June 18th, 2012
The Fly on the Wall Has Seen Some Shit (and Probably Eaten It, Too)

For many people, faint buzzing in your ears means that someone, somewhere, is talking about you. In reality, it means that someone is listening. In an all new exclusive interview, Gabbler gets the inside scoop on the world’s greatest secrets from the most unsuspecting, elusive spy the world has ever known – or swatted: The Fly on the Wall.

G: So let’s get right down to it, Mr. Fly. I have so many questions. I’m so excited that I might throw up.

FOTW: Ask away. And don’t worry, flies eat vomit.

G: Okay, great. Win, win. Should I go chronologically? Have you really seen everything?

FOTW: Unfortunately, no. I’m an old housefly, 86, but I certainly haven’t seen everything.

G: Well, you’ve still been around for a while: World War II, the Soviet Union—

FOTW: Don’t forget, though, I’m 86 in fly years.

G: How old are you in human years?

FOTW: About 27 days, 18 hours and 25 minutes.

G: You’re a newborn!

FOTW: It’s all relative, my dear.

G: But, if you’ve only been alive for two weeks, how do you know all the world’s secrets?

FOTW: It’s part of the sacred oaths and ceremonies that take place upon your initiation of becoming a Fly on the Wall. We land on top of the old fly, face the opposite direction, and move closer and closer until we can hear the whispering movements of each other’s genitalia. Then, as we come together, our secrets, spilled over dying breaths like burnt crimson blood from a freshly slit thorax, are passed down from generation to generation of Flies on the Wall–

G: That sounds kind of like you, uh, mate with, then… kill the old guy.

FOTW: What do you take me for? A mantis? In vulgar, simplistic terms, yes, that is part of the ceremony. But there is a deeply symbolic and meaningful purpose behind these traditions. The physical act of love, honesty and respect. The union of body, mind, and spirit. The—

G: —Crossing and stabbing of swords?

FOTW: Exactly.

G: Okay, I can’t wait any longer. Did Jesus really do it with that Mary Magdalene  lady? Did Hitler really commit suicide? Is the lost city of Atlantis real? And why is the Mona Lisa smiling?

FOTW: One at a time, please.

G: Sorry.

FOTW: To answer your first question: duh. She was quite a looker for a street wench, even if she’d already slept with 11 out of the 12 apostles. John kept to himself. And maybe liked Matthew a little too much, now that I think of it.

G: So John the apostle was gay?

FOTW: I don’t like to put sexuality into a boxed-in definition. I’ve seen and heard far too much for it to ever be that simple.

G: Fair enough.

FOTW: Anyway, as for Hitler’s death, no, he did not die of suicide. He died of an infection in his testes.

G: WHAT?

FOTW: It’s true. He tried to kill himself in the chest, but his hands were shaking too hard, and he missed. Instead, he shot hit his genitalia. As I’ve been told, he let out a high-pitched scream, shat himself, and passed out. Unfortunately, he didn’t clean out his wound, and some of the feces spread into the open wound, causing an infection. Very unpleasant, indeed.

G: Gross. And Atlanis?

FOTW: Do you mean that cheesy hotel with the animal shaped towels?

G: No, the lost city.

FOTW: Oh, right. Because a lot of weird shit has gone on at that hotel, too. So here’s what happened with Atlantis: After the city-state’s armies lost to Athens, it sank. In order to save its inhabitants, Poseidon changed its inhabitants into mermaids. Green and purple ones. To this day, they dwell at the bottom of the Mediterranean, just off the coast of Greece.

G: Really???

FOTW: No. Ha ha! Plato made it all up. Writers tend to do that. Especially when they drink as much wine as he did.

G: Oh. And the Mona Lisa?

FOTW: She was smiling because she was pregnant. Can’t you tell from her glow? And her fat face?

G:  That actually makes a lot of sense. Where there ever really weapons of mass destruction in Iraq?

FOTW: If you don’t know the answer to that question, I suggest that you pick up a newspaper every once in a while. Maybe flip on the news. Some Anderson Cooper, perhaps. Even if you just kind of kept it on as background noise while you painted your nails or something. Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me if Tom Cruise is gay!

G: (Balls up a piece of paper quickly.)  Okay, conspiracy theory time. Is there really an Area 51? Are aliens real?

FOTW: Yes, and yes. They move 51 every year, though. I think it’s in England right now, to coincide with the 2012 Olympic Games. As for the aliens, they look kind of like a cross between a scaly frog and Lady Gaga. Unfortunately, though, I have places to go, and people to spy on, so I can’t stay much longer. The North Koreans are having a juicy discussion about nuclear weapon testing and I’m missing it.

G: Wait! Did we ever really go to the moon? Was 9/11 on purpose? Were the Mayans right about the world ending in 2012?

FOTW: No, sort of, and I’m a spy, not a soothsayer. I’ll come back soon. I promise.

G: One more question. If you really have seen everything, who ate the last of my ice cream cake on my sixteenth birthday party, bringing me to tears the next morning?

FOTW: You did. Then you blamed it on your little brother in hopes of getting another cake, you little glutton.

G: My god! You really have seen everything.