The Yellow Flies of Walton County

     My wife and I have just returned from the beach in Walton County, Florida, where we re-made our acquaintance with the yellow flies who prey on the tourists there. They are ferocious little thugs, hanging out with their homies under corner street lamps or lurking in the woods or behind trees in wait for innocent pedestrians such as ourselves. Val was out with the family dogs when she was viciously attacked by a gang of them who blithely ignored the snarls and bared fangs of the dogs. One of the little muggers had blood on his mind and the effrontery to chase Val right into the house before she could lock the door. I found the fellow boldly sitting on the edge of the chair, smirking and daring me to take him on. On the legal premise that one has the right to effect the demise of any intruder once he crosses the threshold, I, undaunted by his menacing look, grabbed the nearest weapon—a used copy of USA Today—and sought to dispatch him. Due to his being less fleet of wing than many of his more law-abiding and socially conscious cousins (isn’t that always the way of it: the meaner the thug, the less he bothers to stay in shape?), I swung and sent the little bastard to his final reward. I say bastard, but acknowledge the possibility that his parents did experience all the necessary connubial solemnities, since I made no trip to the courthouse to ascertain the pertinent facts. Indeed, I did not even know his name, but do know that with my assistance he has transmigrated to the next world. It would be presumptuous of me to conclude which world that would be, but I sure would like to have a say in the matter.


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