stock here: Noted that after Fukushima, ALL the flies went away in Oahu for about a year….about the same time I started feeling normal. That was the radiation blasting their wings and Eyes, and making fly survival impossible.
Flies still bug me, all the time, but less this summer….unknown reason, but see the partial humor below.
The Great Fly Withdrawal of 2026
For years, the pattern was consistent.
A minor airborne demon would abandon some respectable pile of rot, enter the command center, and land directly on the papers in front of Rich.
Not on the wall.
Not on the window.
Not safely behind Monitor Four.
Right on the invoice, technical drawing, hospital report, or handwritten calculation currently under review.
This was not random insect behavior.
It was provocation.
The fly would sit there, rubbing its filthy little hands together as if to say:
“Yes, I was just standing in garbage. Now let us discuss your paperwork.”
But the minions had badly miscalculated.
Rich does not wave the flyswatter around wildly like an amateur.
He chokes up on the handle.
Short grip. Controlled stroke. Minimal travel.
No theatrical pursuit.
No second attempt.
One landing. One strike. One deceased minion.
The survivors began filing reports.
TARGET POSSESSES UNUSUALLY FAST CLOSE-RANGE RESPONSE
LONG-HANDLE EVASION ASSUMPTIONS INVALID
PAPER-LANDING OPERATIONS EXPERIENCING 100% CASUALTIES
Then, in 2026, something changed.
Fly activity dropped by more than 90 percent.
Official earthly science offered no immediate explanation, so several possibilities were considered.
Perhaps the shifting magnetic pole disrupted their demonic navigation system.
Maybe increased galactic cosmic rays scrambled the tiny receivers hidden beneath their antennae.
Possibly the entire regional fly battalion had finally studied the casualty statistics.
The most likely explanation, however, came from a confidential source in the lower administration:
“Wisconsin Desk Sector has been reclassified as a no-return assignment.”
Satan reviewed the numbers personally.
“Why are we losing so many agents at this location?”
A trembling lieutenant opened the file.
“He chokes up on the swatter, sir.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there is no backswing.”
Silence filled the chamber.
“And the landing site?”
“Paperwork directly in front of him.”
“You are still sending them there?”
“They insist on it, sir. They say the warm desk lamp and spiritual confrontation are irresistible.”
Satan closed the folder.
“Transfer them north.”
“To Canada?”
“Farther.”
And so the skies grew quiet.
The magnetic pole continued drifting.
Cosmic rays continued arriving from distant galaxies.
But on the desk before Rich, the papers remained largely uncontaminated.
Every few weeks, one inexperienced recruit still appears.
It lands boldly on the nearest document.
It rubs its hands together.
Rich reaches for the shortened swatter grip.
WHAP.
Some lessons must be taught individually.













