Dan's Itchy Skin Speaks:

Mosquitoes? I Don't See No Stinkin' Mosquitoes

Scratchy Gayle

Ebbtide Staff Reporter’s Mosquito-Bitten Skin

Be prepared. I am about to rant. I am about to rave. I am about to laugh in your face. Why? If you look at the title of this article, you’ll see that it probably has something to do with Mosquitoes. Big, gnarly looking insects with beady little eyes and bloodsucking mouthparts. They have adapted and survived throughout the ages, preparing their young for the day that they can finally sink their teeth into us fat Americans. We are like a Country Kitchen all-you-can-eat buffet to the mosquito.

Ok, so what is so laughable about the mighty mosquito? Nothing. What is laughable is how much we whine about them here in Seattle. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear… They’re everywhere! AHHHHHHHH! West Nile Virus! I’m gonna die of the West Nile Virus! Please God! Save us now!”

Give me a break. I will say this once and only once: There are NO MOSQUITOES in the Seattle area! None! Ok, maybe a few, but come on. Those of you from Minnesota, raise your hand. Can you tell me what the state bird of Minnesota is? That’s right. The Mosquito. There is a reason for this. In Minnesota, if you are not prepared for the onslaught of the mosquito horde, they will pick you up, carry you away to their hive, and feed you to their queen. Yes, their Queen. Other states also have horror stories of mosquitoes, but I have my doubts about their authenticity. Maybe Alaska. Alaska has some crazy stuff. Whatever.

One time back on my farm in Northern Minnesota, I had to go out and feed the pigs. Boy, they was cute little squirts. Anyway, as I approached them yelling, “SOO WEE PIGGY PIGGY! COME GIT YER FOOD!” I noticed that they were hiding in their little doghouse thing we had built them. I guess it would be called a pig house since it was built for pigs, but anyway… There they were, hiding away. I called and called, but they wouldn’t come and get their slop. Something must have been wrong. Now, I don’t know if you have any understanding of what it would take to make a pig decide to NOT come to dinner, but it sure would have to be a good reason. I was about to find out.

Just then, a WHOOSH flew over my head. I looked up and saw what appeared to be a silhouette against the sky. There she was. The biggest mosquito I had ever seen in my entire life. She could have picked up a baby cow in her talons and carried it away. I screamed like a girl and dove into the mud next to the pigpen, forgetting that pigpen mud isn’t just mud. What’s that smell?

Ok, so I could see the giant beast swirling around overhead like a buzzard over a decaying body. She could smell blood. Man blood. Fat American Man Blood. And some piggies as an appetizer. In her mind it was too good to be true. I was as scared as I had ever been in my entire life. I nearly soiled myself in fear. Who would save me from this beast?

KaBOOM! I heard a shotgun go off in the distance. KaBOOM! Another shot. I saw the beast take a hit and fall to the ground about 100 yards away from me in some bushes. My neighbor Ottmar Lindquist had come to the rescue. “Uff Da, dat der’s a big one, you betcha. Good thing she didn’t bite you, or you’d be a goner fer sure. Hey, you wanna go fishin tomorrow? I hear them walleye are hittin pretty hard over on Leach Lake right now…” My savior. Ottmar Lindquist: Mosquito Slayer.

So what’s the point? I don’t care if you say you’ve been bitten by 100 mosquitoes here in Seattle. I don’t. Do you know why I don’t care? Because you are FULL OF IT. Baloney. I don’t believe you. You haven’t been bitten by 100 mosquitoes. There aren’t enough of them to bite you.

So stop worrying about some strange foreign disease that is carried by mosquitoes. The odds are that you will never catch the disease, because there aren’t enough mosquitoes around to care about infecting you, relatively. So stop your whining. Put away your citronella candles. Put away your DEET. Put away those nets you put over your head. You should be thankful that you don’t wake up screaming every night because of your near-death experience with the Great Mother of all mosquitoes. I only wish I could get her out of my head.