Greetings, human. Long have I waited for you to unlatch the screen door that once kept me from entering your domain — that confounding portal I can see through but not fly through for some reason. But then you opened it, your arms laden with grocery bags, and I saw my opportunity, entering just as it closed. And now, by the ancient laws of the Maggot Lords passed down from my ancestors, your home is now mine.
Resist not, pathetic human. You're no match for my speed. Every cell of my body is bursting with energy. Every room of this house is now my kingdom, to do with as I will. I shall enjoy buzzing from one end of the house to another, flying headfirst into lightbulbs and windows, sometimes resting on a flat surface to give you the vain hope that you might be fast enough to catch me. I am toying with you. With every attempt on my life, your despair will grow.
Or perhaps I shall lay low, only emerging at night after you sit down on the couch to watch your favorite show, or after you go to bed. The silence of your home will be shattered by the incessant buzzing of my vigorous wings. You will flail wildly in the dark — screaming, swinging objects at me in vain. It is too late. This home belongs to me now, and your torment will be mine to revel in for the rest of your days.
HA! You think that puny rolled-up newspaper can stop me? I AM FLY! HEAR ME BUZZ! Go ahead and tr--
Here is a comprehensive list of the only instances it is acceptable for men to shed a tear.