I’ve found dead mosquitoes in my house every morning for some days. Various rude volcanoes on my skin assure me the pests were very much alive some hours ago.
Is my blood poisoning them? Ohmigod! What is that evil broth that’s coursing up and down my veins?
And what’s with the stupid mosquitoes? Don’t they have some sort of sixth sense that tells them to keep away from Inky, the Poisonous One?
This is the cruellest parody of the shama-parwana legend I can think of.