Two flies on the ceiling

Two flies on the ceiling, one of them contemplating 

suicide. Together, they look down to the floor. 

Ok, that does it, I’m gonna kill myself now, says the fly

on the right, I've had it up to here. 

The fly on the left looks up from the floor and over 
to his pal.

We’re only 10 feet up, you know, he says. The suicidal fly 
shrugs his wings. 

I don’t care, I’m jumping. That’s a hard concrete floor 

down there. Don't try to stop me. 

Well—it's linoleum, says the other fly. But think about this: 
how much do we weigh? 

There's a long pause as they both consider that, and rotate
counter-clockwise, on their tiny black feet. 

Oh yeah. I hadn't thought of that. 

Once they start laughing, they can't stop. 
But now the fly on the left stops, takes a breath,
and looks into the other's eyes, trying not to compound anything. 
And trying to keep a straight face. 

Anyway, suicide? What the fuck? Why so serious? 
You need to lighten up. 

The once-suicidal fly glitters his green bottle eyes,
and says, Lighten up? How?  

Now they can't stop laughing
and they can be heard laughing all the way 
to the no-fly zone!