THE REAL HOUSEFLIES OF BEVERLY HILLS
On the ceiling in a bathroom of the Beverly Hills mansion of Senator Abel Boozman we see three specks. They are the houseflies Zena, Zeta, and Zoriata.
Zena is asking, “What’s the latest buzz, girls?”
Zoriata muses, “Why doesn’t the shit here stink?”
Zeta preens her head, twisting it around, and says, “Where are you from?”
Zoriata replies, “I came in off of the gardener’s truck.”
Zena asks, “Legally?”
Zeta scolds, “How rude!”
Zoriata laughs in good nature and says, “That’s bien. Laws are at the discretion of the rich. Is the Senator going to mow three acres himself? Or will his children? Or will this Democrat Senator pay union wages?”
Zena, Zeta, and Zoriata flit and buzz hysterically. They land again upside down on the ceiling.
Zeta strokes her wings and says, “Zoriata, honey wagon, you are going to flit right in.”
Zeta asks excitedly, “Smell that?”
Zena says, “To the kitchen!”
Zena, Zeta, and Zoriata are buzzed about the steaming roast pork that has just been taken out of one of the ovens. A roast pork always heralds the coming of the Lord of the Flies
Zena espies a large Blue Tail Fly on a rib of the roast pork and she gasps, “Look! It is Beelzebuzz, Lord of the Flies!”
Zeta adds, “May almighty Dung honor him and grant him peace.”
Zoriata asks, “Shouldn’t we wipe our feet after coming from the horse stables?”
Zeta says, “Yes. Right upon the face of Beelzebuzz, Lord of the Flies, as he would wish, may almighty Dung honor him and grant him peace.”
Just then a serving maid waves away the flies and places a silver dome over the steaming roast pork and then picks up the tray. She carries it into the dining room. There she sets it upon the white cloth of the dining table.
Zena, Zeta, and Zoriata follow Beelzebuzz into the dining room just as Senator Boozman is drawn there as well by the aromas.
The serving maid asks demurely of Senator Boozman, “Sir, do you think that Mrs. Boozman will be pleased with this setting?
The Senator smiles as he walks around behind the serving maid and he whispers, “I love a hot pork anytime, don’t you?”
The serving maid blushes and giggles as the Senator embraces her from behind. He bends her forward over the dining table and lifts her dress. He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his fly, and drops his pants. The serving maid lays her face upon the table and her cheek begins to untidy the smooth white table cloth as she moves back and forth, back and forth. She clutches the white tablecloth. An empty wine glass topples onto a china plate, singing with the impact. The serving maid moans and her saliva soils the white tablecloth that is bunching under her face. The Senator growls. The serving maid gasps, gasps, and cries out. The silverware, the wine glasses, the china plates are all marching now. The Senator moans loudly, “Oh, god, oh God!” as he leaps repeatedly into the serving maid’s derrière. The serving maid is dragging the entire white table cloth and settings toward herself as if a vortex is opening up in her and then she shrieks long and she shrieks hard.
The platter of roast pork clatters and splatters onto the carpet in a crescendo of wine glasses, silverware, and china plates.
The Senator lets the serving maid collapse to the carpet has he hastily pulls up his pants and fumbles his belt back into some of the pant loops. He listens intently to the house and then he orders the serving maid, “Listen, uh, uh, shit, what’s-your-name? Get this cleaned up fast or my wife will fire you for being so clumsy!”
The Senator grabs a cigar from the gilded box upon the mantle and he strides out of the dining room with his fly still open.
The serving maid arises sobbing from the carpet, straightening her dress and surveying the Herculean clean-up chore around her feet. Then, dizzy with all the implications, she runs into the kitchen crying because she must first start something else as fine as the roast pork quickly for the distinguished political dinner guests soon to arrive.
The serving maid realizes, “Soon to arrive. Too soon,” and she sobs and then she is angry, “Too goddamn soon, you bastard!”
She realizes that she must salvage the fallen pork. It is the only thing she can do.
When she goes back to the dining room she cries out, “No! No!”
The fallen roast pork is shivering with flies.
Beelzebuzz, Lord of the Flies, may almighty Dung honor him and grant him peace, had summoned all the flies of the estate to feast in his honor.
The serving maid runs back to the kitchen and then returns with a can of fly spray. She cloaks the roast pork in a fog of poison. Then hysterical with anger she slaps the dead and the dying flies into the roasted skin and juices of the pork.
She reassembles the roast pork in the kitchen, adding pepper and spices to camouflage the mashed dead flies, puts the roast pork back in the oven to simmer under ladles of brown juice, and only then does she go to salvage the dining room settings.
Upside down on the kitchen ceiling Zena, Zeta, and Zoriata minister to Beelzebuzz, saying to him, “May almighty Dung honor you and grant you peace.”
Zeta says, “Too bad about your other followers.”
Zena offers, “Soon there will be many more others.”
Zoriata affirms, “Sure as Dung.”
Zena, Zeta, and Zoriata in unison intone, “So let it be buzzed, so let it be Dung,”
Beelzebuzz the Blue Tail Fly, Lord of the Flies, pronounces, “If I were to return as a lesser being I wouldn’t mind being a Senator in Beverly Hills.”
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