Pence and The Fly Who Fed Off Him

Imagine you’re a fly. [Not a cockroach. That’s another story for another time.]

Imagine you’re a fly.

Then imagine you see a puff of yellow-white cotton candy sitting atop a rosy pink face.

Imagine you smell the sticky substance emanating from the froppy cotton candy do. [Called ‘extra strong hold hair spray’ usually used for women’s big elaborate up-dos].

Imagine you have the right because of a wrong done to flies long ago, to imbed yourself in that sticky cotton candy, rub your hairy legs in it, and with your big bulgy eyes, bend your head to nibble down into that sticky surface, feasting on it, [and er, pooping in it] at your leisure.

And… because the pink-faced creature was hosed down with hair spray til he became what used to in the ‘disco ball time,’ be called ‘a helmet head’– Pink Face doesn’t even register that a fly is eating its head.

Here is an old story about
HOW THE FLIES GAINED PERMISSION TO FEAST ON HUMANS —
The flies were given permission from one of the Queens of the world –to land on and feast on human beings when the human were either overly-perfumed up, or carried that other odor: dead flesh rotting.

In fact, that was one of the proofs that a human was dead: the flies congregated on the human to feast and lay eggs.

There once was a compassionate Queen who being very hospitable, held feasts for all the animals

At one feast containing two long banquet tables, the Queen gave a certain human being, who looked rather cow-like with long pale eye-lashes, light blonde hide and pink broad-based nose, the honor of presiding at the head of the second table.

His job was to pass out the sumptuous food. As each new groaning tray of delicious food was delivered to the table, the man with the peculiar pink skin dished the food out to all the royals, but when the fly asked for his share, the man told him to wait.

He said he had forgotten the fly because the fly was so tiny. “But, next time,” the cow-like man promised the fly, “I will give you nourishment.”

The loaded trays with meats and fruits and beautiful golden corn and beautiful browned potatoes came and went and still the cow-like man did not give any food to the fly.

The fly pulled himself up to his tallest, took a deep breath and dared to ask the man, to please give the fly his share. But man having become so very self-important, said: “I told you I would give you nourishment, but you must be patient.”

When the next tray and the next and the next arrived, the fly again begged for nourishment, but the man said, “Dont worry, you’ll get your nourishment in a little bit.”

At last all the table scraps had been devoured by the royals, and the fly, starving, laid down to sleep, so hungry.

The next day the fly told the queen what had happened. She deigned that the man who was so cow-like had betrayed his command, which was to give to all…

and therefore, for the rest of time, the fly would get his food from landing on humans’ heads and faces and in their eyes and ears, and feast. And that the more unfeeling the creature, the longer the fly could feast.

And even today, wherever there are certain humans who smell a certain acrid or overly-flowerly way– or who are dead– the flies can be seen feeding off the humans, in accordance with the queen’s decree.

And so it goes.
Then, and still, it all goes on.

It may be too late to pray that this now natural course of nature be amended, that is, flies having permission to note what is sickeningly saccharine, corrupt, deadened or dead in more ways than one.

Or perhaps the best hope of prayer is somewhat like the old Scots-Irish-Welch prayer I cherish, from having heard it on a hot summer day [with flies flying reconnaissance around the meat grill] — My friend Shan’s grandfather, who had had ‘a bit over ice’ before praying a ‘Prayer for Peace’:

‘Lord, please keep theses bad men away from our village. Please keep them going and going on the road away from us, for all of Time. And if you cannot do those things, than at least lame them in one of their toes, sos they can be identified from afar when we see them coming toward us a-limping.’