Killin' like a Ruff Ryder

Ever since summer started Claire and I have been noticing fruit flies of various sizes roaming around the apartment.

Most of the time we are able to kill a few here and there, keeping their numbers at bay.  I even leveled up to master fruit fly destroyer when I killed two with one slap.

Anyway, one week the fruit fly numbers started increasing at an overwhelming rate.  We checked all around the apartment, in the garbage, in the sink, everywhere, but couldn't find the source.

One morning, after Claire had gone to school early, I awoke to a dizzying cloud of fruit flies dancing around one another in the kitchen.  I thought, quite eloquently, "No fucking way."

I sauntered into the kitchen, swatted the pests out of my eyes and away from my nostrils, and opened the cabinet under the sink.  

My eyes widened to a disgusting scene of 100's of fruit flies in a swirling black cloud having an orgy and dropping larvae to the bottom of the cabinet.  There were just as many larvae as there were flyers.  The eggs lined the cabinet.  They were sticking to the walls, to the pipe of the sink, to the garbage.  They were crammed into unreachable crevices behind the sink, and under the stove, Piled into corners like disheveled firewood.  

They had created the foundation for a thriving colony overnight.  I thought, quite eloquently, "Fuck that."

I retreated a few steps, tempted by the thought of cowering and hiding in the bathroom in an impenetrable stream of hot water.  I let out a few pathetic whimpers, and finally found a centered, murderous zen.

I knew that I would have to bring the artillery for this battle.

I walked over to my laptop. I did what any sane, white, suburban kid would do in this type of situation requiring pain and barbaric, wing crunching blood lust.

I turned on some DMX.

I turned this song on repeat,threw on some plastic gloves, and began piling up minuscule bodies like an insect Auschwitz.

I thought these lyrics were most fitting for the situation:


"Knock knock, open up the door,

it's real 

Wit the non-stop, pop pop 

and stainless steel
Go hard gettin busy wit it"

The 'door' being the cabinet door, and the 'non-stop pop pop' being my hands endlessly  ending tiny lives with a steel-like slap.