Dzzzzzzzzzzz

It's the end of another week here at R17 and it has just occurred to me that every post has been about Commander Assnapkin (that's right, even at this late stage I'm creating new nicknames for him.) 

I like the way Assnapkin rolls off the tongue. 

There's a literary phrase for a word like Assnapkin. It's akin to onomatopoeia. I'm not sure what the phrase is. Maybe one of my better educated followers can tell me. It has to do with three syllable compound words that use certain consonants. Like: douchebiscuit, jizzwaffle, and shitgibbon. Come on, those are fun words.

Back to my original point. Today I'm laying off "our president", mostly because my rage level is through the roof. And because there's an annoyance that is more immediate at hand. Or at ankle, as the case may be.

Mosquitos.

We have them. The neighborhood has them. In fact all of Southern California has them. This is only noteworthy because in the past we didn't have them.

At first, I thought it was localized. I noticed I was getting bitten while I was in my garage lifting weights or digging through my mounds of shit to find a three pronged outlet adapter.

Then, a few weeks ago, when our friends, the Bombecks brought their Aussie Shepherd dog over to play with Lucy, we noticed we were getting bitten on the patio. 

Then in a passing conversation with the Garretts up on Culver Crest, my wife discovered the mosquitos had moved to higher elevations.

Then in an effort to stave off cabin fever boredom, my daughter started digging around the inter webs and found out that it's a thing.

No Murder Hornets. 

But mosquitos. 

Moreover this particular breed of Mosquitos have a very highly scientific name. They're called Ankle Biters. True story.

Which brings us to the difference in the sexes. You see, to deal with the nagging ankle biting mosquitos my wife sent me back to the garage to fetch the oversized Citronella candles buried amongst all our camping gear. I'm convinced Citronella does nothing. It's the burning Sage of home remedies. 

Nevertheless, and mostly so I don't have to hear her bitching about it, the candles are now on the patio. And they are uselessly lit almost 24/7.

My approach was somewhat different. I returned to the magic Bezos machine and purchased a can of deadly chemical laden repellent with enough DDT to down a bison. I also got me a Zapper.

It was only after I hung the Zapper and plugged it in that I read they are largely ineffective at reducing the mosquito population. 

Yet they are hugely popular. Why? Because of the mosquito-sized brain of the American male homeowner. Turns out, and they have research to prove this, the only reason men like these zappers is the sound of a pesky ankle biter meeting its demise and going over the mosquito rainbow.

"dzzzzz."

"Yeah, got another one."

Truth is, it sucks in a ton of energy, is completely ineffective and makes a lot of noise.

Turns out this post was about Trump after all.