The kitchen door is open so the dog and the kid can run back and forth, indoors and outdoors, so flies fly back and forth, indoors and outdoors, at suppertime, with food on the table, so the flies alight on the food, taking off with tiny morsels, landing, doing whatever they do on the surfaces they land on.
“There’s your dinner!”
Well, great. By the time I get to it, flies have been swarming around it for 15 minutes, and we all know, where flies land, that’s where maggots come from.
Some days, one’s mood is such that one is repulsed by this and cannot eat the food, because maggots might already be nascent within the food, because I don’t know how long it takes for maggots to be born, but I know it’s fast, and even if that’s not a plausible, decisive issue, we all know where flies’ feet have been, and whatever they wipe their feet on is immediately unclean and gross.
At the Last Judgment, perhaps God will say, “Who here regarded maggots as gross?”
If any hands don’t go up, “You!” God will say. “I know you thought maggots were gross!” Every hand will be raised.
Off in the distance, on a silver cloud, 144,000 maggots will be in attendance, each with a little golden halo.
Those designated for this Purgatory will sheepishly, solemnly, slowly make their way to the silver maggot cloud. Before each maggot, each person will implore, “Forgive me!” and each maggot will happily squeak, “I forgive you!”