Yesterday I went to take the trash out. The door was open for a few seconds both out and back in. Before I knew it there was a massive swarm of flies in my apartment. Sure, I was nice and gave the few smart ones a chance to exit, and they did. Then it was smack down time for the rest of them. I mean it was WAR!
I folded up a magazine and started swatting the shit out these fuckers. They were in my blinds - bad move, kids. You trapped yourselves. Swat, swat. Their blood was on my hands now and I was hungry for more. Swat, swat. They were in my curtains - my curtains are white. I'm not about to stain them with fucking fly guts. I swatted for what seemed like eternity and counted only about 10 dead on the battlefield, also known as my living room. Much to my surprise, it seems they multiplied during the battle. What the...? I could feel the anger boiling and my cheeks flush from the heat. World War III was about to break out in my apartment!!
I left and went to the store for
In the midst of the battle, Meow Mix decided to walk over and sit right in a place I had just sprayed several fly fuckers to death. Great! My determination diverted for a moment, I picked kitty up and washed her paws. That shit's killing those fuckers for a reason. Don't need Meow Mix to meet that same fate. I'd be heartbroken. With that said, she's usually a very good fly huntress. In fact, I think she rather enjoyed their invasion. As she laid on the couch, every now and again her paw would slip out and bat at a fly or three. Clearly, Meow Mix has proven that she isn't willing to work for her kibble anymore, but rather prefers to be waited on hand and paw my yours truly. (She's so cute though, you'd do it too!)
When I finished with kitty I looked at the battlefield and started sweeping up the remains. I counted 30. Yes, I said THIRTY flies tried to invade the peaceful land of Epiphany. Gross! That deserved a LARGE glass of wine.
Four survived the attack. Two decided to escape this morning as soon as I opened the door. Can't blame them. I wouldn't want to stay in my place either with the scent of death, aka Raid "now with a fresh scent" lingering in the air. The remaining two I've given immunity.....for now. We'll see how long they last, buzzing around and pissing me off.
I've washed every sprayed surface and, now, burning incense to remove the stink of death that is on my hands and continues to linger in my cute apartment. Just hoping God, the universe and/or karma don't punish me for the death and destruction I've imparted. I have fears of "Tales from the Crypt", especially the guy who was so obsessed with being clean and then was attacked and eaten by roaches. Sssshhhivveerrssss.
I've also learned that this spray, while specifically branded for flying bugs, also works on the big nasty ass spiders on my back deck. I hate spiders. I mean I really, really hate those ugly, creepy, nasty looking fuckers. DIE!
The sign on my door now reads: Bugs beware. Enter at your own peril. This is not a safe haven but death row.