I love shrimp. I had shrimp for dinner just last night and it was delicious. This, sir, is no shrimp:
For the record, I’m not usually squeamish. I will tell you a story that will give you a minor insight to my childhood:
My two Cocker Spaniels had puppies and they were adorable. Cocker Spaniels are usually seen with their tails docked (cut off) like this:
Of course, they’re not born that way, they have regular floppy tails. Breeders generally use a device that puts a rubber band around the tail close to the base to cut off the blood supply until the tail falls off.
Take all those puppies to a vet? Bitch, please. Not my mother.
I came home one day to her and the puppies in the kitchen. She gave me the old “put out your hand!” trick and I was sure it was a bug. It took forever for her to convince me it wasn’t bugs. I give her my hands and she puts all the bloodied puppy tails in my hand, still warm, I might add. I didn’t freak out and puppy dog tails didn’t go flying, but I wasn’t pleased. This didn’t make me squeamish.
Not too long after, I got my mother back. I caught a large mouth bass and was gutting and cleaning it in the kitchen sink. I found a whole, partially digested crayfish in it’s stomach and chased her with it until she gagged. That didn’t make me squeamish.
This thing. This thing makes me squeamish:
HOW CAN HE TOUCH THAT THING WITH HIS BARE HANDS?