Tucker didn’t believe in aliens from outer space. He had more immediate and pressing concerns; like how to get rid of all the flies that invaded his house over summer. Each autumn would be spent with a squirt bottle of window cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other, clearing walls, windows, and cupboards of little black specks.
He didn’t like using chemical fly spray much. To be honest, he wasn’t a Greenie; he didn’t avoid fly spray because of environmental concerns. He avoided fly spray because he had a fish tank and life in an aquarium doesn’t appreciate lethal chemical weapons. The fish were safe.
But enough is enough! The day was hot and sticky. Tucker was cooking some corned beef to have cold with a salad in the sultry evening. Flies came from far and wide. Tucker grabbed an old can of fly spray and let the flies have it.
“That’ll teach you… you… you…” said Tucker.
The fish in the aquarium died. Its last words were, “I had told my boss back on the home planet that I didn’t want to be a fish.”
(If you’ve never had a flea then hopefully you will forgive the intensity of this story…)
Ace had a long drive ahead of him. He left early in the morning. It was a twelve hour drive to Cincinnati.
He’d been driving for about three quarters of an hour since leaving home, and…
… was that a flea? Moving in his groin? He scratched.
Yeah. It was a flea. He kept on driving. He scratched again. The flea moved lower, sort of underneath his testicles. Where did he pick up a flea? he wondered.
Shit. It was driving him nuts. Come the next town he’d stop at a store. Fly spray was the answer. He’d simply squirt the thing to death. It moved to his dick. Wow! How the hell can you drive with crossed knees?
There’s a general store now! Ace parked on the side of the street. He bought a can of fly spray and returned to the car. The fucking flea was in his crack. It was having a field day. It was happy as Larry. It was glad as two pigs in shit. It was romping in clover. It was pleased as a dog with two dicks. It was balls in butter. It was biting his fucking arsehole.
Ace pull down his trousers and boxers and sprayed. He sprayed his backside. He sprayed his front side. Between his torso and thighs was a mound of white fly spray foam. He held his dick up by the tip and sprayed all sides. He stretched open his crack with one hand and sprayed like there was no tomorrow.
The group of youths on the street side of the car clapped. They thought it was great.
Ace gave them the finger and drove on. He scratched all the way to Cincinnati.