Dang Skeeters

I became vegan because I subscribe to the belief that all life is precious. Just because humans don’t taste as good marinated in barbecue sauce doesn’t mean our lives are any more valuable than those of a pig, goat, or any animal that chews the cud. Even when a cockroach invades my space, rather than crushing it, I try to escort it off the premises  I pity the roach since nature demands it must have sex with other cockroaches. Although that might be grounds for it to be more humane to stomp them out of existence.

But nothing puts this less holier than thou attitude to the test quite like a mosquito. These bloodsucking fiends have been getting on my last nerve (and my first). They have been swarming the past couple weeks as the endless rainstorms provide puddles where they can lay their eggs. My body is presently covered with bumps from their feedings. I find myself reflexively swatting at them forcing me to reexamine the consistency of my philosophy toward life and death.

These mosquitos have gotten so bad that I have considered testing an old urban legend that would but me on the Dr. Mengele range of the pacifism scale. Supposedly if you pinch your skin where the mosquito is feeding, all the blood comes rushing toward the bug entirely too fast, causing the jerk to explode.

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