Things were...very...very...good.
Except for the aggravation of these dang flies...
You kill one...and three come to the funeral. I give up after obliterating fifty of these pesky little bastards...I'm out numbered and out gunned.
I have worn out a fly swatter just tyring to keep them out of the garage and away from my beer...
As soon as they smell smoke..." Yo...Boys...Big Daddy's cooking...bring the in-laws..."
Next time, I'll buy a thousand bug bombs and line the driveway...with this line of defense...the little bastards don't stand a chance...
Might take out a few neighbors too...but at least I won't have to worry about some unwanted pest trying to raid my garage for free beer...
B.D.
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