Member-only story
4 Reasons Why I, The Fly, Landed on Vice President Pence’s Head
Comic relief wasn’t the only benefit.
“I’m going to ask you one more time Mr. Fly…”
“It’s just Fly. You can call me Fly.”
“Don’t interrupt me!”
The interrogator slams his hand down on the cold metal table.
“Now, I’m going to ask you once more Mr. Fly, if that even is your real name.”
“Well, I told you it’s just Fly, not Mr. Fly, so technically it’s not my real name.”
“Enough!”
The interrogator stands up quickly. He removes his jacket, places it on the back of his seat, rolls up his sleeves to just underneath his elbows and leans in close to the fly across the table from him. The fly opens his big red eyes wide and stares back. The interrogator turns around and paces toward the back of the room. He begins an ominous chuckle and grabs something out of a bag lying by the interrogation room door. He keeps the item behind his back.
He turns to face the fly revealing a lengthy grin across his face, but his hands remain hidden.
“Guess what I have here?”
“Hmm, I wonder what it could possibly be?”
