Another Shit Sandwich From the Fly on the Wall
Can you imagine having to substitute a cup of coffee with 200 reps suggested by Fitness Guru Mike Chang? Well, I’ve done it. Some days. And that’s where the Fly on the Wall begins its latest briefing — hovering above a man who once drank coffee like it was a constitutional right, now sitting there bloated and resentful while some smug machine composes prose with the detachment of a war correspondent who never had to dodge a single bullet. The Fly circles, unimpressed, watching the abdominal inflation rise like a poorly timed soufflé.
“Alright, listen up…”
This isn’t a geopolitical analysis.
This isn’t a civilizational audit.
This is a stimulant autopsy, and the Fly is here to deliver the shit sandwich with its usual lack of ceremony.
The Early Years: Passion and Poor Judgment
In the beginning, coffee strutted into the man’s life like a dangerous lover — all heat, swagger, and chemical promises. It whispered about productivity, clarity, ambition. It never mentioned the bloating, the gut mutiny, or the nervous system behaving like a raccoon trapped in a recycling bin.The Fly watched the whole thing unfold from the rim of the mug, wings twitching with contempt. Coffee barked orders; the man obeyed. It was torrid, yes — but torrid in the way forest fires are torrid. Beautiful from a distance. Catastrophic up close.
The Green Tea Rebellion
Then came 2008, the year the man quietly defected. Green tea entered the scene like a calm, competent partner who didn’t need to shout to be heard. No bloating. No gastric sabotage. No jittery aftermath that felt like being interrogated by your own adrenal glands.The Fly approved.
Rare event.
Green tea didn’t intrude.
It didn’t posture.
It didn’t demand tribute from the gut.
It simply existed — and the man’s physiology, exhausted from years of coffee’s emotional terrorism, embraced the peace.
The Late‑Marriage Relapse
But then came 2020 to 2024 — a period the Fly refers to as “The Siege.” Stress rose. Sleep fell. Coffee re‑entered the theatre like an ex who shows up at your door claiming they’ve changed.They hadn’t.
The man drank more of it.
The gut revolted.
The nerves tightened.
The Fly hovered overhead, watching the collapse with the same expression it reserves for humans who walk into screen doors.
It wasn’t love.
It was survival.
And survival makes people do stupid things.
The Aging‑Out Moment
Now, in the present day, the Fly delivers its verdict:The man has aged out of coffee.
Not dramatically.
Not with a grand gesture.
Just with the quiet realization that the old thrill is gone and the consequences aren’t worth the nostalgia.
Coffee still has a spark — a faint echo of the days when it made mornings feel sharper, faster, more possible. But the body isn’t fooled anymore. The gut files complaints. The nerves mutter threats. The reward shrinks to a whisper.
Meanwhile, green tea stands off to the side, unbothered, unintrusive, and entirely victorious.
The Fly’s Final Report
This isn’t a tragedy.
It’s a natural transition — like outgrowing leather jackets, loud bars, or the belief that your body won’t invoice you later for your choices.
Coffee was a torrid love affair.
Green tea is the stable partner who moved in afterward and quietly fixed the place.
The Fly, having witnessed the entire saga, offers its final assessment:
“You didn’t quit coffee. You just stopped pretending it was good for you.”
And with that, the Fly lifts off, leaving behind the faint smell of roasted beans and the unmistakable truth:
Some stimulants age with you.
Some stimulants age against you.
And some — like coffee — simply age out of the job.
Closing Sting
If the man insists on one last cup, the Fly won’t stop him.
It will simply hover nearby, waiting for the inevitable bloat, ready to file yet another report on yet another human who can’t accept that time, gut chemistry, and biology have all voted him out of the coffee‑drinking demographic.
The Fly doesn’t judge.
The Fly just watches.
And the Fly is never wrong. In its own mind.
