Random neuron firings at midnight

This week, the illustrious cow connoisseur Mamma Mu became the resident cat sitter at Casa Curiosa. She claims to have invaded my apartment, but I tend to think the nature of the occupation should actually be determined by the invadee, not the invader. Take, for example, the numerous Viking raids of Scotland, starting in the eighth century. I'm sure they were considered invaders, not to mention rapers and pillagers, by the locals. But maybe the Vikings just thought they'd stop by for a cup of tea, and had no idea that their offer of bloodshed and terror would be taken the wrong way by the Scots. I mean, who doesn't love a little bloodshed every now and then?

Speaking of bloodshed, I have a huge welt on my shin from the world's largest mosquito. She didn't live to tell about it, but I was left with a big honkin' egg-sized itchy red bump on my left leg. I want to scratch it, but that's like cutting off my nose to spite my face. It's just gonna make it worse. I love the Swedish summer, but I HATE the Swedish mosquitoes that accompany it. However, when it comes to mosquitoes, I'm equal opportunity. I hate American mosquitoes just as much as I hate the Swedish ones. If I ever met an Icelandic mosquito, my disdain would be equally as strong. The same goes for Zimbabwean and Antarctic mosquitoes.

So what do mosquitoes and Vikings have in common other than bloodshed?

You tell me.

In the meantime, I’m going to bed.