Crabs smoking cigarettes have gone viral on the internet after a crab was spotted smoking a cigarette on a Philadelphia street on Sunday night. But don’t crabs know that smoking is bad for them? We get the scoop directly from the cigarette-smoking crab from Philadelphia.
I know you all saw that picture of me on the internet smoking a cigarette on a street corner in Philly. That photo’s been making the rounds. I have one thing to say: I don’t give a flying fuck that smoking is bad for me.
Hey, that pic was taken on a Sunday night at 1 a.m. I was drunk. In fact, I was two-Yuenglings-and-a-shot-of-Jameson drunk, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but is for a crab. We had hit up a Phillies afternoon game and then headed to some bars to pick up ladies or, in my case, other crabs. I had already drunkenly consumed a cheesesteak and a couple of crab cakes — woof. Just look at that shitty photo of me! I was mad wasted. The flash made my eyes look all bloodshot and shit. I almost passed out right by that curbside gutter. So I thought, what the hell, let’s have a smoke.
I’ll admit it: This isn’t the first time I’ve smoked. I’m a chain-smoking crab. Two packs a day. I know it makes me look sexy and cool and dangerous. It makes me feel chill, like I could walk around sideways on the beach all day. My voice is gravely, but I don’t care because I don’t use it much. I mean, have you ever met a talking crab? That’s totally insane.
But in a shitty turn of events, the whole internet is now on my case about my “smoking addiction.” Oh, no! Internet crab might get cancer! Internet crab is a bad role model! Internet crab is making smoking look cool!
Who the hell are you to tell me I can’t smoke? I have free will. Does not having “real hands” get in the way of my smoking? Sure. I have to get a human to open up my pack of ciggies, pull one out, carefully place it in my snapping claw, and light it up for me. Does being submerged in water most of the time get in the way? Yes. I’ve gotta head ashore for a smoke. It sucks. But overall, I’m in control of my life.
So no, I am not fucking scared of dying from cancer. Which do you think is worse: dying a slow death from my cancer sticks or being boiled alive by you people? You keep telling yourself that we crustaceans can’t feel pain. And if I need to get a limb amputated, that’s fine because we crabs can live perfectly happy lives without one of our pincers.
There isn’t even any proof that crabs get cancer anyhow. I have 137 friends who have been boiled alive, seasoned with Old Bay, and eaten, but zero who have been diagnosed with cancer. This isn’t some crazy conspiracy theory dreamed up by the crab smokers’ lobby, which is a very cool organization BTW. Humans get cancer from smoking, but do crabs? Are there studies about this thing? Did you do the research yourself in your fancy human laboratory? Do crabs have lungs? Even I don’t know the answer to that.
Look, I’m a real bad boy crab. I like to fight, and boy do these pincers come in handy. Snap, snap, motherfuckers! I like getting laid — mostly crabs, but also sometimes shrimp because I can’t knock them up. And I like to drink and smoke all night long. But I do not smoke cigars. Fuck no! I’m not some rich, fancy-ass lobster who drinks tea and watches people play croquet. Fucking lobsters.
The point is, we crabs have been around since the Jurassic period, so I think it’s going to take a little more than a few cigarettes to kill us off.
And anyhow, you’re not my mom. I don’t know who my mom is. She got lost in the ocean.