(’Fly on Lysergic’ by LewSethics)

Bug and Chemical Stank Free Living

The rain forest that was once my back yard until the swelteringly humid summer temperatures reached numbers usually associated with a large hadron collider has developed into a Darwinian microcosm of genetic opportunity for any and all chitinous crawlers, flyers and borers and hoppers.

I think bugs are cool looking although I don’t particularly like them on me, so I let them do their thing back there, and besides my rare fractal wanderings with my underpowered electric ‘lawn mower’ in which I essentially just insult the crabgrass, we leave each other alone.

(”LewSethics in the Yard with Imaginary Family”)

The trouble with flies though, is that they bring it to you.

So I’m inside the house minding my own business, with a fairly clean environment all around, but sometimes when I cruise through the kitchen I am assailed by the totally unacceptable sight of a fly presuming to make my home his (or hers, I can’t tell them apart, but don’t tell anyone, because that phrase just smacks of mammalian prejudice) own. 

Sometimes they are just waiting for you to make your move, confident in their total mastery of their eponymous skill, million eyebrows raised tauntingly.

You don’t have to be an over the hill bacilliphobe to realize that swatting flies in the kitchen is neither easy or desirable; a bad swing resulting in an idiotic danse macabre that is painful to behold, what with the germ infested fly swatter held aloft while the fly swatter holder projects all of his senses (except taste I think) through the space near him like Kwai Chang Cain’s mentor, the blind Master Po, in an effort to locate the fly, who is now munching on your toothbrush in the bathroom; a good hit resulting in a smear of flyish innards on the table that scream bubonic typhus chernobyl and the gust of death particles caused by the flat end of the swatting device swirling ever expandingly towards your face, and sweat radiating ‘me’ particles toward the cloud of multisyllabic microthreats.

Having trained myself to live without oxygen for extended periods of time for just such an occasion as this, I was able to expel the unbreathable air from the room in one smooth air-lock type of operation, simultaneously wiping the (ugh) tiny bug corpse (which was a smear of buggy entrails attached to one eye that somehow escaped damage and glared at me accusingly) up with a dozen disposable wipes which I then burned and scattered the ashes on some dog poop my dog Spot provided for the occasion.