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I had to think about that for a minute. Must be the Rolling Rocks.

parsy, who has put a few into the freezer to get thru this hot, humid sultry southern night where the mosquitos are as thick as the hookers down at the docks when the ships come in. A night so humid the moisture builds up on your skin like beads of dew on a windshield when you first crank on the air conditioner. It was on a night just like this that parsy first met her. She came into his office reeking of cheap gin and cheaper perfume. One strap of her cocktail dress hung over her pale, white shoulder. I knew she was trouble, but trouble in a sleazy black dress is what I do. (Oh excuse me. I digress)

I recall Southern Mosquitoes. Large, as the genus goes, but slow moving. They fly more like a johnny crane than an osprey. Maybe it was the heat. The Northern variety with which I have become acquainted has no such lethargy, with only a short time upon this orb before their existence is cut short by the coming frost They dive upon their prey, nose out, flaps down, and perish in the pursuit of dinner upon watch crystals and other hard objects in miscalculations of trajectory as they seek a vein.

It is rumored that those punished for some heinous act against their tribe were sent naked into the swarms to perish in a death of a thousand bites...

The reek of cheap gin and cheap perfume would be no match for the determination of the winged parasites, and she would have stumbled in, pale from blood loss, straps cutting into massive welts where her shoulders should have been. She'd be in trouble, as the paramedics bundled her up to haul her off for a transfusion, solemly shaking their heads to indicate the poor prognosis....

Enjoy. A Rolling Rock gathers no moss...