Dear Miss Stealthy Mosquito,
As much as you like the taste of my warm blood, I need to be able to sleep tonight. Like punching below the belt in boxing, biting my toes is not fucking allowed! I'm used to you making a buffet out of my back, feasting on my legs and arms, even my ultra-sensitive elbows at times. And I willingly accept my fate as just another link in the food chain (an occasional bite snuck in here and there).
But my toes?! This means war! Be warned: I'm going to hunt you down before itching my way to bed and fry you!
May the best man win!
Yours Truly,
Brently
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