My Father vs. Crustaceo, The Giant Land Crab

So you've probably been saying to yourselves, "What the hell happened to Lance? He's been quiet for over a week!" And I'd like to tell you that I've been held captive by an elite squad of lingerie model ninjas. I really would like to tell you that.

Unfortunately, it would be blatantly untrue. Instead we've been really swamped here at Penetrode, Inc. As the only writer, I've been paying the price for my "plays poorly with others" work ethic.

The Dougie thing is still in the works. Lord knows I'm not keen to get dick-slapped by Mr. Scoop again. In the mean time, here's an entertaining little story from my childhood. As the title indicates, it's the story of me, my father, and a gigantic landgoing crustacean.

There are such things as land crabs, you know. People always think I'm making them up, much like the lingerie ninjas. Here's a picture. They're big enough that a pinch would get your immediate and undivided attention.

Apparently they climb trees, and then jump on tourists and eat their heads. At least that's my theory.

Anyway, when I was about six or seven, we lived at Homestead Air Force Base in Florida. I played with the other children on the base. One day, I pulled out my little riding fire engine to see a gigantic blue land crab. Now in my memory, this thing was about nine feet across. In reality they're about six to eight inches. But this thing was hissing and waving a gigantic claw at me. I took off screaming.

My mother came out and saw the crab. She immediately called my father, who came back from work. The crab was still hanging out in the yard, entertaining itself by eating pedestrians or something.

My parents decided that the only way to make me feel safe again, and to restore the equilibrium of my little world, was to watch the public, violent, and very, very, final, execution of the crab.

So my father got a hoe and a hatchet. I don't think these were his first choice for weapons, but I think the neighbors would have frowned on hosing the backyard with shotgun shells. As I tailed him very closely, we went looking for the crab. It was in the back yard,hiding beneath the hibiscus.

My father used the hoe to flip the crab onto its back, and pinned the big claw. Once he had the crab pinned, and demonstrated to me that the crab was no longer a threat, he picked up the hatchet. Within seconds, there were crab parts everywhere. Seriously.

This memory is very vivid for me. I have kind of mixed feelings about it. I mean, the crab wasn't a real threat, but if something were terrifying my kids (not that I have any) and I could do something about it, I probably would.

So we buried the crab, and forever more, I've enjoyed the great fresh taste of boiled Maryland crabs. I particularly like the kind where they bring you a bunch of crabs and you get to dismember them yourself. It makes me feel better knowing that I'm protecting the children of the world.

LM