The fly story I love so much

Originally posted on my MySpace blog on August 8, 2007. The following, sadly, is a true story. Reader discretion advised.

I went into the kitchen about 9 p.m. for some weird reason, probably just to walk around when I found my grandma frantically searching for a fly that seemed to be getting the best of her.

"Don't worry," I told her. "I'll get 'em"

She handed me the flyswatter and I grasped the swatter in all of its glory. It's a green hand-shaped swatter perfect for killing those "sumumabitches" as my grandma calls them - and basically everything else that pisses her off.

Limping out of the kitchen, I could tell the flies thought she was easy prey - an old woman who could barely walk let alone chase them around the kitchen. Clad in my sandals I began wandering around the kitchen...

WHAM! BAM! Thank you ma'am!

Three flies down...

"This is easier than I thought," I thought to myself. I had only anticipated about one more fly buzzing around, then I saw it go behind the blinds above the kitchen sink. I began stabbing the matamoscas (such a cool word for flyswatter) through the blinds trying to see if I could inadvertently kill one.

To my surprise I didn't kill one. Instead about five more flew out from the blinds.

"Ahhhhh!" I yelled flailing my arms. "They're after me!"

My attempts to accidentally kill another fly were in vain and I just stood there looking like a complete idiot as a couple of beads of sweat began formulating at the top of my head.

I turned the stick on the blinds to open them up and let all the flies out, but only saw one huge bastard egging me on.

"Take this! And that! And this! And that!" I screamed as I again tried jabbing the swatter into the window.

"Are you still trying to kill the flies?" my grandma asked from the living room. Problem is, she asked me as if I was still five years old as she always does.

"Nana, you wouldn't believe how many there are," I gasped.

WHACK! SMACK! SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!

Five more down. Eight total.

More flies emerged from the window and I started swinging again but they all dispersed. So I tried going for the flies still behind the blinds when the other flies came back, sensing their comrades were in danger, and started buzzing around my face.
I ran and started killing more somumabitches, one here and one there until there were about fifteen dead flies scattered about the kitchen.

At one point a fly on the trash can caught my eye and I started moving in for the kill when I saw another one hovering near it. WHAM! Killed two with one swing.

By this time I was struggling to get the flies because there just weren't that many left.

"There's some over here flying by me!" my grandpa yelled from his recliner. I ran to the living room and tried the blinds there and WHOOSH! more flies.

I killed a couple near my grandpa's cigarettes and one on the blinds. I started walking away when I saw another one on the blinds. I whirled around and sprang into action, but apparently in the five and a half minutes I spent in the air in slo-motion, the fly flew away.

My grandma looked away from the Astros-Cubs game and stared at me with a puzzled look on her face. "Are you doing ballet or what?" She started chuckling to herself.

"I'll have you know Nana, there's about twenty dead flies in the kitchen!" I said in defense. "Come look! I didn't clean them up yet, they're all in their original positions!"

"I don't like that nasty shit," she told me with a disgusted look on her face. This coming from the woman who does the same thing when she's in the kitchen.

I bolted back into the kitchen and quickly counted up my death toll. 20. I went back to the living room and proudly proclaimed I was kicking ass with 20 dead. My grandparents didn't give me a second glance.

So I decided to go "ah natural" and kicked off my sandals and started in on the warm kitchen tile. I was on a battlefield, sword in hand waiting to make my next kill. I crouched awaiting a fly by. Here came the big somumabitch from earlier!

I swung wildly as the fly seemed to fly right around me as if asking to die. Finally, I smacked him mid-air into the laundry room door where he was promptly split in half. "Take that big boss!" I took to calling him big boss because it seemed as though the flies were trying to keep me away from him.

I was right.

The flies had absolutely no battle plan as they flew about wildly without their general. I gingerly tip-toed around the bodies littering the battlefield and found another one on the trash can. WHACK!

I was keeping track so this one was 22. Unknowingly, I excitedly screamed, "22!" then gave a little wave. A scene from A League of Their Own for those who aren't familiar with great movies. It's the part where the two dorks are shouting at Rosie O'Donnell "22!" as they clutch bouquets of roses.

Anyway, I started muttering another saying from a movie as I crouched through the kitchen. "Wake up number 23. Wake up." (From the Mothman Prophecies, even though it was actually 37).

SLAM! 23.

Another fly buzzed by my ear but this fucker was fast. I chased him for about five minutes before going to my grandpa's magnifying glass that's attached to the table. I turned the light around the magnifier on and started doing sweeps for the fly like I was some kind of cop looking for the burglar.

There it went! Disappeared again.

There it went! Disappeared again.

Finally after another couple of minutes of doing that I decided to wait the sucker out near the sink. I stood there as he playfully buzzed by my face many times but I didn't flinch. It was either me or this bastard and I was determined it would be me.

Suddenly the insect landed on the microwave door and with one fell swoop, number 24 was on the ground dead. I looked around to make sure it was the last one. It was. I jumped in the air, whirled around and landed with a thundering "make sure your dead" swat. Blood spattered from the body. I grinned my maniacal smile.

I picked up all of the bodies on the battlefield and instead of returning them to their fly families I threw them in the trash. Although I was tempted to burn them. I walked back to the living room and put on my sandals.

"I can kill no more," I said and threw the matamoscas on the floor.

"There must have been a fly convention," my grandma said. I agreed.

"Well now I know I won't have to buy any of that fly spray - I have you," she retorted.

"Yes you do. Because I KICKED THEIR ASS!" I yelled before striding back to my room.