One of us has got to go. It’s him or me time. He’s been skating in my margarine, drinking my coffee, buzzing in my ear, and being a general nuisance. I’ve already tried all the laissez faire methods of fly abatement. He knows enough to avoid the fly strip, the spider web, the gecko’s, and he won’t just leave when I open the door for him. I’ve spent the last week stalking him with my trusty fly whacker hoping to catch him napping. No dice.
So today, I’m taking my spaghettios out of the microwave, and he flew right in the micro wave. I shut the door behind him.
Now I know what some of you are thinking right now. I’m about to be the Dr. Mengele of the 21st century. This is uncharted territory for me. How long do you cook a fly? Will it be like popping corn?
Screw it. A minute on high should to do.
The micro beeps and I throw the door open expecting to find dried fried fly gizzards on the turntable. Out he flies, and Bob’s your Uncle. Now he’s showing off. Barrel rolls, loop the loop, flying backwards.
Are any of you guys available to help me move?
You got a truck?