God, I would hate to be a black fly. Congregating in groups of 20 million or more exacerbates my agoraphobia. Each fly with their own emotional baggage and body odour. It's like all the inhabitants of Shanghai (pop. 24.8 mil) cramming into one of those high-speed trains and whipping around in circles until everyone vomits dumpling soup on each other.
I think I'd be that socially awkward black fly that hangs out by myself, wondering what my role is in the ecological chain. Is this it? Sucking blood, dying? No science or philosophy? No Father's Day gifts, like black knee high socks?
Needless to say, I would starve to death.
I really don't think I could participate in the biting process. It's basically WWII - Pacific War all over again. You have to swarm a person – kind of like swarming an aircraft carrier – and then 36 million flies play rock-paper-scissors to pick who flies in for the kill first. Only you don't kill anyone. You get killed. Two or three out of 36 million actually get through. Odds are better I'll date a Kardashian.
Actually, I think I'd be able to bite a Kardashian.
