There was a noise at the kitchen window.
A sound like that could mean only one of two things: Either every woman in the neighborhood was standing outside holding turned-on vibrators against the glass, or an enormous insect was buzzing around the window.
A quick investigation revealed zero sex toys and one very large fly. It wasn’t scary-mutant big like I was having a bad Honey, I Shrunk the Kids acid trip. More like the difference between Robert Wadlow and a regular person.
Normal fly = regular person.
This fly = Robert Wadlow.
“Good God. Check out this fly. It’s the size of my head,” I said.
My friend, the homeowner, walked over to confirm I was exaggerating. Then he disappeared for a second and reappeared with a freaky-looking tennis racket which turned out to be a rad hand-held bug zapper designed to improve the fly-swatting process. It was my first time seeing one.
“Dude. That’s awesome,” I said.
He was about to show me how it worked. Unlike a fly swatter, the rate of impact isn’t a factor. When insects contact the inner coils, they are promptly met with 3,000 volts of I told you not to fly by the potato salad, sucka.
The giant fly hit the coils. SNAP! There was a loud pop like the sound of a Snap Dragon hitting the ground. And Mothra fell to the floor.
It laid still on its back, apparently dead.
The fly was still alive! Because the Lord of the Flies laughs at 3,000 volts.
My friend hit him again. Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!
The fly was obviously dead this time, but we were awestruck by its resilience.
It was really quiet otherwise I never would have heard what happened next.
“You can’t kill me, fuckers!!!” the fly said* before flying away again.**
The fly landed on my friend’s counter. He put the zapper racket on top of the fly. As soon as it tried to fly away… Bam. 3,000 volts.
Three times that tough sonofabitch flew into the death racket before finally succumbing to eternal(?) sleep.
“It’s gotta be dead now, right?” my friend said.
“No way. That’s the Jesus Fly and I think he’s got another run left in him,” I said.
My friend’s wife walked in the room and looked at us like we were holding turned-on vibrators against the kitchen window.
“What are you guys? 10?” she said.
Instead of accepting her fair question silently, I tried defending our behavior.
“Hold on. Check out this fly. It’s died, like, 14 times already and it keeps coming back to life. It’s immortal. The Jesus Fly. A miracle. You’re not impressed?”
My friend spoke up.
“If it comes back to life again, we have to let it go, right? Since it was such a worthy adversary?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “If he’s dead I think we should have a ceremonial burial for him in the back yard.”
“Yeah, I think he’s gone-zo this time,” he said.
“Impossible!” I joked. “That fly is totally immortal.”
He went to dispose of the fallen beast.
“Holy shit!!! He’s still alive!!!” we yelled. We were giddy because we’re children.
The giant fly rose like a phoenix. It had taken 3,000 volts on the chin a half-dozen times. The music from the spaceship liftoff at the end of E.T. started playing out of nowhere* as he rose majestically to the ceiling and flew out of reach.** Just before flying above the accent-lit kitchen cabinets, it turned around and flipped us off* but we weren’t even mad because it was the Jesus Fly.**
And it must still be alive somewhere because all evidence points to the irrefutable fact that this fly is unkillable and will never die.
He’s still alive, probably partying with some other cool, but inferior flies. Being the grand champion of every fly that has ever lived.
Never forgotten. Forever revered.
Keep on keepin’ on, Jesus Fly.
*- I made that up.
**- but not that.