I just killed a fly. In mid-air. By scaring it to death. Literally. I lunged forward and made some sort of animalistic noise that can only be described as guttural, and it fell out of the air onto my bedroom carpet.
After I picked up the fly and threw it out my window, I mean mugged that fly like I was Clint Fucking Eastwood and whispered at it “tell all your friends, so they know what future awaits them.” And then I threw the fly out the fucking window and onto the ground below. Because the flies need to know who’s motherfucking boss, you know? If we let them fly around, next they’ll be taking our jobs and getting gay married and you know we can’t have all that. Think about the dinosaurs!
Two things: Hopefully this means that flies will cease to fuck with my shit and stop landing on my hair (he landed on my head maybe 20 minutes prior to his death and I proceeded to freak the fuck out as only a girl distressed by a tiny bug can. Hence the vendetta). Two? Maybe I need to go work in a coffee shop or something. People, other people.