See, that's the problem with that stupid sinewey, claw-like apendage I got growing out the side of me.
Yeah, it's me, the Mansquito, the guy previously known as Ray Eriksson until that asshole "doctor" injected me with the mutant mosquito DNA crap. That's right, THAT Mansquito. You might think this is some kind of funny ha-ha joke, but trust me, I get mistaken for all the other Mansquitoes all the time, like that asshole Mansquito from Beloit who took out a $190,000 loan on a house and then never paid the thing back because he flew off to Miami Beach to suck the blood out of his ex-wife and her new boyfriend. Also there's a Mansquito in Palma Alto who likes to buy rental cars and then just absolutely trash the interiors. Thanks guys, you're really helping out Mansquitoes everywhere! Next time I run into one of you deadbeats at a Mansquito Family Reunion, I'm going to slap the compound eyes off you with my semi-functional hand.
That's why I can't get a damn credit card from Providian bank. I keep filling in their credit card forms with my sinewy, claw-like appendage, and let me tell you ladies and gents, if you've never tried to file a credit application with a sinewy, claw-like appendage, you'll never know how incredibly difficult it is. I spend like 20, maybe 30 minutes, just trying to stab and hold the pen with that useless brown stump growing out of my back. Then, once I've finally figured out a way to tape a writing utensil to me or strap it on with complex system of levers and pulleys, I gotta start filling out all that information like my phone number and home address. Home address? Give me a break! I'm the Mansquito! I don't have a home address! I'm the Dark Knight, prowling throughout the sleepy Gotham city.
No wait, that's Batman I guess. Sometimes I think it would be funny to fill in the application's "address" box with the words "RIGHT BEHIND YOU, STICKING MY GIANT PROBOSCIS INTO YOUR NECK!" But then I never end up writing that because, really, I need a $2000 credit line to buy this Harley I've had my eye on for a few years now. Plus I don't know how to spell "proboscis" without a spellchecker.
A lot of people ask me why I bother sucking the blood out of folks because I'm the Mansquito and not the Femalesquito and I guess some egghead scientists somewhere made up a rule that only female mosquitoes are supposed to suck your blood or something. I don't care what the so-called "experts" think. First of all, nobody that I know of ever got a degree in Mansquitology. Sure there was that one geek from I think the University of Pennsylvania who spent a year studying a chunk of my balls that a deputy in Oak Hills shot off, just so he could come up with some brilliant anti-Mansquito toxin that would make me keel over and cough up slugs until I croak, but I iced that guy like a year ago.
Here I am reciting some poetry at the local coffeehouse. I hate poetry, but there are usually some hot chicks there and they got the sweetest blood, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! And I mean I drink their blood.
I remember it too, I was sitting up in this tree over what I thought was his house, then I saw him come out the door so I leaped out and jammed my blood sucker right into his back. Haha, I swear, I had to have been chugging that guy's blood for a good 20, maybe 30 seconds before he stopped thrashing around like an electrified fish and I finally had a chance to look at his face. Then I realize this dude's like half a foot shorter. And black. I guess I had the address wrong because I was draining some 80-year old retiree with a wife and two kids, and let me tell you, old folks' blood tastes like shit. It's like licking a corroded battery covered in expired mayonnaise. His kids weren't much better, but I saw one of them had a Fender Telecaster so I flew up into his room and laid down some wicked chords on that thing for a couple hours. I tried reading the Korn tabs he had laying around the place, but it's nearly impossible for me to differentiate between different notes anymore.
Now that kind of pissed me off because I got this serious vision problem and I can't see shit too good after I turned into the Mansquito. It's like I can see shapes normally, just how I could when I was human, but everything is colored bright red for some unknown reason. I mean literally everything is bright red, I can't see any colors besides that one, they all show up as red. It's like God dumped a bottle of Nyquil into my skull and told me from that day on my entire world would be inside a giant irritated anus crammed full of Hot Tamales.
I'm glad I don't own a lawn because I would have absolutely no ability to take care of it. I'd just wake up and look out the window and say, "oh look at that, my grass still seems to be a healthy shade of bright red, guess I don't need to buy that expensive bright red fertilizer from Home Depot." This whole red thing doesn't even made sense to me. I mean yeah, I get it, I love blood and that's red too. It's all so hilariously appropriate, I know, but I really don't understand the whole reasoning behind it. If I got injected by some super secret mystery formula that was made from the DNA of a giraffe who eats leaves and grass, would everything appear bright green to me? What evolutionary purpose could possibly be behind this? Ooh, better yet, if those creeps produced some kind of serum made from mosquito and giraffe DNA, would everything look like a Christmas display? "Merry Christmas Mansquitoraffe, now please suck the blood of this guy who's standing on a platform 12 feet above you which can only be reached by your long, elegant crane neck."
|This is how stuff normally shows up as, right? |
Well this is what I see. WOW, THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH POWERS OF MOSQUITOVISION.
This eye condition makes it nearly impossible for me to hold a job. Who wants to hire a guy who can only see the color red? I won't act like you're an idiot and try to claim the whole "400 pound homicidal mutant mosquito with one semi-functional arm and a sinewy, claw-like appendage" factor doesn't come into play when somebody's sizing me up for a job opportunity, but the redeye deal counts against me just as much. I really want to be a court stenographer but I imagine the cops and deputies would spend the entire trial shooting at me nonstop, and that might be a little distracting to both the judge and lawyers. Those idiots never learn, they just keep shooting and shooting and somehow fail to realize that I'm bullet proof. Over 59 police forces from 59 different precincts, including nine SWAT teams and some FBI agents dressed as lesbians in Matrix Halloween costumes, have attempted to ventilate me with various weapons and not a single one of them has had any success (except that one deputy who got lucky). You'd think these people would learn by now.
For Christ's sake, I'm the Mansquito! Everybody knows I'm bulletproof, it's just one of those assumed things like how everybody knows Superman can fly and Batman drives the Batmobile. I'm the Mansquito and I repel bullets. I don't know how and I don't know why, especially because last time I checked you could pretty much kill any mosquito just by merely smashing a bullet against it, but I guess the term "mutant" is one of those catchall terms that explains the inexplicable. Gee, well we crossed the DNA of an ant and the DNA of a man and now this "mant" somehow possesses the ability to emit bursts of powerful microwave radiation from his elongated ass, a quality that neither species possessed! GUESS THAT'S ONE OF HIS AMAZING MUTANT POWERS, JUST LIKE HIS ABILITY TO RUIN POTENTIALLY SUCCESSFUL LONG TERM RELATIONSHIPS WITH THE CHICK WORKING AT THE STARBUCKS ON TRUMAN AND 7TH STREET!Some more Mansquito fan art. I think the author, Dorn Matthews, is under the impression I have severe back problems.
Speaking of mutants, I recently tried to make this hot chick I saw transform into a mutant like me. I figured the chance of me making out with a real human range from zero to none, so maybe I'd have better luck trying to bone a fellow mutant. I sucked the blood of this computer nerd a few months ago and while I was hooked up to his neck I looked up and saw he was using eBay. So since I had nothing better to do with my semi-functional arm, I typed in "CHEETAH DNA" in the search box and found some guy named "Yiffy5474" selling the stuff along with an airbrushed pinup poster of Cheetara with her pants off and a seven inch cock. I bid on the DNA (not the poster) and won, and I get this box from UPS a few days later, so I break into this government lab and pour the crap into some machine and abduct this totally hot lady scientist.
I strap her to a chair and switch on one of the computers so it would inject the DNA into her and transform her into a really foxy female cheetah / scientist hybrid. Then she could ride on my back and we'd totally terrorize the city. People would be all like "look out, up there, it's Mansquito!" and then they'd see this hot broad with fangs charging down the street at 60 miles an hour and they'd shout, "holy shit, watch out for Femaleetah too!" If only my buddy Ed Rodgers was still alive, I'd bolt him down to a chair and inject his ass with some dolphin DNA and then me, Femaleetah, and Manphin would kick ass all over land, sea, and air. Or, oooh, I could just inject myself with some of that awesome red mosquito DNA, green giraffe DNA, and blue dolphin DNA and holy hell, I'd be able to actually see every color in the rainbow and maybe then I could pass the vision test and renew my driver's license. Of course I'd be a flying fish with fur and an addiction to blood, but Christ, I'm Mansquito right now so it's not like we're talking about such a leap in the wrong direction here. And don't none of you tell me dolphins aren't fish because they swim around in the ocean all day and that makes them a fish to me, alright?
Anyway it turns out that when you don't have some smart-ass scientist in charge of the DNA injections, you don't get superhuman mutant powers, you just get a really fatal case of cancer and severe internal hemorrhaging. The scientist lady died and I didn't see any sense in letting perfectly good blood go to waste, so I drained her and this fat janitor who happened to walk in while I was waving my maxillary palps around. Did you even know ol' Mansquito has a couple maxillary palps? I didn't until I looked in the mirror yesterday morning and I saw these two things growing out of my head, so I used my one semi-functional arm to browse through an encyclopedia and I looked up "mosquito" and bam, there it is, a diagram saying they're "maxillary palps."
I don't know what the hell they do, and I really can't think of a decent pickup line which revolves around the size of my maxillary palps, so maybe one day I'll actually find a use for the damn things besides knocking crap off shelves every time I turn my head around. If you know what the hell maxillary palps are, you can email me, but I probably won't be able to read it because I destroyed my keyboard with my sinewy, claw-like appendage when I saw some asshole had spammed my Livejournal with anti-Mansquito remarks. Yeah, that's really clever "FlamethroweR," you just wait until I call your ISP and let them know that Mansquito's coming for you. I'll be all over you like the RIAA you loudmouthed little shit.
I gotta go now because I only had enough cash to rent out this computer for 30 minutes. I thought the Internet cafe was charging $5 an hour, but it was $7, so I didn't have enough to cover it all. I asked the manager to let me use it longer but he started getting all belligerent and I had no choice but to impale him with my sinewy, claw-like appendage while chugging down gallons of his sweet, sweet nectar. I should've kept him alive because I have no idea how to punch in more time for any of these terminals and I'm getting the feeling that my time is gonna run ou