Oh, Off! Where have you been?
I am currently counting the mosquito bites scattered like chickenfeed across my shattered body.
16…17…18…
I hate motherfucking mosquitos.
24…25…..29…
I suspect that they may have been breeding in my air conditioner. The thought grosses me out so much I immediately have to go watch an episode of Scrubs to cleanse my palette.
41…42…
Not even in New Orleans, (which is where I last abandoned my Sad-Sigh compatriots), where things are swampy and sickly, did I get so savaged by the bugly menace. Granted, it could be because I was covered head to toe in Tyvek, and it seemed like nothing was living in those houses but mold, roaches, and the occassional thing moving around in the refrigerator before we duct taped it shut.
56…57…
One might think mosquitoes were allergic to gays, (you know… AIDS and all…), but alas, not the case. Although, I think the extra potassium levels in my bloodstream from eating too many of my dad’s specialty purple yams, (don’t ask), may be luring them away from Dakotah and Katja to my tasty, Chinesey flesh.
61…62…
The worst part of it is, GRACE, is that the more wine I drink, the more each of these motherfuckers itches.
67…68…
Man… I would never make it past day 3 on Survivor.
72 Mosquito bites in the last 10 days. I should win an award.
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Have the itchies returned? Sometimes, they tend to fade away and itch like hell right when they should have healed. Or is that just me, me and my recurring hives?