The Itch

Among other self-indulgences during my sabbatical from this blog, I have been indulging myself in a bit of football (or soccer, as it is called in these parts). To be honest, I was a little apprehensive taking to the field after all these years. But to my credit, I haven't done half bad. I've rediscovered some of my dribbling skills, been pretty useful in defense, and to everyone's astonishment, have even managed to score the odd goal or two. All this while getting some much needed exercise.

If there's a downside to all of this, it has to be the bugs. Mosquitoes mostly. And other pesky, blood-sucking arthropods. The field's literally littered with them. You hardly notice them during the game itself, but then end up spending the next three days scratching yourself silly. Especially during those long, pointless meetings where the mind wanders all too readily.

All this vigorous scratching has got me thinking. What's the point of the mosquito, anyway. What grand purpose could this most noisome of species serve? Other than to disprove the theory of creationism, that is. Think about it. What twisted, spiteful god could deem it fit to create such a vile prophet of doom? How sick and demented would a grand creator have to be to spawn such an unearthly pestilence, a slubberdegullion parasite on the underbelly of helminth, presumably in its own image?

Don't bother answering that. I think it may be a rhetorical question.

So that's it, you ask. The first post in over a year, and it's some half-baked ramble on bloodsucking vermin. Is that how it is going to be?
Yes.