Life Lessons Learned From Winged Assholes

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.

I have a tendency to overthink pretty much every bit of information my feeble brain tries to process, and the lives of flies are no different when it comes to my obsessive-compulsive analysis. I’ve definitely noticed patterns while observing my irritating boat buddies, but there’s one major question that continues to resurface in my noodle every time these cocksuckers try fornicating on my feet…

If you’ve been gifted with the ability to fly anywhere in the world, on any given whim, why the fuck would you spend your life in the equivalent of a small cave?

It makes me sad — mostly because I’ve come to the realization that the flies around me aren’t much different from humans when it comes to basic behaviour…

They tend to rest when it gets dark. They wake up and start buzzing when daylight breaks. They have times of constant activity, and times where they land on their asses and do nothing. They like to fuck a lot. And despite having a giant open door always available to them to explore new possibilities, they choose to stick close to home. In fact, the giant portal to freedom — that is never more than a 5-second flight away — seems to be shunned, as if fear of the unknown were the driving force to live and die in a solitary location.

I can’t say for certain why an animal does what it does, but the basics seem to be fairly consistent across the board. The formulala rolls something like this:

Find a comfy spot where you can wile your life away eating, sleeping, and fucking. Raise some little ones, and teach them what you know. Step and repeat.

Perhaps my underlying unhappiness with society comes down to an inability to conform to the traditional paradigm…

A steady job doesn’t fill me with security, it makes me feel imprisoned.

Routine doesn’t comfort me, it fills my heart with longing for something new.

Beliefs don’t soothe me, because I know they’ll always fall by the wayside whenever new information is gleaned.

Meh. I didn’t intend to do any whining here, but the deed is done.

My fly buddies may have glorious wings attached to their bodies, but I’ll always be the one with bigger balls. Maybe they came into my life to remind me how much I love stepping through those unknown portals. Opportunity is always there, for each and every one of us. We just need to ditch our programmed mentalities of sheeping in the pasture, and go explore without the worry of consent from some asshole holding a staff.

Thanks for the insight flies, now please, buzz the fuck off.