Boom! Head shot!

You know what really grinds my gears? Flies.

Flies are useless. They're not like bees or butterflies who help contribute to the world around them by pollinating flowers or providing honey for humans to eat. Flies contribute nothing. They buzz around annoying the crap out of you and stick their disgusting mouth/tongue all over our yummy food. And they love poop. Wtf.

As you can see, my love for flies is apparent. It's so apparent that one unlucky fly tried to make friends with me this evening. Buzz buzz here, buzz buzz there, flying around like it owned my room. MY room. That was the last mistake it'd ever make. But this was no ordinary house fly. This was the daredevil of flies. It wasn't just cruising around in a holding pattern like some 747, no sir, we're talking full out balls-to-the-wall Top Gun 4G inverted dives. It was faster and more maneuverable than my fly swatter, I'll give it that. That's why when one tried to make me its bitch, I had to bust out the big guns.

I waited till it landed on my desk and then, like the sneaky bastard that I am, revealed my secret weapons. In one hand, my trusty Maglite flashlight. In the other, Ol Blue, my fly-killing swatter of death. All great generals will tell you that when you're facing an adversary, your greatest ally is the element of surprise. And with many years of Risk, Starcraft, and countless other strategy games providing me the tools and knowledge of a successful flanking maneuver, I began my double pronged Panzer strike.

I began repeatedly attacking the its senses with a disorienting strobe light action from the Maglite while encroaching from the rear with Ol Blue. Masterfully, like a maestro of death, I timed my flashing with the beats of Trevor Rabin's "Evacuation" from Armageddon until the culmination of pulsating light and technosynth reached its crescendo and death rained down in one fell swoop.

One down, Graham's number - 1 to go.