That Motherfucker Fly

That motherfucker fly keeps flying on me. It keeps flying on me and landing and then flying away only to return again. Here I am, alone, minding my own, and this asshole motherfucker fly won't stop.

There it is. Right now. On my pant leg. I swat at it, even leading it by a few inches, knowing that it will attempt escape once it senses the swoosh of my arm and hand. Again, I miss. It buzzes by my ear, just to taunt me, that motherfucker fly.