna do?
My two English Cocker Spaniels are excellent fly-catchers.
On the rare occasion a fly enters Brusier and Murphy’s Castle of Doom, it is a short-lived foray indeed.
I am OK with flies until they land on me.
Then it’s on.
Since I am on record as taking absolutely no shit whatsoever from inanimate objects, you know a tiny little pest like a fly will incur my 100% ungodly wrath from Hell.
My commitment/insanity runs so deep that I might possibly be the first person who validated the phrase “I will get that fly or die trying.”
Now that would be lame.
There was a great movie with Jeff Goldblum (what great movie doesn’t have Jeff Goldblum in it?) called The Fly.
Now a fly the size of Brad Bellflower is a scary thought.
Grenades, flame-throwers, and bombs all come to mind.
But flyswatters are like mouse traps. It is hard to build a better one.
In Japan, the flies there were so big that you could hear them buzzing as they flew past your head. It was almost as easy to snatch one out of thin air as it was to swat them.
The mosquitoes were also huge, but that is a blog for another day.
But remember where flies really like to sit.
On a big pile of shit.
I couldn’t bear the thought of a fly with shit on his feet crawling around on my skin.
Here’s a lovely thought: a fly sits on the sticky intestines of a dead cow, then flies off and lands on a big pile of bear shit. Now, the fly makes its way through a couple medical waste bins and finally, just as you are walking outside, you start singing a song. Just as you are mouthing the “O” of Oh what a beautiful morning, the fly enters your mouth!
My wife thinks I need treatment of some kind.
Here is another wake and bake session: