If there was a god, why would (s)he create flies? These disease-ridden pests have arrived to signify the onset of spring but, as for me, I prefer dandelions and western tanagers. Here in Utah, where the Mormons procreate at a speed faster than jack rabbits, flies appear to have even them beat. They do it often, and in the open to boot, as if they weren’t already disgusting enough.


On both my front and back porches, I have hung fly-sticky-things and after just a week or so they are turning black with stuck flies, much to my sadistic delight. It’s a downright shame that the only natural predator around to get these little buggers is my chemically-enhanced fly catcher. I imagine that it is a slow death, a demise that they richly deserve being the filthy annoyances that they are. I’m considering piping Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” onto the porches, since it has always reminded me of death (cf. soundtrack of the film “Platoon”). But that would give their fatality more class than they deserve.

Whenever I sit out on one of the porches to read, I have to take a fly swatter with me (or, as my wife calls them, a fly flap). I’m not a very good shot with a pistol but with a fly swatter I’m deadly. WHACK.
WHACK.
WHACK!!