As I sit here typing, I find myself repeatedly yelling like a full-blown psychopath at the flies that keep landing on my legs.
Fuck off already!!
What’s the deal? If a giant animal swatted at me even once with wild aggression, I’d get the fuck out of the situation as quickly as possible. But no, not these fuckers. It’s like some sick twisted game of petty torment. I can practically hear them saying, “Haha, can’t catch me, motherfucker!”
Flies tend to land on shit a lot, which doesn’t do much to bolster my self-esteem. But they also have a predilection for the sweet things in life. At this point, I could be either one. Or maybe I’m the new version of sweet and sour sauce — except I’m sweet and shitty. The perfect dip for MSG-laden chicken chunks, deep-fried by Mr. Pong down the road.