A visitor in the South complained bitterly concerning the plague of mosquitoes. An aged negro who listened respectfully explained a method by which the pests might be endured. But this was in the days before prohibition.
"My old Marse George, suh, he done managed them animiles sholy splendiferous. Always when he come home nights, he so completely intoxicated he don't care a cuss foh all the skeeters in the hull creation. In the mawnin, when Marse George done git up, the skeeters so completely intoxicated they don't care a cuss foh Marse George, ner nobody!"
