Epitaph To a Happy Mosquito

T'was a warm summer's day, when I took to the trail, to cruise that old black spruce, way down in the swale. A gallon of bug dope was strapped on my hip, which I figured would last me for most of the trip. Down through the sphagnum I plowed like a moose, a huffin' and puffin' and spittin' my snoose. Then off in the distance, I heard a faint roar, like B-29's coming home from the war. The sky clouded over, so you barely could see, "They're mosquitoes! "I cried, and they're coming for me. They flew by me once and past me again, a-flexing their stingers, before they moved in. I grabbed for my bug dope and spread it on thick, just hopin' and prayin', it would do the trick. They came at me fiercely and punctured my hide, But before they could drink much, they dropped off and died. I thought to myself, "What type of bug dope is this?" The mosquitoes all had smiles on, as they lay there in bliss. After checking the label, I saw my mistake, t'was the 100 proof whiskey, that Uncle Jake makes.