Mozzie 1: Who’s for dinner?
Mozzie 2: The English bird in 106.
She’s well tasty.
Mozzie 1: Have you had her?
Mozzie 2: Have I had her? You think I got this belly from beer?
Several times, me old mate, in several different places.
Mozzie 1: Go on, details.
Mozzie 2: Eyelids, ear-tips, shoulder blades…
Mozzie 1: Behind the knees?
Mozzie 2: Both legs.
Mozzie 1: You dirty bastard!
Mozzie 2: She’s blood type O. Eats meat, drinks gin. And there’s fruit on the barbecue.
Know what I mean?
Mozzie 1: You’re having a laugh! Can I have a piece?
Mozzie 2: Be my guest, if you’re mozzie enough: there’s a catch.
Mozzie 1: Is she a swatter?
Mozzie 2: Not if you’re twice times Random Flying champion, my friend.
And don’t hum.
Mozzie 1: What then?
Mozzie 2: Deet.
Mozzie 1: Oh, bugger.
Mozzie 2: So I thought she was the citronella type and we all like a bit of lemon seasoning, do we not?
But I puckered up for her neck and got a mouthful of the bloody weed killer.
Mozzie 1: So what do you do?
Mozzie 2: Depends if you can tough it out and hold your breath.
Try sucking on something else first.
Mozzie 1: What, like a dog?
Mozzie 2: I was thinking a mint actually but knock yourself out.
We might get lucky, mind. She’s dippy. Sometimes forgets to put it on.
But I tell you what, it’s worth it. There are top notes of chocolate too.
Mozzie 1: Sod it, I’m in. What time shall I meet you?
Mozzie 2: 10 o’clock.
Mozzie 1: Where?
Mozzie 2: Er, by the light.