Brown and Wooden

Category: Saga of BBC

Huge, Brown, and Hostile: The CRAB’s First Strike

by bernquist

He had read countless tales about vengeance in the past; an abused child lancing his clam-juice-enthusiast father, a miscreant forgotten by society spraying a McDonald’s with an actual spicy Dijon fire hose, a disgruntled employee eating all the corn and killing all the snakes while pooping on the dinner table. He’d heard it all. But he never thought he would be in a position to exact revenge on those who had done him wrong. When he was normally sized, the whole idea was in a word, preposterous. But that was all about to change.

The CRAB peered through the double paned wooden window and saw him. That asshole tusk stump lay sloppily on his wooden couch drinking a pilsner and watching Whose Line Is It Anyway. The CRAB knew this could be his one and only chance. He crept stealthily to the rear of the residence (as stealthily as is possible for a nine foot tall brown CRAB in a residential neighborhood). To his profound joy, the back door was unlocked. Careless assclown, the CRAB thought as he somehow silently stuffed his giant crustacial corpse through the standard human-sized door without making a single wooden sound. He sneaked through the kitchen without incident and likewise through the dining room. The CRAB then found himself directly behind the slippery crusted bastard on his davenport.

CRASH!! Behind him, from the top of the antique china cabinet, an 18th century glass collector’s tusk stump fell to the floor and exploded into thirteen trillion magnesium pieces! The CRAB knew he should have stuffed some of that CRAB meat from his airport fiasco back into his legs, especially now that he was 4,000 times normal size and he rrrreeeeeaaaallllyyyy needed that meat to mobilize his crushingly heavy wool exoskeleton. But he had been careless and his loose unruly meat had struck the antique tusk stump! Panic!! The tusk stump whirled about on his wooden couch and leapt to his petrol feet! Before the CRAB had time to process the situation, the tusk stump had already grabbed a steel-handled tusk stump from his artisan collection and hurled it forth into the CRAB’s stupid left pincer! The CRAB screamed like a small wooden coward! He swung his right pincer wildly and by the grace of the CRAB gods connected, knocking the tusk stump backwards into his tusk stump case with such force that the blow left the tusk stump nearly unconscious!

He lay writhing on his wooden floor, surrounded by Tusk Stump of America volumes dating all the way back to the seventies. The CRAB approached slowly and cautiously, and then stood directly over the greedy tusk stump. He stared down at the pathetic menace, expecting to feel pity, some semblance of remorse. But there was nothing. The CRAB had only hate now and he knew this. As the tusk stump screamed like a brown wildebeest, the CRAB grabbed his wooden head with his monstrous pincer and crushed it in an instant. It was over for the tusk stump and as the CRAB cleaned up the tusk stump case and tusk stump volumes and eventually disposed of the tusk stump body in a nearby blood bog, he realized that while he had come here and committed this act in revenge, he was leaving with different motivations. He had gotten a taste of blood. And he liked it….

Crab Bachelor Party IV: A Crab Reborn

by bernquist

He fluttered in and out of crab consciousness. But he was never fully coming to. It was like going from a black hole, an empty space torn in the very fibers of time into a more dream-like state. He was seeing images from his crab childhood: his crab parents, the wheat eating hound who bit his face off, the stocky T.S.A agent from just days before…they were all there. All images and memories set to an ominous backdrop, a soundtrack as it were, of a snickering Ernie klent, the smothered laughter of a true monster. And then…his crab eyes opened. The crab was alone. Total silence. He was covered in dried owl blood and wooden corn meal. The surroundings were cold and damp, a dimly lit single room both long and narrow. The crab immediately recognized this as a shipping container. He stumbled clumsily trying to gain his footing and to his total astonishment as he got to his feet, struck his head on the wooden ceiling. The crab knew from his years of logistical experience as a civilian contractor that the ceilings in these containers were give or take 8 feet high. How could this be? He quickly realized that the container didn’t even come close to providing adequate space for him to extend his crab legs and display his new impressive crab span. His rage was growing. All the pain and strife of his crab past and now this? A simple bachelor party with his buddies from undergrad. That’s all he wanted. But no. Not you Mr. Crab. You were made to suffer and suffer unimaginably. Well not anymore. Now the crab was staggeringly huge and he was hell bent on making it count. He was going to make them all pay. Whether it be that wrench handed bastard Ernie Klent, the razor clam that stole his lunch box in 2nd grade, his lobster pig friend who told his crab parents he was growing pot in high school, the wooden tusk stump at the office. All of them. They had no hope now. They were going to get a not so friendly visit from a titanic brown killer crab…

Crab Bachelor Party III

by bernquist

“Do I have to?” he said in a sort of bland expressionless tone, the tone of defeat, of near indifference, of imminent surrender. A tone that had come to the precipice of despair and not welcomed but accepted it with no viable alternative. It was already too late. Just seconds later, the crab was lowered into the scalding hot caldron of owl blood (actual boiling great horned owl hemoglobins) by his taloned wood boring freak of a captor. It was then that he was enveloped in an unexpected blanket of peace, the kind of peace he had heard about in crab folklore, but had never truly known…until now. Ernie Klent gazed downward and sneered in triumph (as only a half bark beetle half dead albatross with eaglet legs can) for he knew that this was the end for the crab, or so he thought…

Crab Bachelor Party II

by bernquist

“I’m not a crab, you’re a crab!! I know my rights!!” said the crab as he was escorted into the back of officer Conyer’s dark blue squad car. The bachelor party had not gone well.

Crab Bachelor Party

by bernquist

As a crab, he knew it was going to be a difficult if not altogether dreadful journey. Air travel is miserable enough for traditional passengers, but crab air travel….that’s a whole other story. The despair began at the security checkpoint. There is no designated line for crabs of course, and he wasn’t prominent enough to not be stepped on 3,000 times by the mindless human slurry that funneled through the ominous gauntlet of metal detectors. By the time he reached the end of the queue, three of his worthless legs were crushed and ruined, and actual uncooked crab meat dragged behind his battered corpse like a haphazard just-married trail of soup and concentrated milk cans. But this crab was resilient. He faced the TSA agents with a resoluteness only real crabs could understand. He was determined…that is…until TSA demanded that he remove his shell to be run through the X-ray machine. He had just finished molting 48 hours prior and he knew that this was going to be a major setback. Reluctantly he grasped his pathetic wooden shell with his useless crab pincers and pulled with all his might, but it was no use. With one of his arms already thoroughly butchered by the careless footfall of a 300 lb corpuscle enthusiast, he just didn’t have enough crab strength to get the job done. And then he saw it. Approaching from his left crab side to his profound dismay was the TSA agent who would make his already awful day ever so much worse. He was a short and stocky man with a receding hairline of the salt and pepper variety. He wore heavy wooden eyeglasses that hardly complemented his full wooden face, and his jowls hung around his mouth in a way that reminded the crab of a reckless wheat eating Bassett hound which had torn his face off with its gargantuan incisors some years back. The man’s eyes were small, dark, and spaced too close together giving him a menacing and foreboding appearance, an appearance that the crab was a little to familiar with. The man pulled out a pair of rusty red-handled needle-nose pliers and got to work strait off. As the crab screamed in unparalleled agony, the beady-eyed bastard ripped the shell off his crab back with real unbridled aggression, leaving a purposeless mass of crab innards exposed to the wooden elements. When the crab reached the other side of the accursed security zone and collected his crab wallet, crab iPhone, crab belt, crab laptop, crab carryon, tusk stump, and now absolutely decimated crab shell, he pondered: was this really worth it just to go to my crab bachelor party in Dallas Fort Worth??

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