There Are No Bugs In Hell...They Are All In Hell Here.
Little known is the fact
that if sin is our choice, when we die we come back
as a bug with no voice, daily slapped at and hated
by the humans who find us, endless reincarnations
when the fly swatters grind us, as mosquito's and gnats
in huge webs we are caught, till the spider descends,
suckling us till we're naught, decorations for windshields,
stomped on by toddlers feet, we become most despised,
phobias bring defeat, in a world without love
we become what's most cursed, Flys who love eat to eat feces,
nothing else could be worse.
Author's
Footnotes:
The motto of the common housefly must surely be "Eat sh*t and die!"
They start out
as maggots eating garbage
and road kill then they
develop wings but instead
of soaring over the beauty
of this world they choose to
flock to piles
of dog doo doo and then quite boldly they go on to pester the very creatures that can swat the sh*t out of them.
They have very
short life spans as it is and most of them spend a lot of it
mired in feces... what a sad little
species they are imagine the residue
they must leave on the edge of a glass or the top of a
hamburger bun.
I can remember
once working as a short-order cook
as a teen and french flying
potato's in a tiny
hot kitchen with an open
door for air that swarmed
with flies, who every so
often took a kamikaze dive
bomb into the fry vat, zap-sizzle
and stick as tiny parts
of them were adhered to the
next order sterile but certainly
unappetizing.
Others meet a
common fate
at the hands of angry souls
who hunt them down at 3:00 a.m.
in the wee hours when the infernal buzzing keeps them
awake and vengeful.
Imagine the
horror of multi-faceted eyes watching
the rectangle net whiz down to
suck them under and make mince of them.
I saw one in
my window today lying on its back stuck between the window and the insulating plastic he must have spent hours buzzing around that space with no way out because his pinhead brain could not find where he came in and the irony of it all was that this window was next to a commode where he had to watch so many delicious tidbits get flushed while he starved but he has the dis-stink-tion of being one of the few flys who failed to live
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