Kanye West – The Housefly
Once upon a time there was a housefly named Kanye. Kanye believed he was a different kind of housefly, born with extra long wings that allowed him to fly higher than all the other flies. Like the other house flies on his block, Kanye flew with ease in his backyard, happily fed and shelter while, other flies struggled in outhouses and farmhouse for a meagre piece of dung, Kanye didn’t have to hunt for his dung he was happily fed everyday by a terrier name Charger. No other flies ate Charger’s dung, due largely to the pesticide dutifully sprayed by Charger’s owner which Kanye just happened to be immune to. So Kanye grew fat, and convinced of his own glory. Everyday he’d fly down to the steaming, fresh, pile of crap dutifully left for him by Charger convinced that no other fly flew as well as him
Now the other housefly’s recognized Kanye’s talent. Some when they first saw his would buzz that there had really been no other fly like him that zoomed and buzzed quite so effortless, so loudly, so poetically. Some said he was one of a kind and every night when the houseflies had their buzz wars, over the Miller’s barbeque they watched Kanye beat housefly after housefly down with his wicked buzz’s and wuzz’s. But not all flies liked him, especially the horseflies. The horseflies were the real deal. Bred in the country, in mile high piles of dung they were forced from the moment of their birth to build the hardest exoskeletons to dodge the horse’s violent tails that waved back and forth in an attempt to eradicate them. The violence that had surrounded them from birth hardened them, and they were notoriously fickle. Alliances were made and broken everyday over the biggest pile of dung. The hardest horseflies didn’t even blink their many eyes when their comrades were crushed beneath the weight of a horse tail. Instead they buzzed louder and more convinced of their superiority they flew right into other flies territory for the best dung. This started the great horse fly wars which lead to the loss of many flies. The horse flies answered to no one and respected no one, especially houseflies.
Kanye knew he was the best, because everyone had told him so. And if everyone tells you then it must be true right? He never questioned himself or his flying ability; he was convinced just like a child who believes Santa is on his way. The horseflies watched Kanye with a righteous anger. Who was this wussy housefly from the suburbs? Why did he fly so well? Their rage grew as they watched him circle and twist buzzing along through the air using the moves they had developed out of survival for his own pleasure. He was disrespecting them! But that was not Kanye’s worst crime, his worst crime in the horseflies mind was his attitude. This fly, thought that he was fly he didn’t need to hunt for dung. His so called fans brought him it! He got the best dung, buffalo dung (the Cristal of the fly world) handed to him on the backs of flies that had risked life and limb just to get it, in the vain hope that he would teach them his signature moves. Their fury could not be contained; the horseflies had to do something.
They sent a suck up suburban fly to fetch Kanye, with a message of congratulations. Of course, like all house flies Kanye secretly carved the approval of the horse flies so he returned with the messenger to greet them in person. The head horse fly, 50 cent (so named for his survival against some little boys and a roll of quarters) buzzed his greeting to Kanye. Kanye, eager to impress, buzzed back with as much vigour and enthusiasm as he could muster, and the two flies began a buzz war. Gyrating back and forth, shaking their wings, they buzzed each other. One would buzz a tune, and the other would try and out do him. The fight grew fierce, until 50 cent buzzed so loudly, and wuzzed so fast, that Kanye had to concede. Humbled (but still secretly proud of himself) Kanye bowed to the horse flies. Out of appreciation for his talent the horse flies led Kanye to their special place, on the back porch of the farmer’s house. There just hanging underneath the awning was a light more beautiful, more heavenly than Kanye had ever seen. He watched it in wonder, as he buzzed around each time getting closer and closer to the light. The horse flies explained that the light was their hood, their special place that they had earned when they had survived attacks from the horses, fly swatters, and children. They buzzed Kanye in, encouraging him closer and closer. Kanye could not resist; all 80 of his eyes were wide in delight. It was so beautiful, so bright, and wondrous, and the closer he got he could see a little bar for him to rest on and bask in the beauty of the light, and his own power. He was the best, the absolute best.
The other houseflies circled with him, and then they saw his eyes widen in delight, and his wings buzz happily, and faster they backed away to the top of awning. There they sat and watched as Kanye circled closer and closer, until they were finally convinced that the light had him in its spell and then they turned away, until the heard Kanye’s final buzz as he hit the light and fell to the porch beneath. They didn’t even look down to check; because they were absolutely convinced he was gone. 50, tired after a long day took one look around at his gang, shook his head, and said “that was easier than T-Pac,” before he curled up and went to sleep.
Like all great flies Kanye’s popularity only increased after his death. Little suburban houseflies copied his moves and mourned his death like the death of their brother. Of course, no one blamed the horse flies because well, no one could prove it. The horseflies’ recognized the inevitability of Kanye’s post humongous fame, cashed in and began giving classes on Kanye’s moves. 50, though arrogant, was really pragmatic enough to realize that you couldn’t beat the life out of Kanye, but you could keep order and proper respect through a steady environment of intimidation and fear. The horse flies ruled the roost, convinced of their cred, and strength. The house flies watched from their porches, hoping in vain that someday they would be as tough and as buzz worthy as the horse flies. And in the space of twenty four hours, that generation died and another sprang up; ready to buzz and wuzz like no other before, because a little suburban housefly Kanye had buzzed and wuzzed just like the horseflies.
And this last piece is my favourite, it might become more, but I think its off to a good start. Let me know!
Reason #101 To Get An Education
Name of current employer. That one little unholy line will be the death of my future career. I can’t fill it out, I just can’t. No employer in his right mind would hire me; they’d probably hire a seasoned drug lord over me. My job is just too weird, too uncomfortable for the general public. I’m doomed; I’m absolutely doomed to spend the rest of my life as a chauffeur for the dead.
Now of course that’s not my official title, officially I am an employee of the Minister of Justice, who specializes in the transportation of delicate materials, which have already been dispatched. How did I even come here? Well, despite popular belief the ME’s office, (medical examiners for the layman) actually advertises openings in their fleet. I was simply looking for trucking work when I spotted an ad for driving in the city, good wage, handling delicate materials, and a number to call. Government advertisements shouldn't be that sketchy. And now, here I am in the middle of a September heat wave, picking up yet another decomposed body. Yeah, that’s exactly what future employers are looking for.
I don’t hate my job, I don’t like it, and occasionally I don’t mind it. It’s actually really easy, the ME’s office is really looking for a license and a pair of hands that can put on some surgery gloves and bag all the pieces. Occasionally my job can even be pretty sweet. I don’t have standard office hours, just a van and a cell phone, and when I get a call I drive out to pick up the body. The office even paid for a sweet suit for me, so that I looked less like an under qualified college drop-out and more like a sober, professional employee of the state. The worst part of my job is the questions. Every time I show up at the scene there is always some rookie cop or should have been retired ten years ago cop, watching the scene, like it’s their job to make sure that nothing goes wrong. They’re always bored out of their mind, and somehow think chatting up the “chauffeur” as they like to call us will pass the time. One rookie cop, Jim seems to be at every call I’ve gotten in the past two weeks. Every time he saunters up to me, thumbs hooked in his belt like he’s Clint Eastwood, shaking his head and chewing on a wad of gum. “I’ve never seen one this bad, yep, this is a doozy.” Every single body is a “doozy” to Jim, even the old guy who died in his sleep and looked like he was going to wake up at any second. He compared that body to the body that was found in the tub after being in there for two weeks. Somehow to me, a body that had basically disintegrated, and a still intact, hardly looks like he is dead guy, don’t really compare, but that’s just me.
The worst part of my job is the gradual loss of any empathy that you feel. I can walk into a suicide scene with blood and guts all over the wall and feel nothing. Somehow that doesn’t seem quite right in my mind, but I guess it goes with the territory. I’m not nearly as bad as some of the guys. Roger, has been with the ME’s office for twenty years, and he loves the job. If there was ever a guy who believed it was his destiny to pick up dead bodies, it’s Roger. He has routinely gets tickets of over a $100, because he cannot be late to the scene. I think it’s his secret dream to someday find a body all on his own. He’s got these buggy eyes, and Dwight Shrute glasses that scan the scene like a warrior surveying the battlefield. He loves the messy cases, (which is just fine with me) and he’ll stay forever just to make sure he’s got every last piece. He’s completely death obsessed, and the few times I tried to chat with him, all he would talk about was the newest burial method he was most interested in. So, obviously, I don’t spend any time with the guys I work with off hours.
It’s not like job is going to be the highlight of my career just a means to an end, until something better comes along. I mean, a mini-van is not exactly a hot-rod to the ladies. Especially if the take a look in the backseat. And the smell is just so unholy. Especially this week with the heat wave, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to cover it up. Believe me, I’ve tried. I once spent an hour in a grocery store checking every single air freshner for maximum strength, and nothing worked. The worst part was when I came out I saw this lady pushing her kid in a stroller glance in my back window and then literally run away when she saw the bag. After that I requested the van with the tinted windows. After all, I’m a single man; I can’t have people thinking I’m some serial killer or something, that wouldn’t do my dating life any good.
So here I am in another employment agency office, scanning every single ad that even mentions driving, because seriously, can there be a job lower on the totem pole than me? Maybe a pizza hut delivery guy, but that’s about it. But the problem is, I just can’t write down the name of my current employer, because than everywhere I go, I’ll be the guy who picked up dead guys. I’m branded for life! Maybe that’s how Roger got stuck at the ME’s office. I’ve got to find another job. I should’ve gone to school.
So let me know what you think people because this kind of stuff is all I'm really working on besides essays and stuff!
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