Hello, America! I am the housefly that perched atop Mike Pence’s head for two solid minutes during tonight’s vice presidential debate, and I’d like to talk to you about the future of this great nation. Like some of you, I was undecided when I began watching the debate, because, as with some of you, my brain is the size of a poppyseed. But when I heard Mike Pence outline the Trump administration’s plans, I knew there was only one ticket I could trust to protect me and the 150 or so eggs I laid in the vice president’s hair. Today I am thrilled to wholeheartedly endorse Donald J. Trump for president.
You may be confused as to why I am offering an endorsement in the first place, since most Americans share molecular physicist Seth Brundle’s pernicious misconception that “insects don’t have politics.” It’s true that we’re not big on compromise, but it’s also true that we love garbage, and we love corpses, and we love shit, and you don’t have to have one of those big ugly mammalian brains to tell which political party is committed to materially improving our lives. No president in my life cycle—which began two weeks ago, when I was a maggot happily gnawing my way through a rotten Egg McMuffin in a dumpster behind Kingsbury Hall—has done more to roll back environmental regulations, ensuring that my family and I have a constant supply of garbage where we can live, laugh, and love. No president in my life cycle has provided more dead Americans for us to eat, working tirelessly to overwhelm hospitals and morgues, presumably for our benefit. And no administration in history, never mind my life cycle, has been as dedicated to shit in all its forms—bullshit, horseshit, and of course the literal shit that inevitably accompanies a diet of fast food and Diet Coke—pumping it into the airwaves, the sewers, and the skulls of their supporters. There’s just no question which administration will do more to help me feed my family.
This election goes beyond mere material concerns, however; there’s also a spiritual dimension. And for faith-based voters like me, the Trump administration is the only option. Like all flies, I worship Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, the Prince of Demons, the Archfiend of Lies and Death and Decay, and my faith is very important to me. When I heard Mike Pence speak so movingly of his faith—his faith in Donald Trump, primarily—I knew which administration I could trust to build Our Dark Lord’s Throne of Lies right here on earth. Kamala Harris did her best to dissemble at a few points, and maybe it worked on television, but take it from a fly in the studio audience: You could smell the evil radiating from Mike Pence. In fact, I was originally only planning on briefly alighting on the vice president’s head, running my ovipositor through his gorgeous strands of snowy white hair, dropping a clutch of eggs, and going on my merry way. But the second the setae on my footpads touched that wiry surface, I sensed a kindred intelligence coldly whirring and clicking away just under Pence’s skull, and I knew it was time for me to make my first political endorsement.
My endorsement of a Republican candidate may be surprising to those who remember my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother’s endorsement of Hillary Clinton back in 2016, which famously caused Alex Jones to speculate that Clinton and Barack Obama were both demons:
The explanation here is simple, and it’s a treasured story my family has passed down to our larvae for 48 generations: We were pranking Alex Jones because he sucks. Land in the right place at the right time, and you can get that dude to believe pretty much anything. I know that humans are bad at detecting a wryly cocked proboscis, but you hardly needed compound eyes to see that Hillary Clinton was just a run-of-the-mill Democrat, not some kind of hellbeast of decay practically rubbing her hands together with glee at the thought of stacking the lies and the garbage and the bodies so high that mankind’s rotten civilization finally collapses and the Age of the Fly can begin.
The 2020 election is different, however. I have listened closely to Mike Pence’s plans and policies. I have carefully smelled his hair. I have laid hundreds of eggs in his scalp. And this November, I am confident that there is only one ticket that can ensure a happy, healthy, and extremely well-fed future for my larvae. I urge all humans to cast your votes for Donald Trump and Michael Pence. They might not literally be insects, but they’re the closest thing we’ve got. Besides, the other guy is trying to kill me:
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