the crustacean sensation sweeps the nation: or how I learned to stop worrying and eat the crab

These crabs think they're tough. Truth be told, they were no match. It was like Willow trying to work inside game on Olajuwon, or Shirley Temple taking a coked out sack from Lawrence Taylor. A total mismatch. A crippling, never to walk or speak again, exoskeleton smashing, claw crushingly, grotesque mismatch.

*****mind you, the bay crab lovers had a great scare, what with our drunken sailors dumping 58,000 gallons of oil from the lower right hull of a cargo ship. relief washed over all of us to know that its all good now and crab are safe to eat*****

Jordan didn't even open the god-damned menu. He just says, "I think you know why we're here..."
"Okay two roasted Crab and garlic noodles."
"Plus a tanqueray martini, dry straight up," I say fuzzily warm with glee.
"Just water for now," Jordan says.

Fast forward half an hour; there is garlic, peppery oil glistening from below my ear to my lips and up the opposite cheek. Both of us are talking mad shit to the dead crustaceans before us and the nice, quiet couple next to us drops on the eaves, peering and leering over at us.

"You're no match for my strength, bitchcrab," Jordan says haughtily cracking a leg, pushing the meat out, juices of pepper and oil sifting all over his beard, tiny morsels of crab meat lodged into his scruff.

"I'm beating this fucking crab into submission," I say repugnantly, my greasestache stained with brown, salty oil and the fury of crab-death in my eyes.

Here's the thing; you gotta commit. You have to say, FUCK IT! I don't care if that family of five is staring at the puddle of grease on my bib. I don't care if small, half ingested sea horses are crawling up my long hair and into my ears. You can't care if your dream woman walks in and sees the trail of acne that will no doubt appear in a few days. You can't give a fuck and just close your eyes and commit.

After the grease bath they bring us warm citrus towels that we promptly order a second order of, plus a coffee for me. I use one on my hands and another on my face. That meal is so fucking satisfying that you feel the need to celebrate having finished it. Its a must. So, we went to a bunch of bars and got shit-hammered. Big surprise!