There was a lull for a few days, not much to target into except for the occasional wasp. Mom was afraid of missing a wasp but I wasn't. Kill baby Kill, the Palin's motto, I can see now the allure of guns. And for less than five dollars a gun, this takes killing to a new level and with retrievable bullets. I told Mom that shooting wasps has a special thrill, but it's a must to find the body of the stinging beast, lest you step on it later.
Mom stuck to the flies. And happily we chatted, killed and ate. Typical afternoon activity in the patio waiting out the heat. The flies seemed to have dropped off. We thought we might have gone too far. We possibly have wiped out the fly population for a radius of a hundred yards. With the fly trap next to the chicken coop, it takes in thousands of the varmints, and us, the 'Queers for Guns' club, we have, so I thought, decimated the fly population.
They are clever beasts, the flies. But we have guns.
The wasp population began to falter and I choose moths, but they only fly at night and usually land on light bulbs, a difficult but do-able target. Then the flies returned. They came right and left. Reload after reload was shot at the fly squadron. They fell from patio chairs and glass tables. They littered the floor with dead, flightless bodies. We shot at them in mid-air, difficult but the Queers for Guns have tasted what the Gun lobby has told all of us. Killing is fun. Kill baby kill. We see something in common with the Pailins outside of the hot body on Levi Johnston. The Palins have his balls hanging in the trophy room.
We, the Queer for Guns, have put fear into the hearts of flies.
Dude, you just get wilderer and wilderer. And I bet the heat is deadly out in the valley of the jolly...ho, ho, ho...fly killer.
ReplyDeleteI'm thinking of sneaking them in Thursday to the Hollywood Bowl worn as decorative art, pendant or necklace. While they search our baskets of food and wine, never noticing the lethal weapons strung around our necks, in true Jihad fashion, we will sneak our weapons past and into the picnic area.
ReplyDeleteThen, at the our table, when the cold fried chicken, the potato salad and chilled asparagus, dipped in a tarragon and lemon bath is brought out, we show our true selves. Queers for Guns will have their revenge. Those flies that laughed at our futile swats in the past will now taste a bullet of lethal plastic, shot from the fly gun.
Who's laughing now? I think not Musca domestica.