We are having a nice day sitting on the beach together. Everything is perfect, except for the flies being pushed from the marsh to the beach by the west wind. They wouldn't be that bad either, except that they bite... and it hurts. Sitting next to me, Kelly is putting up quite a fight, using her Catholic Star Herald to smash and bash any of God's little flies that get in her airspace. Now I know Kelly is competitive and can talk trash with these best of 'em, but I think the flies are getting to her. After taking out a couple with one swift swing of the Herald, she leaned over and said, "Tell your friends, fu%&*rs..."