I hate it when someone invites me to a crawfish boil or asks me if I want to come over and eat crawfish. Sure, if you’ve picked the shit apart already! Otherwise, fuck off. I’m not working for my food.
If you’ve never been to southern United States, first of all congratulations. There are many traditions followed in this region of the world which make it almost unbearable to survive if you’ve been gifted with intelligence. One of them is a crawfish boil. See, a group of mostly Christians will get together and forget completely about being told in the Bible not to eat bottom feeders so they can boil a bunch of little lobsters, then fuck with them, break it apart, scoop the shit out with your BARE finger and then eat it. Your hands stink like a whores pussy for a week and no matter how much bleach or gasoline then fire you put on them, the smell won’t stop.
“Here it is yall. Now don’t forget to say a blessing on the food that the Bible condemned us to eternal damnation for eating before we dig in!”
Now, I’ve eaten crayfish as they are called in civilized parts of the world. They’re actually a great ingredient in pastas, etoufee, gumbo or probably a million other dishes. What they are not good with is a god damn bottle of Dasani water and a fucking corn cob cut in half next to it. What the fuck?
That’s as lazy to me as anything I’ve ever seen. I flat out refuse invitations to crawfish boils because if you don’t want to prepare the fucking food for me, I’m not coming to your house to put together a meal AND eat it. I’ll do that at home, where I won’t choose to make the biggest mess in history. I always love it when people boil all those crawfish and maybe 10% get eaten, since no one wants to mess around with eating like an animal would.