In the dead of summer a fly was resting on a leaf beside a lake.
The hot, dry fly who said to no one in particular, “Gosh… if I move down just three inches, I will feel the mist from the water and I will be refreshed.”
There was a fish in the water thinking, “Gosh… if that fly moves down three inches, I can eat him.”
There was a bear on the shore thinking. “Gosh… if that fly moves down three inches that fish will jump for the fly… and I will grab him.”
It also happened that a hunter was farther up the bank of the lake preparing to eat a cheese sandwich.
“Gosh,” he thought , “if that fly moves down three inches… and that fish leaps for it… the bear will expose himself and grab for the fish, I’ll shoot the bear and have a proper lunch.”
You probably think this is enough activity on one bank of the lake, but I can tell you there’s more… A wee mouse by the hunter’s foot was thinking, “Gosh… if that fly moves down three inches… and that fish jumps for that fly… and that bear grabs for that fish… the dumb hunter will shoot the bear and drop the cheese sandwich.”
A cat lurking in the bushes took in this scene – as it was fashionable to roam the banks of this particular lake around lunch time- and thought “Gosh… if that fly moves down three inches… and that fish jumps for that fly… and that bear grabs for that fish and that hunter shoots that bear… and that mouse makes off with that cheese sandwich… then I can have mouse for lunch.”
The poor fly is finally so hot and so dry that he heads down for the cooling mist of water.
The fish swallows the fly… the bear grabs the fish… the hunter shoots the bear… the mouse grabs the cheese sandwich… the cat jumps for the mouse… the mouse ducks… the cat falls into the water and drowns.
The moral of this story is: Whenever a fly goes down three inches, some pu**y is in serious danger.