Tag Archive | humor

The Fly and I

Its full on summer in Kansas. That apparently means an invasion of flies. Now, I don’t know if most people are like me – probably not –but there isn’t a measurable scale to indicate my annoyance with these furry, winged beasts. Ugh! Even the faint buzz of one’s approach is enough to put my irritation level into overdrive. They are icky and gross and have earned the nickname PESTS! One daybreak, upon my ritual awakening in the wee hours of the morning to start my day, I headed out to the garage with a cup of coffee for a smoke. Much to my dismay, the garage had become a fly haven. Curiously, I wondered where all those scary Kansas spiders had gone to. I was only onto my second sip of coffee so I groggily sat down to light up a cig. As the caffeine began to pump its way into my brain, I noticed that there had to be about 20 flies just hanging out with me during my coffee time. About halfway into my cup of morning manna, they seemed to have realized my presence. Slowly but surely I found myself swatting away the buzzing aeropests. When they started landing on me and I had to put down my cup to whirl-n-swirl my arms like a madman, I decided it was time for them to begone!

I traipsed into the computer room and went straight to Google. I was convinced that somewhere out there in the world wide interwebz SOMEONE had to have the cure for the common housefly. I read through I don’t know how many guaranteed remedies until I decided on one that sounded plausible. Pine Sol. I had plenty of that. So off to the kitchen I went. I poured a small amount into a plastic bowl and opened the door to the fly museum garage.

Cool beans! They all just lowered themselves to the floor. That was a neat trick. Now I opened the electric door to let them flee from the offensive yet fresh clean scent of Pine Sol. They didn’t move. Ok, I’ll just leave the door open while I go in to refresh my cup of go juice and start my morning over again in buzz and swat free peace.

I opened the door and in flew what had to be about a dozen buzzy beasts. Eeewwww. In my kitchen! Oh, I do not THINK so! It was ON! Super fueled by a stiff cup of coffee, my brain snapped. My home was being invaded by something annoying and not scary such as spiders, so I declared WAR! I stomped into the computer room once again and quickly downloaded The Ride of The Valkyries to my MP3 player. Oh yeh, I was THAT serious!

Not having a flyswatter, I chose my Grandmother’s weapon of choice. The dish towel. I’ve seen my Grandma wield a mean-ass dish towel. Hell, I still to this day have a small scar on my butt cheek where she swapped me for pilfering some Thanksgiving pumpkin pie. I knew well the damage this weapon could bestow. Feeling confident with the symphonic sounds of an assured victory blaring in my ears, I put a bowl of Pine Sol down on the kitchen floor and watched with bloodthirsty anticipation as the army of tiny enemies reacted by scurrying around on the tile floor. With the screech of an ancient Celtic warrior – or a  bored housewife gone off her rocker – I rolled the dish towel and wielding it over my head. SPLAT! SMASH! PAP! SWOP! Over and over again I dwindled their numbers one by one. Swap! Pap! Left and right they fell to their hereafter. I was jumping and swishing and swapping with a graceful fury; skillfully knocking them right out of the air. I even reenacted some well known Bruce Lee type sounds and postures. Although I probably looked more like a crazed drunken epileptic than an accomplished and legendary martial arts warrior, nevertheless I was a Master Ninja Fly Assassin!!! As I crouching tiger-ed on the very last foe left abuzz in the kitchen, I yelled as I kapowed his lil guts out, “She who wields the dishtowel wins the war!”

I stood there, not immediately sweeping up the lifeless carcasses of my enemies, but gazing down on them in exuberant victory and breathlessly thinking to myself, “Hey, that was some good cardio!” Then I turned a determined squint to the door that led to my enemy’s basecamp.

Armed with my trusty dish towel I took my ninja-like assault plan to the garage. I closed the door behind me and hit the switch to the electronic door; sealing off any escape. I perused the battle ground and turned up my MP3 player. Then, with Bruce Lee flare, I began my assault. Swapping and papping and swirling and twirling. I was mad with squishy fly gut lust. They were no match for a Ninja with a dish towel.

As their numbers decreased, I noticed one particularly nasty enemy. His aeronautics were fast and furious. He evaded my every swish and SWAP. At one point, he even landed on my disheveled hair just to mock me. He was a crafty foe. I lost sight of him on several occasions as he took advantage of all the dark items in the garage as his camouflage. I was losing it. My frustration was encumbering my Ninja skills.

I retreated into the house to recalculate my assault tactics. When I opened the kitchen door, the brazen bastard followed me inside. Ah HA! Home turf advantage! Everything in my kitchen is WHITE: From the tile flooring and walls, to the appliances. He has kamikazed into his DOOM! I remustered my previous battle lust and began to swop like crazy. He still continued to out maneuver my every swish and swap! That BASTARD. That teeny tiny bastard! I will PREVAIL! I WILL have my VICTORY!

As I stood there scanning the white kitchen for my nemesis’ dark silhouette, tense and PAP-poised, I heard the engine of my enemy coming in for an attack. I whirled around with a half gymnastic jumpy thing move and snapping my dish towel knocked the “Black Baron” right out of the air. I listened intently. What was that sound? The buzzless silence of victory filled the air. I looked down and saw my nemesis upturned on the floor in front of me. I had won! I had won this battle of wills with the ninja wielding skills of my trusty dish towel. I stood over my fallen foe and inwardly gloated as he twitched sporadically; the annoying will draining from his soon-to-be lifeless carcass.

Suddenly, as if from a bad B horror movie, he attempted to roll over onto his side readying for another round of attack. I cocked my head to the side and, with a look of intense determination, whispered raspily, “Oh no you DI’INT!” Then I stomped him into smithereens. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my cats peeking up from the back of a table; their eyes wide and dilated with horrified curiosity. When I turned my head towards them they made a mad dash in different directions. All I heard were the sound of their claws and all I saw was a blur of fur. Maybe I can make this work in my favor the next time the try to knock over things on the shelves or wake me up at midnight because their food bowl is empty. I should sleep with a dish towel! The End.



Something I didn’t expect when moving to Kansas is “Spider Season”. This part of Kansas has way too many spiders for my liking. In Texas, I got used to the occasional tarantula and scorpion, but they were few and far between. In Kansas, however, I believe I have discovered the birthplace of ALL spiders.

Everyday I wake up and find some new kind of spider skittering across the wall, floor, bathtub, car, etc. One morning I went out to the garage and found a smallish spider taking up residence on our shelf. OK, I’ll steer clear and it will be fine. Next morning I go out to the garage and find that a BIGGER spider had EATEN the smallish one and taken over habitation. EWWWWW! Cannibal spiders! If a spider doesn’t have a chance against a spider, what chance does my sleeping pinky toe have? For someone not fond of spiders in the least, such as myself, living with spiders proves to be challenging. You know that “icky creepy crawly” feeling you get when you spot a spider? Multiply that feeling by 10 times a day – at least – and there you have my Kansas experience. YIK!

Let me give you a quick visual example:

THIS is what most people see………………………….

THIS is what I see!!!!!

Oh, let’s just go outside…squealing in fear and disgust as we flee through the front door!

Oh HELL NO! Run back inside, flinging open the screen door with the force of a panicked She-Hulk.

(Unfortunately, the cat was attached and not amused at the cartoon-like smash and slam ride on the screen door or being left behind for spider bait. Sorry flat kitty, you’re on your own.)





Rethinking Reincarnation

I was watching a show on the Science channel about the search for our soul. I won’t go into the particulars, but it was quite thought provoking. Once provoked, my mind tends to go off on a tangent and then split into ten different directions. As I’ve always stated, if I wasn’t so lazy I  would swear I have ADD.  Anyway, part of the show delved into reincarnation. This is something I used to believe in when I was younger. But since I couldn’t find any concrete answers, I gave up wasting precious time while I’m alive trying to figure out what happens after I’m dead. But this show provoked my mind to fire off those old synapses again.

I, for one, am hoping that reincarnation in its popularly understood form does not exist. Seriously I do. I think it’s a pretty unfair deal. I don’t think I would enjoy coming back as a “lower” life form. I used to muse about what it would be like to come back as a cat. Following the realism of that train of thought, I’m going to have to go with “no”. A house cat seems get bored quite alot. I think that’s why they sleep so much. I know it’s why I sleep so much. Plus they are constantly staring out of a window to a world they can not participate in at all. So a house cat just has a really nice cushy cage (your house). And Lord forbid being an outdoor cat! For survival and safety’s sake I would have to join some sort of kitty gang and I’m just not that much of a “joiner”.

There’s the possibility of coming back as a bear. You may be thinking, “hell YEH, a bear!” Strong and armed with long sharp claws and teeth but I say, “NOPE”.  They shit in the woods. I don’t shit in the outdoors. Even when I’m camping, I hold it till I can find a nice gas station with a lockable door. I need peace and security to do the doo. I tried to poop in a porta-potty located in our tent once. It was a “no go”. Let’s just say that gopher wasn’t coming outta her hole for all the granola and nuts in the world! Also, a bear’s territory is about 8 to 15 square miles. That’s A LOT of walking. That’s just too damned much exercise. Especially carrying all that poundage a bear has. Although, on the plus side, bears hibernate and I LOVE naps!

You may be thinking that coming back as a bird would be majestic and the ultimate in freedom. To that I say, “Hell NO!” Birds sleep in trees. That’s way too damned much like camping. I’m assuming that from the preceding bear idea, you can get that I hate camping. Plus, a bird’s diet is just icky. Things like snakes and worms just don’t seem like something I’d want to come back to life to feast on. Oh, and the whole egg laying thing. Hell no, uh uh, no way! Do you know that eggs come out of the same hole as the poop? Anal. Really? I’m not coming back to roll out a bunch of polished boulder butt babies!

Then there’s the bug. WTF? A bug??? What kind of reincarnation justice is THAT? I seriously think bugs hit the windshield on purpose. I know I would! I mean, they are probably thinking, “WTF? I’m a fucking bug! Screw it, I’ll take my chances in the next life.” Then SPLAT! The roulette wheel of reincarnation spins again as you watch the guts smear with each wiper swipe.

If reincarnation actually exists, I’m not a fan. I like the “one shot” deal. It gives me no excuse for being lazy and waiting till the next go ’round to participate in life’s adventures. Plus reincarnation goes against everything I believe in. I don’t believe in joining gangs, pooping in the woods, backdoor birth or committing suicide. Next time I think I’ll just change the channel or just take a nap.