A little ditty about the life of a Texas fly.
I'm fast, SUPER FAST!
I was as healthy as a fly ever was.
I lived in a Texas pan handle restaurant known as "The Cracked Egg."
Before that, I lived in a cow pasture nearby, but I never could get used to the taste of cow manure for some strange reason?
Then, I think it was on a Sunday, I was able to leisurely fly in as a man pushed his wife's wheelchair through the door.
It just proves how wonderful the plight of a broken leg can be. (God works in mysterious ways).
At first, I was snubbed by all of the other flies, but when they saw how fast I was, I quickly gained their respect.
It was so much fun landing on the edges of the customer's coffee cups and, like many flies ... I loved breakfast all day!
GRAVY, oh how I loved the sausage gravy,
but a fly has to be a little careful not to land right into the middle of it, or risk drowning.
My buddy Guss landed that way and got smushed by a fork ... poor dumb idiot.
I wasn't afraid of the customers so much ... whacking and smacking at me,
like I said, "I was fast!"
However, each day around 6 AM, when the place opened,
there was this waitress named Betsy who tried to hunt us down with this nasty yellow fly swatter that looked like a hand.
Betsy, AKA "The Smasher", killed her share of our senior citizens ...
you know, the ones who mostly just walk along the window sills with faded beetle sheen.
After she was done, she would hang the swatter back up, giving the survivors a chance to try and identify the deceased,
which wasn't so easy. Not like the top of the range hood, which was only cleaned twice a year before the inspector came.
And then there were the fly strips, one near the back kitchen entry and another behind the ready counter.
Lots of my friends lost their lives on those sticky things including my younger brother Claude.
Every one of us were all so lucky to live in that place despite the dangers.
We were often ogled by the flies outside through the windows, who we considered to be "the lower class."
So you're probably wondering how I died, I'll bet?
No, I didn't get swatted or squashed by a fork, or caught in a fly trap, or stuck on a strip, or even die of heat exhaustion.
Remember all those flies that looked intact but were lying on their backs on the window sills? Nope, not me.
It was around 1 PM on a Friday. I was enjoying this foreign exchange student's coconut cream pie when suddenly,
I looked up to see my best friend trying to sneak his sister through the front door.
Well, she made it, but Harry got pinched a bit as the door closed and fell to the ground.
Harry was wiggling frantically, so I flew down to help him. I was giving him mouth to mouth,
when all of the sudden, a huge boot came down on me, reducing me to a statistic.
Don't be sad my friends ... I went to fly heaven ... the "Little Debby" snack cake commercial bakery and warehouse,
where I'm now reunited with Guss, Claude, Harry and all of my deceased loved one's, except for Ray, "the black sheep."
We now spend all of our days eating food and cleaning our legs. Our artist types make gorgeous paintings out of spittle
and our beetle sheen has colors never before seen on Earth.
Ah the life ... I mean death, or whatever this is.