Usually around this time of year I’m getting ready for Spring but it’s been Summer at least twice since January, and Spring for weeks on end in February. The Cottonmouths are crawling again, and because we’ve actually had some rain, not a lot but some rain, we now have mosquitoes who are larger than the Japanese fighter planes from World War Two. These mosquitoes are more numerous than the lies of politicians in an election year, and nearly as bloodthirsty as one of the Karcrashion Sisters at a retirement home for billionaires. I’ve not figured mosquitoes out just yet, or for that matter, parasites in general.
It’s odd that we view parasites as something more odious than let’s say, carnivores, even though carnivores kill to live and parasites merely steal. Of course, rarely are we attacked by a swarm of lions made up of a billion or so tiny cats intent on spoiling a nice walk in the woods. There is no glory in killing a dozen mosquitoes with your bare hands especially since more than twice that number got through your defenses and carted off more of your blood than the Red Cross does every five months. Worse yet, there are ticks that will attach themselves to you and their heads detach if you pull the tick off. The premise behind the Tick Attack, and I’m guessing wildly, is you might be better off letting the thing feed on you then trying to get it off of you. I have no idea because I pull the damn things off whenever I find them. I hate ticks. And they’re carriers of more diseases than the Karcrashion Sisters, too. Okay, that was a wild guess there.
A friend of mine, and this great philosophic leap came right after the movie, “Jurassic Park” came out, and he started growing really good pot, but he thought the Universe invented mosquitoes and things like that to help keep DNA from becoming stagnant. We all, he claimed, have the DNA of all the animals in the woods inside of us, and they have our blood, too. That, and this is his philosophy, is why the people in one area seem to take on the personality of the surrounding area. Of course, this explains The South, but in the places where it’s always frozen, like Chicago, how do you explain all the surly people there, except that is’s always frozen? (Hi Carrie!)
The Dinosaur DNA Theory may or may not be true, but I am willing to listen to the idea that people who share blood via mosquitoes or other transfusion insects, may be getting more or less tiny shots of each other. Ever notice how people begin to look like their pets after a while? Could it be that they are sharing so much DNA from mosquitoes they’re actually related at this point? Laugh if you will, and hopefully you will, but this season I’ve given enough blood to the winged ones to have cloned more children than all of the Karcrashions were they to conceive after each sexual encounter. Of course, the DNA could only produce clones, but hey! Look at the Karcrashions; they are either all cloned from the same parasitic DNA or they’re aliens, one or the other.
Another part of this theory rests in the idea that only female mosquitoes feed on blood (no, I’m not going there, thanks for asking) and the male feeds on tree nectar. Doubtless some of the DNA from both parties gets mixed up, and that would explain the lethargy of some Southerners; they have Oak Tree DNA. You might think that is a bit of a reach, and maybe it is, but at the same time, you have to wonder if some regions of the country have begun to have their own cultural DNA not from just banjo music, but from billions and billions of tiny transfusions. Alas! We are a porous people! It may be that we invented all the rich food we have created to slow down our blood and make it harder to withdraw. Damn, we might have also made ourselves more tasty. Let me get back to you on that one, please.
When I was a small child I used to pick the fleas off of our dogs, and having puny little child’s hands, I couldn’t kill the fleas once I caught them. Now, the dogs didn’t have that many fleas, but I was vigilant in my flea catching duties, so I carefully put the fleas in a decorative glass jug my mother kept on top the television. This went on, and I am being totally serious, for years. That was just what I did with all the fleas I ever caught as a child. I never really thought of the jug as anything but a Black Hole with no escape because the jug had a stopper.
So one day we had a family reunion and one of my female relatives really liked the jug and before I could say anything she unstopped it and started trying to figure out what was inside. She dumped the contents of the jug out, and like many parasites, fleas can live forever in a dormant state until some host comes along. It was a short lived and terrible reunion with various uncles and aunts and long lost cousins scratching themselves at the heel until they bled. I headed for the door when I saw the uncorking, and my mother, a wise woman who had known me all my life, secretly pondered how I came to be the cause of the Great Flea Infestation.
In the end, I feel like there are more mosquitoes now than when I was growing up. Maybe we just got used to them because we were always outside back then. Or maybe this is nature’s way of keeping the DNA alive of all the animals that aren’t here anymore. We’ve drained so much from nature the mosquitoes might be the last chance for some strains of DNA to carry on.
Odd, this writing of mine, isn’t it? The lack of blood will do that to a man.