Hurting a Fly

There’s not enough satisfaction in killing a fly.

Usually when I encounter a fly…

Musca_domestica_PortraitOh, by the way, by “fly” I mean the good ol’ fashion housefly or the godawful horse fly, not those big mosquito-looking things that spend their entire lives bumping into walls and ceilings in some bizarre show of their misunderstanding of the physical properties of drywall and paint.  Those guys leave everyone alone until they eventually make their way into a ceiling lamp.

Anyway, whenever I encounter a fly, the little bastard is usually screwing with me the whole time.  Either it’s landing and taking off right on my arm, or maybe my food, or it’s flying in a square pattern right in front of my face, it’s intermittently landing on the TV screen, or it’s buzzing my ear repeatedly…

BZZZzzz…  BZZZzzzzzz… The ear buzzing one is the worst.

It seems like the little bastards were put on this planet to be a nuisance.  In fact, I wonder if maybe being a fly could be a reward for having led a good life previously.  When you die, you get to come back as a fly and harass the people who pissed you off when you were alive before.  But then how would you account for the flies that bother farm animals?  Maybe horses are bastards.  Anyway, it can’t be that great a reward, because after all you also have to eat poop.

When you finally get that pesky fly, it’s usually with a flyswatter or more often an improvised flyswatter like a magazine or a shoe.  “Whap!” One swat and it’s all gone… Well, not counting the four or five swats where you missed entirely, and not accounting for the gooey mess on your wall.  In fact, the failed attempts to kill the fly and the mess of guts it leaves behind can fuel one’s irritation at the tiny beast even more.Messy digression aside, it’s “Whap!” and the fly is gone.  He didn’t see it coming, obviously, or he’d have flown away.

My point is that it happened too fast for him to suffer.  One second the fly making that irritating buzz in your ear or landing in your Caesar salad, the next he’s dead.  It doesn’t seem fair.  After all, if the little motherfu jerk has been inconveniencing me for the past forty five minutes, buzzing my ear, contaminating my lunch, dancing across Alison Brie my television… if he’s been doing that, I want him to know it’s me who got him.

I want that fly suffering.

My wife thinks this notion is nuts.  She seemed to worry a bit when I explained this notion, apparently sensing a dark side she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.  How could I lust for suffering out of any being, even if it’s a nasty, disease carrying, shit eating, annoying, hideous creature like a fly.  After all, it’s not the creature, it’s the desire to hurt something that seems off.  I just assured her I wouldn’t hurt a fly.  After all, how’s she to know better?  The little bastards are too fast.
By the way, the awesome fly picture is Creative Commons and credited HERE:


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