It Came From Chinatown: "I've Got Crabs"

Sometimes, Girlfriend will bring home a product for ICFC and I'll think, "Hey, there's actually a chance that this won't be all that bad. I mean, maybe it will suck, but maybe not... maybe it'll be a taste sensation rocket ship that launches my taste buds to Mars and I'll spend the rest of my days harassing people about expanding their horizons and trying new things under a rainbow of multi-cultural hugs and understanding." Sometimes I think that. And then sometimes, I'll look at the product she brings home and go, "Fuck."

Today, we have a perfect example of the latter situation. More specifically, we have... CANDIED CRABS!!! AAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!!



Presented in classic horror movie style, because that's how we roll at the Casa de C-dog y Girlfriend. Now, upon first glance, these appear to be a horrible idea dreamed up by a madman who thinks food should be a punishment. They're little crabs... whole, although most had a claw off or something... and they've been killed somehow and dried and then slathered in a sticky glaze that gives them a sheen like Shaquille O'Neal after the fourth quarter. Fucking why? Why do that to a seafood that's much more suited to a steam bath and a small bowl of melted butter? The mind reels, the stomach churns, my tongue tries to escape down the back of my throat and out my ass. Here's the whole army, brandishing grossness like a soldier's rifle:



I would also like to point out, for the record, that this whole mess of Candied Crabs cost exactly 93 cents. I don't know why that's important, but it seems like the cheapness is a key factor in why it's so very horrible. It's kind of like discovering that a serial killer was boinked by his uncle during his formative years and you're like, "Oh, well it all makes sense now." Knowing that a scoop of Candied Crabs can be yours for pocket change traverses the same plane of logic to the inevitable conclusion: killer of prostitutes/tasting butt-nasty.

Oh, and I should also mention that I'm making that face because they smell like all the dead fish in the world got dumped into a sewer system lined with bricks of Nutrasweet that were spackled together with every dirty diaper thrown away in the last two years. Obviously.

So... on with it, I guess:



Instead of chomping down on it all fuck-you style, I elected (for some reason) to bite the son of a bitch in half:



Both crunchy and chewy... the shell crackles between your teeth like Rice Krispies, and then you reach the dried out innards, which have the consistency of old gum. The flavor is unreal, and layered horrifically with nuance. It's noxiously sweet, for one thing, but blandly so... the glaze that coats it tastes like drinking a pint glass full of boiled sugar and water that's all sludgy, cloying, and thick. And then that combines with the fishiness:

Like a crowbar to the skull, the overwhelming flavors of seafood long past it's prime hit you again and again. It tastes dead and decaying, as if the Creature from the Black Lagoon rose from the grave to give you a Dirty Sanchez. The chewiness and the stickiness causes bits of the Candied Crab to stick in your teeth, forcing you to probe at your molars with your tongue in a desperate effort to dislodge the hateful morsels. This only intensifies the already too-intense, angry flavors. Like rising smoke from a house fire, the taste works it's way upwards and into your sinuses. It catches in your throat. It gags you. You chew and you swallow and you swallow again and every alarm and warning bell goes off in your body. Excuse me sir, would you like to vomit?

I can feel the contents of my stomach marching upwards, but through some intense concentration and the anti-puke skills that I learned long ago during my drinking days, I manage to stem the tide. Barely. It takes a whole can of beer to get rid of the taste, though I have hellish, fish-laced burps for the rest of the night that feel like acid flashbacks in my mouth.

And as I lie in bed, I think to myself, "What the fuck are you doing, dude? Why are you putting yourself through this every week? You're a reasonably intelligent guy who doesn't need to debase and humiliate himself time and time again for the amusement of the internet crowd. You're turning into that guy at frat parties that eats cigarette butts on a dare and everyone laughs at, not with. You're better than this, C-dog. You're not a fucking clown."

Hey, it looks like the crab is picking my nose!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *SNORT* Heh heh... yes! Comedy gold!

See y'all next time!