your tags on that crawfish post are life itself

Crayfish (crawfish, crawdads) are oddly dear to my soul - the crawfish doesn’t have to know you to hate you, you exist, and that’s plenty. This is absolutely the most equable kind of loathing, too, a crawfish is content to hate curious cats, hungry raccoons, human children, and being washed by floodwater into the middle of a parking lot with absolute equanimity.

Very late one night in the parking lot of a Food Lion a bit of trash at shoelace level said FIGHT ME. This turned out to be a displaced crawfish, wandering amongst empty packets of USA Golds and Mello Yello bottles, just wishing a mother fucker would start something. I picked it up and walked it (it yelling obscene gerunds the entire time) back to its probable home in the marshy bit off the side of the parking lot. I gave it a good toss (“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight meeeeeeeeeeeeeee”) and it landed with a plip amongst the invisible noisy frogs, which love everyone, but especially you.

Don’t fight a crayfish, is what I’m saying, but help one out if you get a chance, they know a guy who knows a guy.

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