by Ted Cleaver
Buzz buzz splat. Damn you, bloodsuckers. Don’t stick me, and don’t disturb my sleep. We, the human race that is, hate you. But you are elusive and sometimes resilient.
Swatting mosquitos is a violent act that expresses with unmistakable clarity who we accept in our sphere and who or what we can do without. Do not bug me, I will strike you down with a clap, kitchen towel, or a zapper.
Using the second item, it occasionally happens that the offender is out for the count, but comes back at you. I K.O.-ed several mosquitos, did not finish them off, and was surprised to watch an apparently groggy stinger swerve through the air. Easy pickings from there, and trust me, judgement was passed and executed swiftly.
Moral of the story: you have to commend these tiny creatures for their fighting spirit. Going round two against a foe that is in every way superior demands respect. Maybe I will let the next lecherous culprit live in case it survives my initial assault. Doubt it though.