But every time they’d point to their cheek & say, “Lord, there’s–”
The Lord raised a hand straight up into the air. “¡Don’t call me crazy! Off to the whips.”
This happened a dozen times, & still the Lord ne’er learned that he still had blueberry jam on his cheek, sticky from the sun.
That was when the flies came, their fingerlike legs clamping & unclamping gainst his hairy skin like suction cups.
“¡Somebody get these flies off me!” he shouted.
But nobody dares to go near such a freakish mutation as he was now & ‘ventually a fly flew into his throat & choked him to death.