Fly jihad!!

Inches away from my right eye, there's a fly. It struggles for life. It will die.

After our trip to New York, we came home to find flies in the house. They were not merely a few flies but many flies. Whence came the flies, we did not know, but we suspect the guys we got to walk our dogs may have left the door standing open.

We squirted them with Windex, and we herded them out of open windows when a large congregation was already trying to get through the windows, and we killed a few with our bare hands.

(When a fly takes flight, it jumps straight up and a little backward. Put your hands on either side of the fly and a little behind. Clap. The doomed bugger jumps right to its smeary death.)

The fly problem worsened. I'd see a dozen of them buzzing around each other in an area the size of a beach ball. Hate them, I did.

Today, I went to the same hardware store I'd gotten mouse traps before, and I purchased a whole mess of sticky strip fly catchers, and I've hung six of them. Right now, one hangs beside my head. On it, a fly is still fighting its fate. It's gotten its legs out of the goo, but now it has both wings stuck. It will die.