All I want to do is sit at my desk, in the dark, listen to music, scratch my leg with my foot, and write a blog post. Apparently that is too much to ask. I am under attack, again.
Two nights ago, I wrote a bone-chilling post about a fly that was trying to attack me in the dark. You can read about that traumatic experience HERE.
Tonight, I was about to write a blog post. That has been put off until tomorrow, at least. I leaned in to start typing at 2:36 a.m. and what appeared right in front of my face?
No, not a leprechaun in a cheap cowboy hat. Who shouted that out?
It was that darn fly!
There is a 95% chance it was the same fly. A 4% chance it was a hired hitman. And a 1% chance that I imagined the whole thing. I don’t think I imagined it. It was too real.
It was right there in front of my face. The gall! It was probably mocking me. I didn’t think of smacking it between my hands, though I should have.
I could’ve smeared it’s blood on my face and looked like a war hero, or an idiot.
Another option would’ve been to smack it against my face. I didn’t want to do that because what if I missed it and knocked myself out, instead? The fly would whip out a permanent marker and draw all over me. It would then take a selfie next to me with it’s iFly and post it on Flybook.
That picture would’ve gone viral.
When I saw the fly in front of me, I flinched. I’ll admit, that was a sign of weakness on my part. It was also a bad idea because I think I have whiplash.
The fly flew over my head
like half of my jokes do over yours and out of sight. I quickly turned on my desk lamp to try and locate it, but it was gone. What a coward.
I have had enough. It takes a lot to get me angry. I am fuming. Picture a 5-year-old kid who just had his sand castle ruined. That is how mad I am right now. No tears. Just a whole lot of stomping around going on. You probably think I’m kidding. I’m not.
If there are two things I can’t stand, it’s people that ruin sand castles, and flies that perform sneak attacks on me in a dark room. They probably hang out together at abandoned gas stations and share stories.
I’m living in fear. I can’t even yawn without thinking the fly will go in my mouth and attack me from the inside. Of course, I could just swallow it and then eat a lot of pizza to bury it in my stomach. But this fly seems like a fighter. It would definitely do something, before it got flattened by pizza.
I think it’s time to call in reinforcements. The big guns, if you will.
This is what I will have with me tomorrow night, while I sit in the dark at my desk:
1. A propellor hat – If it goes near my head, it will be sliced in half.
2. Two lids from the biggest pots in the kitchen – They will be used for crushing the fly, as well as making enough noise until the fly is deaf
and the whole house is woken up so he won’t hear me sneak up on him.
3. A fire hose – When in doubt, drown it out. My bedroom is going to look like Niagara Falls – the Canadian side. Not the American side.
Those last two sentences went over so many people’s heads. Hello, India!
4. A plate of cheese underneath a box, propped up by a stick – Classic trap. Works in cartoons every time. Why wouldn’t it work here?
5. Four frogs – There will be one in each corner. If they detect movement, they’ll move in on the target and eat it. Hopefully they don’t think I’m the target.
6. Lose Yourself by Eminem – This will be playing on the stereo to intimidate the fly.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, there’s vomit on his sweater already, Mom’s spaghetti (how disrespectful), he’s nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs.
There are a few other tricks I have up my short sleeves. Maybe I’ll dig a trench, who knows. I don’t want to divulge too much information. For all I know, the fly reads my blog.
If you are reading this right now, Mr. Fly, I have two questions for you:
Do you ever go to the washroom? Or are you in a constant state of constipation?
The fight of the century goes down tomorrow night.
Pizza Paul vs. Constipated Fly
Place your bets.