Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Frag of the Flies
You know when you hear about the plagues of Egypt, and you got your blood, and boils, and death, and then you hear "flies" and you're all like "Flies? Seriously? Way to phone it in, God. Flies." And then one day you wake up and your house is actually full of them? Like a giant floating seething buzzing CLICKING for God's sake bunch of flies? And then you begin to appreciate just a little more how much of a punishment flies really are?
Well, it happened to me. I've had my problems with vermin before, admittedly, but my house has been almost sanitary these past few months so it really seemed unfair when I walked into the boy's room and it looked like a scene from CSI where they find the body of a dead guy three weeks after he died. Did you know that flies are LOUD? I can hear them through the walls. They have no fear of me, I can hear them giggling as they avoid my sweeping shoe attacks. Normally I can keep them out of the house by putting a stick of incense by the open door, but they've become bolder; organized...EVIL.
So I went out and armed myself with the weapons of the ancient hippies; patchouli, a stick of sage, and matches. I went from room to room, 'smudging', as the instructions call it. You light the stick of sage until it smolders, then in each corner of the room you blow on it until it belches out a thick cloud of pot-scented smoke.
You should have seen the destruction. Most were struck down in a daze immediately, crawling feebly for whatever escape they could find. Those that retained the power of flight suddenly discovered that they COULD fly in a straight line, usually directly away from me, sometimes splatting themselves amusingly into the walls. A couple flew directly into the smoke, and were immediately received into fly heaven, which I imagine is somewhere in India.
There are only a few hardy souls left, buzzing forlornly around the house in search of their loved ones; families, friends, maggots, all struck down in a single evening of tragedy, their thriving poo-based civilization gone forever, sponged from the history books, never to be duplicated, the descent into obscurity illuminated only by the poisonous fumes of patchouli oil burning long into the night.
It's a sad day if you're an evil disgusting chitinous bastard.
Well, it happened to me. I've had my problems with vermin before, admittedly, but my house has been almost sanitary these past few months so it really seemed unfair when I walked into the boy's room and it looked like a scene from CSI where they find the body of a dead guy three weeks after he died. Did you know that flies are LOUD? I can hear them through the walls. They have no fear of me, I can hear them giggling as they avoid my sweeping shoe attacks. Normally I can keep them out of the house by putting a stick of incense by the open door, but they've become bolder; organized...EVIL.
So I went out and armed myself with the weapons of the ancient hippies; patchouli, a stick of sage, and matches. I went from room to room, 'smudging', as the instructions call it. You light the stick of sage until it smolders, then in each corner of the room you blow on it until it belches out a thick cloud of pot-scented smoke.
You should have seen the destruction. Most were struck down in a daze immediately, crawling feebly for whatever escape they could find. Those that retained the power of flight suddenly discovered that they COULD fly in a straight line, usually directly away from me, sometimes splatting themselves amusingly into the walls. A couple flew directly into the smoke, and were immediately received into fly heaven, which I imagine is somewhere in India.
There are only a few hardy souls left, buzzing forlornly around the house in search of their loved ones; families, friends, maggots, all struck down in a single evening of tragedy, their thriving poo-based civilization gone forever, sponged from the history books, never to be duplicated, the descent into obscurity illuminated only by the poisonous fumes of patchouli oil burning long into the night.
It's a sad day if you're an evil disgusting chitinous bastard.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)