Mozzie conversation

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.