Here I was, baking my arse off in the South African desert, with lobster red skin no matter how much factor fucking fifty I slapped on and to top it all off, the mosquitos thought I tasted like top shelf bourbon too. Not the others though, oh no. They didn’t have bites on their ankles the size of fuckin’ walnuts, did they? Apparently my blood was fucking mosquito heroin and every one of those tiny cunts who drank it told a hundred more of their mates about it too.
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