“Declan, the humble crab, and Kate, the Lobster Princess, were madly, deeply, and passionately in love. For months they enjoyed an idyllic relationship until one day Kate met Declan in tears. “We can’t see each other anymore…” she sobbed.
“Why not?” gasped Declan.
“Daddy says that crabs are too common,” she wailed. “He claims you, a mere crab, and a poor one at that, are the lowest class of crustacean and that no daughter of his will marry someone who can only walk sideways.”
Declan was shattered, and scuttled away into the darkness and to drink himself into a filthy state of aquatic oblivion. That night the great Lobster ball was taking place. Lobsters came from far and wide dancing and merry making, but the lobster Princess refused to join in, choosing instead to sit by her father’s side, inconsolable.
Suddenly the doors burst open, and Declan, the crab, strode in. The lobsters all stopped their dancing, the Princess gasped and the King Lobster rose from his throne.
Slowly, painstakingly, Declan, the crab, made his way across the floor… and all could see that he was walking FORWARDS, one claw after another! Step by step he made his approach towards the throne, until he finally looked the King lobster in the eye.
There was a deadly hush.
Finally, the crab spoke.
“Fuck, I’m pissed.”"
Years ago when I heard this joke, I thought it was hilarious. A straight walking, drunken crab telling the father that he’s “pissed” ; he’s drunk AND angry, struck me the right way and I couldn’t stop laughing. Hell, maybe I was drunk when I heard the joke and that’s why it was so funny. Who knows.
Start out from the kitchen and veer to the right by about 45 degrees. Oops! Coffee table dead ahead. Scuttle to the left and line up with the hallway entrance. Whoa there! Almost hit the bookcase. Veer back to the right and BANG! made it to the bedroom. I’m glad his bedroom isn’t farther down the hall because the sidewalking angles might not match up.
This is my newest hobby. Watching MDR crab scuttle around the kitchen attempting to make his nightly Ramen noodle slop and self betting on whether or not he’ll make it to the bedroom before knocking himself out.
I’m going to hell.
When Frankenvan was busted, he let me use his truck. He’s been very responsible about cutting, hauling and chopping wood this winter. He pays his rent on time and cleans up after himself. To some extent it’s none of my business how drunk he gets.
That doesn’t stop me from taking pictures of him when he’s passed out, head back, snoring at the ceiling in the computer chair. It didn’t stop me from text betting with my kids on the exact time he was going to fall out of said chair after the Super Bowl.
A good person would stage an intervention.
I think we all know I’m not that person.