Our household has been experiencing a fly invasion in the last week or so. And it’s not just a few flies here and there. I’m talking like Amityville Horror style infestation. We can’t figure out where they’re coming from and every time we kill 1 or 4, another 4,000 appear. There are so many that I’ve had to keep the flyswatter on the floor next to me. Ew! Who wants to do that?! I tweeted about this plague and the next day my sister said they had the same problem at their house. Weird, right?

Anyway, these devils are big and noisy and as the night goes on, they become very slow. It makes them easy to kill, but it’s creepy as hell. Imagine if you will, you’re seated in your living room, just relaxing, maybe playing some Skyrim, when you hear it. The buzzing. It gets closer and closer, but you can’t tell where it’s coming from. Then suddenly you’re dive-bombed by 4 or 5 or 20 fearless, kamikaze flies. You flail your arms about to defend yourself as the person on the other side of the room questions your sanity. It’s quite possibly the most irritating thing ever.

The interwebs told me they may be cluster flies. This type of fly hatches underground, burrows into worms, and feeds off of them as it develops.

Yeah. Gross. In the spring and over the summer months, they emerge from the ground as adults. They get super active on warmer days and crawl out of attics and exhaust fans and into your house, stupidly thinking they’re going outside. Morons. But this helps explain the invading hoard.

So as I was sitting at the dining room table the other night doing some computing, I noticed one of these things slowly crawling across the table. I had nothing within reach to squash it because I left the flyswatter in the other room. Plus I wasn’t too keen on smashing it on the table anyway. Because gross. Instead, I carefully picked up my 7-11 Thor Slurpee cup (yes, I’m still using a plastic Slurpee cup from 5 years ago, don’t judge me) and I placed it over top of the fly. Now, here’s the thing about this cup. It doesn’t have a flat bottom. It’s got some space underneath it. Not a lot, but some. So the fly wasn’t crushed to death. At the time, I didn’t care. I thought, “Ha, mutha fucka! I got your ass now!” When I heard it buzzing, I didn’t think much of it. I literally said “bye, Felicia” and went up to bed.

The following morning, I lifted the cup and, of course, the fly was dead. But something weird happened as I sat there staring at its lifeless corpse. This odd sensation welled up inside me. Uh, what was going on? Was that…emotion? Was I really feeling emotion for this dead fly? This foul, poop eating, vomiting everywhere it lands, fly!? No, no, I’m fine, this is totally fine, really.

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY! THE GUILT! THE SHAME! OH, THE HUMANITY! WHAT HAVE I DONE?

“I’ll tell you what you’ve done,” my brain said. “You tortured that poor fly. You caused its last moments on earth to be filled with claustrophobic terror. You entombed him!”

What kind of person am I? What if he was crawling across the table to say hi? What if he just wanted to make a new friend? To break down the barrier between insect and human?! And what did I do in response? No friendly outreach. No welcome mat. No “hey little guy, how are you tonight?” No! I buried him alive that’s what I did! I downright Cask of Amontillado’d that poor fly!

My mind flooded with images of the poor thing trapped and desperate. His tiny vomit covered front legs clawing at the underside of the cup. Buzzing for help that would never come. Oh the buzzing. It haunted me now like a tell-tale heart. I apologized to him as his soulless frame lay before me. I apologized to his family. To his friends. I felt horrible. I carefully picked up his body with a tissue and laid it gently in the trash. I apologized again. It was the least I could do. Sigh.

So I guess the moral of this story, if there is one, is to kill the flies quickly. No more trapping them. Just smack the life out of them with the flyswatter. One solid whack should do it. They’ll never even know it’s coming. Yep, that’s the solution.

Come on, did you really think I was going to become the patron saint of flies or something?

Not a chance. They’re still disgusting creatures, after all. I’ll just be more like Michonne in my killing sprees.

Yeah, definitely Michonne. I’ll be channeling her over the next few days. It’s supposed to be hotter than the sun itself, so you know damn well those little bastards are going to creep their way inside. But not to worry, I’ll make their deaths quick and painless. My torturing days are done.

And on that note, peace, love, and all that good stuff! (except to the flies in my house)