May 19th 2021
Today the flappy little cunts are back again.
If you’re a long-time reader of this blog you’ll remember my hatred of flies and thus coinage of the term from such classics as “the flappy little cunts are back” and “my Dad has asked me to stop calling flies flappy little cunts”.
Well, Dad, they’re back, and I keep swallowing the bastards.
When I’m out on a run I always seem to run directly through a cloud of the flappy little cunts and end up ingesting a mouthful of them. Either that, or they end up in my eyes or embedded into my clothes.
It’s the small ones that are the worst. The midges. The ones which are too dumb to flinch when you try to slap one of the cunts out of the air so they just take a palm to the forehead and fall to their death. Do flies have foreheads? Probably. They have eyes. Loads of them actually.
Then common house flies — the bigger fuckers — they’re not so bad. They might buzz about a bit and make a noise, but they’re usually alone, just looking for their next meal or someone to sit on for a bit of warmth. And, like, same pal.
It’s the ones that swarm in packs that are the biggest pest. Because you can avoid a lonely one, but you can’t avoid a fucking flock of them. Or a murder of them. Or an unkindness of them. Or whatever the collective noun for a group of flappy little cunts is.
Until tomorrow, save a life, slap a fly.