Since I’m not particularly talented in the field fly-murdering, I instead put all of my energy into defending my space from being infiltrated by those sh*t-eaters. And when I say “all my energy,” I mean I’m obsessed with keeping flies away. I have three cats, people! You know how much sh*t three cats can produce? Enough for me to say, “My place is full of sh*t!” So a fly that can make it past my barrier (which is really just me flailing my arms around all mightily as I’m walking in or out of the house) is pretty much set for life.

While I’m generally a lot more successful at keeping flies out than I am at killing them, I did go through a rough patch where six or seven flies managed to make it in. Not all at once though, that’d be gross. I’ve actually never had more than one fly in here at a time because I always go into lockdown mode the second one enters the no-f*cking-fly zone–i.e., doors and windows are boarded up, and no one is allowed to enter or exit the house until the fly is dead. Overkill, you say? I guess you’ve never seen what a fly larva looks like. Go look it up and see if you feel the same way afterwards. I doubt you will.

Considering how anal I am about keeping flies away, you may be wondering how the f*ck six or seven of them ended up in my house. That’s because my cats love going outside and sitting in the sun. They also like taking short walks, which would be fine if they were just strolling around in the yard. Turnip and Pepper, however, usually pull this sh*t because they prefer a walking path that goes in and out of the house:

Yes, that’s literally how every fly has gotten in…and then we’re all stuck in lockdown until it dies–usually of natural causes because, like I said, I really suck at killing flies.

…At least I used to. Never thought I’d get say that, did you? Me neither, which is why I’m going to say it again: I used to suck at killing flies! Used to! UUUUUUUUUSED TOOOOOOOOOO! *tumbleweed*

That’s right, I’ve gone from being an inept fly-murderer to an adept assassin of flying sh*t-eaters! Mwahahaha! The record now stands at Me: 6 or 7, Flies: DEAD.

Right now you’re probably all, “OMG! How can I become as kick-ass at fly killing as Sylvia? She’s so awesome!” Fear not, my young pad thai, for I am going to train you in the, uh, Art Arts so that you, too, may become as awesome as I am. The road to mastery may be treacherous and difficult, but I have faith that you will succeed where others have failed because they are better at using flyswatters and don’t need to rely on Art Arts.

Anyway! There at 10 Steps in Sylvia’s Art Art of Fly Killing:

Step 1: When it’s nighttime, turn off all your lights except for one that you don’t mind getting wet.

Step 2: Wait for the fly to land on the lampshade or somewhere near it. And it will, trust me. You won’t even have to cover you lamp in poo or anything because the light is enticing enough.

Step 3: Once the fly lands and starts thinking it has the best life ever, grab a bottle of cleaning spray (I use Lysol’s “Neutra Air Fabric Mist”) and aerosol the living sh*t out of it!

Moonlit Lavender…A.K.A. the sweet smell of bad-assery.

Step 4: Maybe it’s because its wings are soaked with chemicals, or perhaps it’s disoriented after getting the living sh*t sprayed out of it, but either way, the fly is going to fall to the ground…

Step 5: Take this chance by the nuts and crush the fly under a pile of books!

Step 6: Stomp on the pile a few times to make sure the fly is thoroughly squashed.

Step 7: If in doubt, throw a lit match onto the books-and-dead-fly-paste pile.

Step 8: Cackle evilly even though you’ve just started a fire in your house…because who sets a fire in their home when it doesn’t even have a fireplace? A dumb bad ass!

Step 9: Realize you’re retarded…

 

 

Step 10: Have an epic meltdown.

 

O-on second thought, ignore Steps 7-10. Steps 1-6, however, are still golden.