15th Annual Louisiana Swamp Thing and Crawfish Festival

The Luv Doc Recommends

April 1, 2008

Crawfish look like dark, runty lobsters – exactly the type of desperate, freaky cuisine expressly forbidden in the Old Testament. It’s like the Lord was saying that if you’re willing to stoop that low on the food chain in order to survive, you weren’t looking forward to heaven anyway, right? Have some dignity, mortals. If man truly was made in God’s image (woman, too, only on the nights when He’s cross-dressing), then you can probably bet that He doesn’t want to see mini replicas of Himself drunk on Bud Light and covered with saltwater and bug innards. “Levi, take that out of your mouth this instant, and go eat some matzo.” Of course, God seems to have slacked up on the rules a bit in the last couple of thousand years, otherwise Mother Teresa would have had to leave Calcutta one week a month so she could experience the shame of her menses in isolation and seclusion. Sucks to be unclean, yo. Well, at least in a biblical sense. Eating crawfish is filthy too, and in the most genteel of worlds, people would only do it in isolation and seclusion – say, up some remote backwater bayou you can only get to with a fan boat and a machete. Plus, as any Cajun will tell you in a nearly indecipherable patois, when you eat crawfish, you have to “suck the head.” They even make T-shirts about it – which somehow end up sleeveless before the cash register even rings. Why? Because it’s steamy on the bayou, and the phrase “suck the head” sounds nasty even if you’re doing it to a dead freshwater crustacean. And really, if you’re willing go down on a mudbug, you deserve to have it publicized on your T-shirt. In fact, all crazies should be clearly marked. At least marathoners recognize this and pin huge numbers to their chests to let everyone know they’re fucking bat-shit insane from all those surging endorphins. Say what you will about crackheads, stoners, and assorted other dope fiends; not a single one would run 26 miles to get a buzz on. True nutjobs like that should be avoided like Ebola – maybe even outfitted with orange prison jumpsuits. If you’ve ever been trapped at a cocktail party listening to some health nut’s workout soliloquy, you fully understand and appreciate the need for early detection and avoidance. In terms of vices, sucking mudbugs barely even rates as a misdemeanor. You have to ask yourself: Which is worse? A parking lot full of sweaty, mud-fingered drunks or a street full of sweaty, Jamba Juice-swilling bores? If you’re on the fence, maybe you should consider the musical lineup. The Swamp Thing has George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic. George Clinton is entertaining even when he’s sleeping. Plus they have other fun acts with fun names: Cowboy Mouth, Chubby Carrier, Bonerama, Dirtfoot, Dr. Zog, Big Chief Kevin Goodman, a burlesque troupe, and zydeco dance lessons, which is how Cajuns purge when they don’t want to stick a muddy finger down their throat. Ahh, laissez les bons temps rouler!

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