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My life began in a little-known part of the human liver named the left lobe. My parents were two very attractive sporozoites that came over the Pacific in a mosquito named Phil. My parents were injected into a guy named John, whose liver we inhabited.

John was, above all things, a drinker. He was addicted to potato vodka. All the bartenders knew his name, even though he only frequented one bar. His liver was in terrible shape for a 23 year old.

My parents and I were living in John’s liver for about three years. What John didn’t know is that I have millions of brother and sister cells, all moving about and metastasizing to other organs. He finally started to show signs of Malaria.

Malaria normally presents with a long period of chills and fever. John was semi-immune, so that’s why it took two years for symptoms to appear. To put it shortly, John went untreated for too long. He passed away some time later partly from cirrhosis and partly from his liver arteries being blocked. However, a mosquito picked us up and transported us to Kevin.

Kevin took very good care of himself, in that he didn’t drink, smoke, or eat junk food. However, we were in a bad place, because Kevin was, and is, a paranoid doctor. He does a multi-test on his blood every 3 days. Crazy, huh?

Well, as I was older than most plasmodium, I mutated into a drug-resistant version of myself. My parents, however, were not so lucky. Kevin treated himself with proteolytic enzymes after he started getting chills. It would suck to be Kevin if we were any other parasite, as PEs are the equivalent of shooting a BB gun at a freight train.

I took great offence when Kevin killed off my parents, so I got all buggy on his pampered, medical self. I metastasized to his colon and gave him polyps. How's that for revenge?! Now he has to have one of his peers check him. Mwahahahahahah!!!! (For those of you reading this that are looking for medical accuracy, look elsewhere.)

Kevin, as I said, is paranoid. He is also quite brilliant and mad as a hatter.

He went into a closet and started talking to someone that I could only assume to be me.

The conversation went somewhat like this: "All right, you little vermin, if you don't hitch a ride on one of the mosquitoes I'm going to bathe in, I'm sending in the Vancomiacin." I was horrified at this, as Vancomiacin has been described as sending liquid fire through the veins. Kevin walked to a jar and opened it. Mosquitoes poured out. I was scared of the Vanco, but, I figured that Vanco can't hurt me. So I didn't leave.

The bordering psychotic took the Vanco out of the cabinet and swiftly injected it into his carotid. I never swam so fast in my life. I found out that Kevin had a stomach ulcer. I entered the ulcer and prayed the Vanco wouldn't go to the ulcer. It didn't. And so, now I sit, in Kevin's liver. And I'm not planning on moving.

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