Yes folks, it's that time of the week where we reach around something hairy. And today it's crabs. Yes, lawd bless tham, the wily crustaceans with sixteen legs and a dozen eyes, that pulse through England's sewers in great waves, feasting on what us disgusting wasteful humans throw away, and exploiting every last inch of the foul water system laid so cunningly by the Victorians under the tutelage of the great Mother and Daughter Engineering Combo Isobel and Sweetcorn Brunel.
Spare a thought for the chap reaching around the giant hairy fish and poo smelling behemoth in the above image - for by the simple matter of reaching around this bony hairy beast from the earthy nether regions of decay, he has terminally infected himself with a crabflu infusion known as strain HN53. Barely enough time of his mortal life remains as it ebbs away - time insufficient even to nosh on a crabstick pasty or even a giant turtle's teat.
Poor doomed bastard.
I once knew a bird who's sewer was infected with crabs the dirty bitch also suffered from HN53 and smelt like kunting moldy meat.
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