Hey fly, it's funny that you were able to fly into my apartment about two seconds after I opened the window, suggesting that when you want to, you can aim perfectly well at the thing you want to get through and bullseye right through it. So why is it, now that you've discovered there's nothing worth eating or stealing in here, you're doing hysterical laps back and forth across my apartment, gathering a full head of steam, and crashing, over and over, into the closed part of the same open window you flew in through? Can't you see I'm trying to read a magazine on the couch in the afternoon like a normal, red-blooded American unemployed gentleman? Christ, look at me now, I'm up, opening every window in the house, I'm trying to swat you out of one of them with a magazine, which seems to be making you even noisier and more agitated than before. Don't make me take off my bathrobe, shit-for-brains, or you'll really have something to buzz about: namely, a gruesome demise. FIND THE WINDOW.
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1 comment:
Haha. Don't make me take off my bathrobe.
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