Conversation with a Mosquito

I had a conversation with a mosquito this morning. I may have been dreaming or I may have been in the bathroom. Usually each morning when I am showering I have the opportunity to kill the mosquitos that fed on me the previous night. The mosquito materialized in front of me and I instinctively swatted the hard tile wall with my open palm. Ouch, why do I always do that. I inspected my sore hand for the remains. Nothing. I scan the room, no sign of it. How do they do that? I thought. And in answer the mosquito said, “We can teleport short distances.” Really? I thought. “Yes, we are creatures of the tenth dimension.” I am familiar with string theory but that does not allow for tele-porting telepathic bloodsucking mosquitos, do you care to explain? “In one possible future, humans have transformed their souls into digital avatars allowing for a kind of godlike immortality.” I could see that possibility, but why would anyone want to be a mosquito? “There was an islamo-commie hacker who maliciously altered the avatar coding to turn us into mosquitos, and banished us to the tenth dimension.” An islamo-commie hacker? Are you a republican? “Well, yes...” That explains a few things. Tell me, did you suck my blood last night? “Um, no, I’m a male mosquito...” So you just cowardly buzzed around my head all night trying to get some chick-mosquito to fuck you? The mosquito hovered in view a few fractions of a second too long and I thwacked it with ‘Sideshow’ by William Shawcross. Sure enough, the tile was splattered with red blood and bits of lying, cowardly, republican mosquito guts. I call that the Shawcross Redemption.