The following was inspired by a huge fly that got into Katie’s apartment last night and pissed me off with its flyness and flyosity.
Once upon a time, there was a fly. He was not a sly fly, nor a cry fly. He was not my fly or your fly or anybody’s fly. He was Guy the Fly, just a simple fly in an unsimple world, a world where he could find no picnics to sample and faced all sorts of predators that wanted to predatize him with their predatory ways.
One day Guy was fleeing…no…flying…away from one of these predators when he saw with his hundred eyes a rectangular-shaped cave. It was cool in the cave, and Guy could see with his hundred eyes that there was raw chicken breast on a baking sheet in the kitchen. “What luck!” He buzzed. “I can eat a tiny bit of that chicken and there is nothing that will attack me. This is paradise!”
The cave closed shortly after Guy the Fly flew into it, but Guy was not perturbed. He had flown a long way before he saw the cave, and was not afraid of such odd occurrences. But when a giant, fleshy hand swatted at him, Guy went from unperturbed to very, very perturbed.
“Ahhh!” Buzzed Guy, and he dashed past the chicken, past a brown hill of a soft fabric called a couch, and behind a weird, dead tree that looked vaguely like the picnic tables from the outside.
A voice bellowed, “Damn, that’s a bigass fly.” The voice came from a large man in a T shirt and cargo shorts. His hair was mulletty in the back, poofy on top and receeding in the front, what one might call a “Skullet.”
“Yeah,” came another voice. “This voice belonged to a woman wearing pajamas. The pajama top said “Espresso Yourself” and was covered in coffee cups. She swatted at Guy the Fly with one hand as she sprinkled breadcrumbs on the chicken. “He’s going after the chicken.”
“What!?” Shouted Skullet Man “I’ll kill the bastard! Come here you damn fly! Hold still so I can kill you.” Skullet Man raged at the thought of Guy the Fly eating his precious chicken. He went under the table and chased Guy from there, banging his head only once. He chased Guy around the kitchen, flailing his arms, trying to smash poor Guy against any hard surface. His eyes were wide and gaze nuclear hot, his hands twin paddles of vengeance.
Poor Guy didn’t know what to do. He only wanted to escape being predatorized and maybe eat a little chicken, or even the breadcrumbs that landed on the floor. “Why do these big people want to kill me? I didn’t do anything to them? Maybe if I talk to them I can explain my situation and they would have sympathy for me. After all, I have a degree in Communications from St. Feces University (Go Fightin’ Aphids!). Surely they will respect a rational discussion.”
Guy the Fly landed on the table and cleared his throat. “Excuse me kind sir and madam. Please do not kill me. I am but a humble fly, searching for a–” Guy didn’t get to finish, because a rolled up magazine came down and almost squished him. He flew in loop the loops and zigzags, avoiding each frenzied attack by Skullet Man. Even Skullet Man’s screams and curses seemed to be an attack, a sonic bellow that churned Guy’s insides.
And on it went for half an hour, Skullet Man raging and swinging, Espresso Woman laughing at Skullet Man and mocking him, and Guy flying for his life. Twice he struck Guy, but Guy would not be so easily smushed. He flew straight at Skullet Man, who roared and flailed at Guy like a toddler.
“What the hell was that?” Said Espresso Women as she laughed. “You looked like an idiot.”
“That’s my patented Bug Fu fly-swatting technique. 60% of the time, it works every time.” He swung at Guy again. “I hate you, Fly! I hate your buzzing Fly language! I hate your multiple legs! I hate what you did to Jeff Goldblum in that movie! I want you dead! I want your family dead! I want your pets dead!”
“Do flies have pets?” Asked Espresso Woman, but Skullet Man had no answer. He was enraged beyond coherent thought, his tongue hanging out and slobber flying left and right like a sprinkler system. He knew only violence, for violence is the voice of those that fear the loss of their chicken.
The raw chicken went into the oven and came out a delicious crispy brown, but Guy did not get to sample any, for Skullet Man drove him to the far corners of the cave, behind the stove.
Guy the Fly started to cry as he watched the two abominably mean and moderately ridiculous humans eat their chicken. Guy found some crumbs behind the stove and decided that despite the two awful humans, this was still a better life than being outside. It was supposed to be 100 degrees that weekend, and Guy didn’t like the heat. Eventually, Guy drifted off to Fly Sleep, which is like human sleep but for flies.
The next day, Guy woke up. Skullet Man and Espresso Woman were getting ready to leave for work. Espresso Woman said “you know, that fly’s still here somewhere.”
“I know,” said Skullet Man.
“He beat you yesterday.”
Espresso Woman laughed. “You lost to an insect.”
“That insect had superpowers. He was more than a common fly.”
“He was Superfly?”
“Yes!” Shouted Skullet Man. “He was Superfly.”
“So you’re not going to run around like an idiot and try to kill him?”
“Oh, I am…But you know, if he was able to evade my furious Bug-Fu onslaught, he must be pretty badass. That’s the kind of fly I can respect.”
“You respect the fly?”
“I respect the fly. He can stay here…As long as I don’t see him. Then all bets are off.”
Espresso Woman agreed. “And at least he’s not a damn spider.”
And Guy the Fly rejoiced, for he persevered. He endured, and he had found a home. But he also knew to stay out of the two big humans’ way. Because they were crazy as hell.
The End (or is it?)